College Boys

Citation preview

Men of Holsum College 1

College Boys When soccer star Chris Fischer moves next door to an openly gay classmate, he doesn't realize the wall between their rooms will be so thin he'll hear his neighbor's every move. But soon he and Peter become friends, and Chris is intrigued—imagining what happens on the other side of the wall. Active on the Queer Student Council, Peter Cohen wishes he wasn't so damn hot for his straight neighbor. He can't tell if Chris is flirting or in denial or what, but Chris's innocent overtures lure Peter into flirtation that throws his world into chaos. Peter doesn't want to date a closet case, but he desperately, passionately wants Chris. Soon Chris must choose whether to run away from his new feelings or embrace a relationship with the guy he loves. And Peter must decide if he can give his heart to a guy who hasn't yet figured it all out. Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Contemporary Length: 33,610 words

COLLEGE BOYS Men of Holsum College 1

Daisy Harris

EROTIC ROMANCE MANLOVE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove

COLLEGE BOYS Copyright © 2012 by Daisy Harris E-book ISBN: 1-61926-695-4 First E-book Publication: April 2012 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

Letter to Readers Dear Readers, If you have purchased this copy of College Boys by Daisy Harris from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

Regarding E-book Piracy This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book. The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment. This is Daisy Harris’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Harris’s right to earn a living from her work. Amanda Hilton, Publisher www.SirenPublishing.com www.BookStrand.com

DEDICATION To Chris’s biggest fan, Brien Michaels. Thanks for the critiques, the hand holding, and all the insight into the college-boy mind. And to Peter’s biggest fan, Annabeth Albert. You pushed me to a whole new level, lady. Thanks!

COLLEGE BOYS Men of Holsum College 1 DAISY HARRIS Copyright © 2012

Chapter One Chris Fischer, starting forward of the Holsum University soccer team, dropped his bag on the narrow bed. The springs squeaked in an ominous crackle, and he hoped his friend, still standing in the doorway, wouldn’t razz him for getting such a bum room. He turned on the light and started opening the drawers in the lone dresser. “It’s like a closet.” Don stepped through the threshold. The broad fullback filled the space at the foot of the bed. “You’re right. It’s fucking tiny. D’you mind?” Chris gestured to the door, wordlessly encouraging his friend to leave. Chris had decided to move out of his room with Don and Sanchez because after his mom’s death he needed some space. He sure as hell wasn’t getting it with his soon-to-be-former roommate lurking. “Oh, yeah.” Don backed up one pace, then another, until he lingered in the doorway. “So…” He peered around the little room, looking lost. “You’re cool then?” “Yeah.” Chris exhaled. He knew his friend meant well. Don and the other guys on the team had done their best to be supportive after Chris came back from the funeral. Since the start of spring semester, they’d dragged him to all the parties and thrust beers into his hand every damn second. They were loud and boisterous, and

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Chris knew they thought they were helping. But really, he just wanted time alone. “I’ve got everything I need.” “Uh…cool.” Don nodded a good-bye. “See ya at dinner.” Chris knew his friend wanted to say more but was glad he didn’t. “Bye.” Chris didn’t want to be standoffish. In fact, that’s why he’d chosen to move when an empty came open in Cooper Hall, on the other side of campus from his old room in Nicolson. The room was miniscule, but it was a single. Chris wouldn’t have to feel guilty for ignoring his roommates when he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Flopping onto the bed, Chris lay back and looked at the ceiling. It felt almost like leaving home all over again—though the journey from Nicolson Hall to Cooper couldn’t really be compared to coming to college in Vermont from his small town and community college in Tennessee. He smiled, realizing how stupid it was to think of the room change as a big deal. Chris would still see the guys from the team at practices and sit with them at the cafeteria. He had Economics with their goalie. Anyway, Chris wasn’t exactly alone in Cooper Hall. He didn’t know too many of his hall mates, but he and his next-door neighbor had met on a precollege camping trip. Peter, the guy’s name was. Peter Cohen, if Chris remembered right. And despite that thing that happened between the two of them in the tent, he’d liked Peter a lot. Chris stood abruptly, wanting to move around and distract himself as he always did when he thought about that thing. It was nothing, really. He’d just had a perfectly natural reaction to being in close quarters with the other guy. Hell, Chris still sometimes got hard from the hum of the clothes dryer—it didn’t mean he was gay. It didn’t matter to Chris, either, that Peter was gay. In the tent, Peter had been totally cool when he’d woken up to Chris spooning him. Chris remembered the way Peter had stammered, holding up both his hands and saying, “I didn’t try anything! I swear.”

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Chuckling under his breath, Chris started piling his folded pants in the bottom drawer. He thought about how panicky the other guy had been. It was funny at the time, and if roll call hadn’t happened only a moment later, Chris thought the two of them might have laughed about it over breakfast. When he finished unpacking his clothes, Chris constructed a bookcase out of two-by-fours and cinder blocks. His textbooks only took up half the length of the wooden plank, so he arranged his bathroom supplies along the shelf. The thing spanned the entire length of the room. From what Chris had heard, the singles had been doubles once. The college had divided each room in half with a bit of framing. He’d finished with the first three boxes, shoving more stuff in the closet than it seemed like the closet could hold, when he heard the sound of a door opening. The noise was so loud and near that he thought someone had opened his door and his neck snapped around, but no one was there. That’s when Chris heard voices and realized it must have been Peter’s door that had opened. “Ten inches, girl! I’m not even joking. I could have sucked that shit all night!” The voice talking rose and fell and was so loud that Chris knew the speaker must have wanted other people to hear. “Shh! Will you shut it, Nathaniel? You know…” It was Peter speaking. Chris remembered his voice from the camping trip. He hadn’t talked to the guy, actually, hadn’t done more than nod hello when he passed him on campus, since that morning, but he remembered Peter’s New York accent. “Your new roommate?” Clearly, Nathaniel wasn’t taking “shh” to heart. “Yoohoo, straight boy. You there yet?” Nathaniel practically shouted. He knocked on the wall between the two rooms and it sounded as if the noise had come from next to Chris’s head. He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t, so Chris shouted back, “Yeah. Settling in nicely, thanks.” He added a whip of sarcasm, making sure that this hidden Nathaniel didn’t think he was scared.

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Chris might have been from the ass end of nowhere, but he’d been on a liberal campus for seven months. He hadn’t been freaked out by the hazing from the soccer team seniors when he arrived at school, and he wasn’t scared of a flamingly gay dude, either. “Geez, you don’t have to shout,” Nathaniel said back. “I didn’t know you were there already.” The way the guy said it sounded like he was talking in a completely normal tone of voice, which was weird since there was a wall between them. Chris stared at the beige expanse separating his room from the one next door. He frowned, not knowing if the conversation was over. “Um…” The single, hesitant syllable identified it as Peter. “Yeah, I don’t know if they told you this when you agreed to take the room, but you can hear right through this wall.” Chris paused to think about that. Peter was right—he could even hear the other guys’ footsteps. “No, they didn’t mention that.” He sat on his bed again, feeling a little disconcerted. He’d wanted a room alone, not another pair of roommates. “Do you guys both live there?” He didn’t know why they were still talking through the wall when he could have just as easily joined them in Peter’s room or invited the two of them over. Except with how miniscule the half rooms were the three of them would have been crammed in too tightly for Chris’s comfort. “No, just me,” Peter said. “And I play music a lot of the time.” “That’s cool. I have earbuds, too.” Chris felt his mouth twitch into a smile. It was weird, but Chris had sort of missed the other guy. Not like he and Peter had been close other than that one evening around the campfire and the night that followed. But there weren’t too many people in Chris’s life who didn’t want him to do or be something. His team wanted him to be faster, stronger, and better. His dad and brother wanted him to come home to the farm. His mom had wanted him to take the soccer scholarship at Holsum even though Chris had known she’d get sick again. From what little Chris remembered of his

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time with Peter talking and laughing, Peter hadn’t had any expectations at all. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” Peter said. “I’m going to turn on the stereo now.” After a moment, he added, “And get Nathaniel a muzzle.” Chris smirked, hearing Nathaniel’s loud and dramatic argument before a stereo, sounding like it was in his own room, strummed to life. **** Peter Cohen stared at the ceiling, willing his erection to subside. It was two o’clock in the morning, and though he’d been lying in bed for over an hour, sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. Christopher fucking Fischer had moved in next door. At least, Peter thought his name was Christopher. It might have been Christian for all Peter knew. Rosters for that camping trip only gave the names the students wanted to be called by. But Chris, Christian, whatever the fuck his name was, had haunted Peter’s dreams for all of fall semester. After that fateful camping trip at the start of September, it had taken Peter a month to stop throwing wood every time he thought about camping, fires, tents, or grass. Chris had shared Peter’s tent since Chris was a junior and a transfer student instead of a freshman like the rest of the kids on the trip. And Peter, as one of the trip leaders, was the only guy in their group Chris’s age. Peter had known he was gay since he drew a heart for his best friend in preschool, but he’d never had it so bad for any guy as he had for Chris Fischer. His cock nodded under the sheets, and reluctantly Peter pressed his hand into his shorts. He shuddered at the feel of his palm around the hard flesh, but his gut gave a sickening twist.

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He couldn’t think about Chris if he jerked off. Not with the guy sleeping ten feet away. It felt wrong and a little bit creepy. But unfortunately, his straight-guy-in-a-tent scenario was his go-to fantasy. He’d have to think of something else, and he’d just reached for his laptop to look for some porn when he heard a sniffle. There was some squeaking, as if maybe Chris was moving around on the bed. Then Peter heard another sound—this time a sob. It was followed by another, so quiet that Peter wasn’t even sure he’d heard it. Peter held his breath, not sure if he should say something or if Chris would be embarrassed to have been discovered crying. He and Chris weren’t even friends. They smiled and acknowledged each other in the cafeteria but hadn’t even seen each other in the dorm hallways yet. But when he heard another sniffle and the hoarse sound of Chris blowing his nose, Peter couldn’t keep quiet. “You okay?” He asked it as little more than a whisper. Quiet enough that if Chris wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard it, he could. “Yeah,” Chris said thickly. “Yeah, I’m cool.” Peter thought about asking Chris if he should turn on the stereo again. It seemed rude to listen in. But instead he waited. “I’m fine during the day and all. But at night I just think, ‘Man, I can’t believe I’m never gonna see her again.’ I feel like maybe I should have waited another year before leaving home. But she seemed like she was getting better last summer. ” Peter knew about Chris’s mom passing away and even that she’d suffered from childhood asbestos exposure and then eventually died of lung cancer. Word travelled fast in a small school, and her malady had been unusual enough to garner attention. “It isn’t your fault,” Peter replied. He didn’t know what else to say. He’d never lost someone close, so he couldn’t say he understood. Mostly, he wanted Chris to know he was listening.

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“Is it weird to say that I’m glad I can at least cry about it in peace now?” There was a chuckle in Chris’s voice, along with the wet sound of another nose blow. “It gets so tiring pretending to be okay.” “Yeah, no doubt,” Peter answered. He didn’t know about losing a loved one, but he could relate to trying to pretend. “The guys did their best…” Chris started to explain. Peter jumped in. “Hey—you don’t have to worry about them. I’m sure they understand.” It wasn’t Chris’s job to act like he was done grieving just to make his soccer buddies more comfortable. “Yeah, I know.” Chris’s voice was softer, calmer. He yawned. “Hey, sorry about unloading on you, man.” “No worries.” Peter couldn’t help but smile. Chris Fischer might not be a potential hookup, but he was a nice person. Peter just wished that his dick knew the difference between friend and guy I’m desperate to blow. It still hummed under the covers, waiting impatiently for Peter to be done with all this feelings talk and get back to his stroke. “So, you and that Nathaniel together?” Surprised by the question, Peter blurted out, “Why? Are you interested?” He gave a nervous laugh after he said it, trying to make sure Chris knew he was joking. With a damp chuckle, Chris said, “Um, no. But I was wondering if I’d be hearing a lot of him.” Peter smiled into his pillow. “Nah. Nathaniel’s my friend, but we’ve never been interested in each other like that.” Peter suspected sometimes that his best friend was indeed interested in him exactly like that, but he’d made it clear enough to Nathaniel that it wasn’t going to happen. “Oh.” Chris’s one-word answer sounded like it held back a hundred more questions. But Peter couldn’t figure out if Chris was asking because he was curious or if he was looking for some kind of fodder to brag to his friends about.

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He pulled his covers up around his ears as if he could protect himself against the possibility the Chris he’d met on the camping trip had become cruel and hardened over the past semester. He shifted, trying to get comfortable and maybe wind down the conversation, but Peter found himself asking, “How about you? You seeing anyone?” Realizing that could sound like a come-on, he rushed to add, “A girl, I mean.” Chris had made it clear that night in the tent that he was straight. He hadn’t been a dick about it or defensive. Like the rest of the things Chris had said on that trip, it had been stated matter-of-factly, kind but straightforward. After growing up in his Brooklyn brownstone surrounded by smart-asses with laser-sharp tongues and spending two years surrounded by gay kids trying to act tougher than they were, Peter had been fascinated by Chris’s directness. “I’m not seeing anyone right now,” Chris said. “I was sort of with this girl before my mom took her turn for the worse. But dating was too hard to manage with all my trips home.” Peter eased forward on his bed, listening harder since Chris’s voice had gone quiet. He wondered if he could move his bed to the opposite wall so he could talk to Chris more easily, but then he realized that would make his crush bypass cute and ram straight into stalker. “Chicks, man.” He adopted his best impression of the tough guys from his high school. “All just bitches and hos.” He knew Chris had heard his sarcasm, because he was laughing. “Yeah, better off without ’em, man,” Chris answered, though he spoke in his normal southern lilt. God, Peter loved the way Chris talked. But even as the thought crossed his mind, his cock did a little desperate jump in his shorts and Peter rushed to end the conversation lest Chris somehow hear the hard-on in his voice. “Good night, Chris.” Peter reached over to his stereo and clicked through the playlists to something mellow.

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From the other room, he heard the creak of a bed and another deep, masculine yawn that was going to keep him up all night. “G’night, Peter.” **** Chris had worried things would be awkward when he saw Peter the next day, but when the guy had stumbled, half-asleep, past him in the hallway bathrooms in the morning, it had been easy enough to wave and let the whole thing go without comment. He was still brushing his teeth at the sink when Peter emerged from the showers, wrapped in a towel and with eyes still half-closed. Chris’s worry over what Peter might say about Chris’s late-night breakdown was swallowed up in a wave of surprise as Chris saw Peter’s naked torso. In clothes, Peter seemed skinny. But topless, he was strapped with ropey muscle that ridged along his sides. Maybe it was because he was mostly naked, but his walk was sort of a strut. And—was that a nipple piercing? Compared to Peter, Chris felt positively bland. Sure, he was buff enough. He wouldn’t keep his athletic scholarship unless he stayed in top condition. But otherwise? Chris kept his blond hair short and conservative. Not like Peter, with his buzzed sides and floppy bangs. Then again, Chris had never thought about how to attract male attention. In the mirror, Chris watched Peter leave. He wondered if Peter had a tattoo to match his piercing or if he had any metal any lower down. Guys did all kinds of things in college. And Peter, as a sort of flashy and hot guy, would probably have done more than others. It didn’t make Chris gay to think Peter was hot, he considered as he rinsed off his toothbrush. After all, girls sized each other up all the time. Ask any girl and she could tell you if her friend was good looking or not. It was just that Chris was sort of impressed. Even on

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the camping trip, Peter had seemed kind of badass. He’d admitted to being gay right there in front of everyone. Chris had been impressed as shit. Back home, Chris had been embarrassed to admit he liked pop music. He’d gotten mocked for his plan to go to college in a Yankee, big-city school, even though Holsum was surrounded by farms. He finished washing his face and rushed to his room to get dressed before his shift at the bookstore. Chris had a few hours of work-study before his classes, and he didn’t want to give his pals from the soccer team time to track him down and question him about his new dorm. He grabbed his backpack and his gym bag so he wouldn’t have to come back to his room before practice. Then he messed with the key until he managed to turn the lock on his door. Cooper Hall was closer to the bookstore than his old dorm had been, and Chris crossed the distance with enough time to stop at the bookstore’s coffee shop. He didn’t like using his meal credits to buy food at the café. For the same number of points, he could have an allyou-can-eat buffet at the cafeteria. But Chris seldom woke up early enough to make it to the giant eating hall before work. “’Ey, Fischer!” a voice called from behind him. Chris recognized it instantly as Romero, a senior on the soccer team who’d been hassling Chris since the first week of practice. “Hey, Juan.” He accepted the paper cup the barista set in front of him and pumped several pulls of coffee. If he didn’t acknowledge the guy further, Chris figured, maybe Juan Romero would walk away. But just like always, Romero felt the need to pick and needle. He crowded next to Chris, jostling for cream and sugar—completely invading Chris’s personal space. “How’d you like your new dorm? Learn any moves from the fag next door?” Chris rolled his eyes. When he’d chosen to go to school at Holsum, he’d liked that the school was relatively small. The downside, he’d learned, was that pretty much everyone knew

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everyone else’s business. “Why, you need some sex advice?” It was times like those that Chris wished he were better at dishing out sarcasm. Sure, he could throw insults, but not with the type of acid he’d heard from Peter and his friend Nathaniel. “Not from a fucking faggot.” Romero knocked Chris on the shoulder as he passed with his coffee on the way to the lineup of chocolate, nutmeg, and cinnamon on the bar. Chris wanted to point out how not masculine the second-string fullback looked adding copious toppings to his drink but didn’t want to encourage stereotyping. Unlike Romero, Chris had listened to the diversity talks during College Orientation. Not that he’d needed the counselors to tell him to treat other people with respect. His mother had raised him to do that much. “Whatever, man.” Chris pressed the top onto his coffee and snatched up his buttered bagel. He’d never actually eaten a bagel before he came to Holsum, and Chris thought about how he should mention that to Peter through the wall later. Since Peter was from New York, Chris thought he would find it funny. “Have fun with your fag roommate,” Romero called after him as Chris walked away. But Chris couldn’t be bothered to answer. Assholes like Romero always had to get the last word. So instead, he thought about how he and Peter might razz the guy behind his back.

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Chapter Two The music wafting through the wall was Indian, with words Chris didn’t understand and a strumming, rhythmic beat that was happy and sexy all at the same time. Chris sat cross-legged on his bed, reading through his class notes and highlighting passages in his textbook that he thought might be on the midterm. His friends thought he was weird for not studying in the library anymore. Now that he had a single, Chris got more work done in his room in an hour than he had in three at the library. “It’s not too loud for you, is it?” Peter asked through the wall. Apparently, Peter liked to study in his room, too. In the month Chris had been living in Cooper Hall, Peter had been in his room as often as Chris was. “Nah, I like it. Way better than that yoga bullshit you were playing yesterday.” There’d been a lot of ohms the day before, and though Chris figured the songs were supposed to be relaxing, he’d found them downright repetitive. Peter’s snarky laugh carried through the wall. “I’ll try to remember that.” For some reason, he and Peter spoke more through the wall than they did on campus. If Chris was honest, they rarely talked at all outside their respective caves. They didn’t have any classes together or any real reason to hang out otherwise, but Chris had grown used to the easy banter they shared when the two of them were home. “My ex-boyfriend used to like to fuck to it.” Chris looked up from his book, blinking at the unobtrusive wall behind his bookcase. He ran through Peter’s words, replaying them

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one by one in his mind. Then he cleared his throat, knowing that Peter must have been waiting for a response. But it was hard to form sound because his mouth had gone suddenly dry. “Oh” was all he could manage. Peter must have heard judgment there, because he rushed to say, “Well, make out mostly, I guess. Fuck is more a figure of speech.” Whatever clarification Peter must have been trying to give only confused Chris more. His mind reeled, wondering what Peter had meant, whether Peter was the one who was fucking his boyfriend or if his boyfriend had been fucking him, and why—if they’d been going out—they would have been “making out” instead of fucking. Maybe Peter and his ex hadn’t gone all the way. Chris wasn’t even sure what “all the way” meant between two guys, and the thought made him feel uncomfortable, nervous, and intrigued all at once. Struggling to get the conversation to a place where Chris didn’t feel so lost, he said, “Yeah, we all knew Don was getting laid whenever ‘Stairway to Heaven’ was blasting in the hallway.” Peter laughed. “‘Stairway to Heaven’?” Chris joined in the chuckling, glad they’d moved past that awkward moment of tension. “He thought it made him seem classy.” A snicker carried through the wall. Then Peter started singing in a melodramatic tone, “And she’s bu-uy-ing a sta-air-way…” Chris thought he had a nice singing voice, though he was obviously hamming it up. “Hey, keep it down in there.” Chris stomped across the room and pounded on the wall. “Some of us are trying to study.” He was grinning at Peter’s antics, but Chris really did need to get back to work. That, and his body was reacting to the conversation, his dick plumping in his jeans. Chris knew it was just a Pavlovian reaction—from hearing a song he associated with heavy breathing—but it made him feel uncomfortable to be erect with Peter listening.

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Of course, he’d gotten hard around Peter before, in the tent that one time—but that was different. Every guy got morning wood. It didn’t mean anything that Chris had woken with a boner that morning while camping. And the fact that he’d been rubbing said boner against Peter’s hip? Well…Chris hadn’t been awake enough to know what he’d been doing. Heavy breathing carried through the wall, Peter obviously bent on torturing Chris with the joke. Peter’s voice was screwed up in mock ecstasy when he said, “Sorry dude, just give me…one…more…second…” Chris winced, trying to get a hold over his body’s reaction. Unable to resist, he pressed his palm over the length of his cock through his pants. He was embarrassed as hell. Not so much because he was getting firm over a guy’s voice—he’d had that tons of times when Don or Sanchez brought girls home. No, the reason why Chris’s cheeks felt so hot was that Peter was fucking with him—pretending to be getting off and acting like it was a funny-as-hell joke. “Shut the fuck up, man.” He meant it to sound as light and teasing as the rest of their conversation, but it came out angry. Peter went instantly silent. Chris stayed where he was standing by the wall, his hand still resting, open palmed, at the level of his face. It would have been lower than Peter’s face, since he was taller than Chris, maybe more at the level of Peter’s throat. “Dude, sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out.” Peter’s words were slow and quiet, without the cynicism Chris had gotten used to from the New Yorker. “Nah, I’m cool. Just have to hit the books, y’know.” Chris plopped down on his bed, creaking the rusty springs extra loud so Peter would know he was serious. Then he slapped closed one book and loudly opened another to underline his point.

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“No worries,” Peter said through the wall. “I’ll try to keep it down.” His tone was unreadable, and Chris wondered if his friend was annoyed or embarrassed or what. For a second, Chris worried Peter might make fun of him with his gay friends, going on about how he’d scared the straight boy next door. But he pushed the thought out of his mind. Peter was a good guy. At least that’s what Chris liked to think. “Thanks, man.” Chris settled in to study, getting engrossed so quickly in his work that he barely noticed when Peter shut off the Indian music and changed the song. That was, until he heard the melancholy twang of a familiar guitar riff carry through the wall as “Stairway to Heaven” started playing. “Asshole,” he called next door. Peter’s wicked chuckle was the only thing he heard before Robert Plant crooned, “There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold…” And though Chris hated that fucking song—it reminded him of his classic-rock-listening town and the old-fashioned bullies—he got stiff enough not to care that his neighbor was laughing. **** “He’s cute. Sure you’re not interested?” Nathaniel leaned on the drink table at the Eta Omega Xi party and cast a meaningful look at a sophomore standing under the strung-up disco light. The member of the gay fraternity was hugely built, though he blushed and grinned when he saw Nathaniel and Peter looking his way. “Nah.” Peter turned back to the drink-covered table, pouring himself another glass of brutally spiked punch. He’d never been happier to have turned twenty-one in February. When he lifted his cup for a sip, he saw Nathaniel’s green eyes staring at him with a mixture of pity and exasperation.

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“Honey, you have got to stop obsessing about your straight-man crush. It’s getting embarrassing.” Nathaniel wrapped his long, dark fingers around his hip and struck his patented diva pose. He was good looking with brown skin and green eyes, and a lot of guys hooked up with Nathaniel just because he stood out. Peter, on the other hand, looked like every other tall, skinny, Jewish queer on campus. He got his fair share of attention, but he wasn’t anything special. “If it’s Chris you’re talking about, you’re deluded. He’s not even my type.” Of course, Peter was lying through his teeth. Chris sported blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American looks and a body like an underwear model. Peter had seen it enough, too, coming and going from the bathroom. Every time he saw Chris in a towel, Peter sprung wood so fast he practically ran to his room to beat off. “Uh-huh…” Nathaniel lifted one expertly waxed eyebrow. “Be in denial all you want, girl.” He waved to a guy across the room, an older guy wearing a sport coat and designer jeans. Peter had seen the guy around campus but couldn’t remember his name. He did recall Sport Coat had studied abroad between junior and senior years, and maybe that was the reason the guy seemed mature and sure of himself in a way that Peter and his friend couldn’t begin to replicate. “Hey, Nathaniel. How you doing?” Sport Coat had a kind look to him, and Peter couldn’t help but think that Nathaniel might be wise to hang out with the guy. “Fantastic, Greg!” Nathaniel said with way too much drama and a hand flutter that made Peter want to close his eyes and plug his ears until this whole evening disappeared. “I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Peter.” Peter wondered if his blush would show up in the dim light of the party. He was olive skinned enough that he didn’t go red like some guys, but he hated that he might look like an idiot in front of Greg.

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“Hey, nice to meet you.” Unsure whether he should hold out a hand for the guy to shake, Peter settled for raising his palm in hello. “Hey.” Greg nodded. He looked Peter over, though it was hard to tell if he was attracted or if he studied all the guys he met like he was considering whether to blow them in the bathrooms. Nathaniel’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Then Peter’s best friend abandoned him with Greg. “Um…” He shrugged under Greg’s intent gaze. “Sorry about Nathaniel, he’s a little…” “Enthusiastic?” Greg offered. Peter smirked. “Yeah. A little.” He loved his friend. He and Nathaniel had been close ever since they’d met at the first Queer Student Council meeting back in their freshman year. But the overthe-top gayness he’d found so attractive when he’d first met Nathaniel sometimes wore him thin. “He means well.” Greg took a sip of his beer. His eyes flickered across the room where Nathaniel was dancing. “How about you? You seem pretty ready to call it a night.” A hint of nerves shot through Peter since he didn’t exactly want to reject the older guy outright. “Um…Well, I’m pretty tired.” Greg smiled, but he hid it quickly behind his plastic cup. “I wasn’t asking you to bed.” That flash of kindness was there again, and understanding, too. “Oh.” Peter set down his drink, embarrassed. “Want a walk home?” Greg tilted his head in a sympathetic expression. He was exactly the type of guy Peter wanted to be in a few years—cool, collected. Without thinking, Peter blurted out the thing that was really on his mind. “Did you always know you were gay?” The second after he said it, Peter wished he hadn’t asked. He didn’t even know the guy. But the question was out there, so Peter resigned himself to pretending to be too drunk to have known better.

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“Well, I guess that depends on what you mean,” Greg said thoughtfully. He didn’t seem to have noticed the non sequitur, or if he did, he was nice enough to ignore it. “If I look back I can see that I was always gay. But I didn’t admit it to myself for a long time. Not until after I came to college.” “Huh.” Peter felt better now that Greg was talking. It was like any conversation at a party—albeit more personal. “I’ve always known.” “It’s that way for some guys.” Greg frowned. He seemed to consider what to say next very carefully. “But not everyone is like that. Some guys don’t even figure it out until they’re older—like thirty or forty.” Something in his voice shifted. “You can’t expect everyone to have it figured out.” Emotion welled up in Peter’s chest, and he hated it because he couldn’t tell if the feeling was hope or fear. He didn’t want to have a crush on Chris. He hadn’t wanted it when they were placed in a tent together on that damn camping trip, and he definitely didn’t want it now that they were practically roommates. Peter wanted a boyfriend who knew what he was—knew who he was. But as he stood next to Greg—so sure of himself and centered— Peter realized he couldn’t handle dating an actual grown-up, either. “Well that sucks,” he mumbled. “Yeah. You couldn’t pay me enough to go back to the year I figured it out.” Greg shook his head. He patted Peter on the arm in a move so platonic he could have been straight. Suddenly, Peter could picture it perfectly—Greg acting hetero and hanging out with the types of guys Chris did, maybe being a sports hero. It wasn’t a stretch at all. “Thanks.” Peter knew that color was flooding his cheeks. “Y’know, I think I will head out. Tell Nathaniel I left?” When Greg nodded a good-bye, Peter pulled open the door and strode out into the nighttime campus. It only took five minutes to get back to Cooper Hall, and Peter hurried up the stairs and to his room. Before he could listen for whether Chris was home or awake, he

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turned on the music queued up in his stereo and skinned off his clothes. He couldn’t think about whether Chris was gay or not. He was sick of thinking about it, obsessing over it. Not stressing over whether Chris could hear—after all, the guy was probably still out at a party with his soccer buddies—Peter slipped into his bed and flipped open his laptop. He typed furiously to load up his favorite porn video. Sure, all the guys in it were all-American and straight looking, but Peter didn’t care. He wasn’t going to fucking analyze his porn collection because of Chris fucking Fischer. His cock bobbed then fell hot and hard in his hand. He stroked from the furry patch of hair at his groin to the damp tip, groaning at the feel and thrusting up into his sheet. On screen, men were kissing, fondling each others’ nipples, and stroking between each others’ legs. As Peter reached for the hand cream by the side of his bed, he thought to himself that this was just what he needed—a night without Chris’s quiet whispers or Nathaniel’s loud proclamations, a night with his hand and his fantasies, where at least Peter knew where things stood. **** Chris blinked open his eyes, wondering for a second what had woken him up. But then a creak of bedsprings carried through the wall from Peter’s room. The music was on, too. Nothing loud—just the kind of quiet trance music Peter played at night that acted more like white noise than anything else. He was just about to open his mouth to say “hi” when he heard a low and guttural male groan. Chris’s entire body tensed—all the way from his toes, over the tip of his cock, to where his nipples rubbed against his frayed flannel sheets. He’d been sleeping on his stomach, and he feared rolling over and letting Peter and whatever guy he’d brought home realize Chris was awake.

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Another moan carried through the wall, followed by a growled, “Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” Chris couldn’t tell if it was the same guy who’d moaned or if it was Peter talking. He’d never heard Peter sound like that—rough and low and horny. But Chris supposed that was what Peter might sound like if he was… Chris’s mind went blank. Getting fucked in the ass? Fucking someone in the ass? His brain had no images to connect to those concepts, though he’d heard guys snicker about it behind their hands. A quiet moan and the words “suck it” carried through the wall, followed by a rapid-fire squeaking like Peter’s bed was bouncing off its hinges. Chris bit his lip to stop from moaning himself. His dick was a steel pipe trapped between his belly and the mattress. He fed his hand down, conscious of the whisper of his knuckles through his sheets. When he palmed his erection, he pressed hard enough to see stars. The groans from Peter’s room rose, getting more desperate, but they were slow and languorous. It didn’t match the near-constant jerking noise of Peter’s bed, so it was hard for Chris to picture exactly what was going on. He’d only had sex a couple times, but it seemed that the moans usually matched tempo with the thrusting. Another noise, louder and more breathless, carried from the other room, and this time it was unmistakably Peter. Oh God. Was he with two guys? Chris wanted the wall to become see-through. He wanted to peek through Peter’s keyhole and see every last detail, every openmouthed moan and twitching muscle. He wanted to watch Peter’s eyes screw up in pleasure and see how his body bowed when he was about to come. He strained his hips into his hand, struggling to keep the bed from shaking, the springs from rattling. The constant squeak-squeak-squeak of Peter’s bed was loud enough that Chris thought maybe he could risk moving. He pressed his cock through his cupped fist, so slowly his eyes rolled back in his head. Holding his breath, he pulled back, but the loss of pressure was enough to squeeze his nuts in a vise, and

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he speared into that palm again, not caring when the frame beneath him groaned. “Fuck.” He couldn’t resist another pump. Just one more and he might be able to come. Tucking his hips up off the mattress, he propped up on his elbow. Then, when a gasp from next door was so loud and desperate that Chris thought he might pass out from not shooting, Chris pumped his cock through his hand so fast that his bed let out a long squeal. But Chris didn’t care because he was thrusting hot and fast into that tight grip, and he imagined Peter shaking below him. Next door, Peter’s bed was bouncing to the jerk of his hips and it was so good Chris felt blind with the pleasure. His balls twisted close to his body, sending spears of heat up his back. Chris arched into his fist and felt his cock pulse right before he shot, wet and sloppy, onto his sheets. He froze and held his body off the bed. Chris listened hard for whether Peter or one of his friends had heard, but the room next door had gone curiously quiet. Chris panted, trying to slow his breathing. There was no way he could pretend to be asleep any longer. He couldn’t get out of bed without the men next door hearing, and no matter how embarrassed he was, Chris wasn’t going to sleep in a puddle of cum. In a decisive move, Chris bounded up off the bed. He made more noise than necessary opening his door to go to the bathroom. Then he made sure to be extra loud as he laid his spare towel over the wet spot on his sheets. He’d have to wash them the next day, since he only had one set. By the time Chris lay on his back staring at the dark ceiling, the music in Peter’s room had gotten louder. There weren’t any sex noises anymore, and Chris felt a little bad for interrupting. But more than that, he felt annoyed. He wanted to talk to Peter. Not about what had just happened—hell, Chris wasn’t even sure what had just happened. But at the end of most days, he and Peter joked around and unloaded before they fell asleep. It occurred to Chris that neither Peter

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nor he had brought anyone home or spent the night in anyone else’s room since he’d moved into the dorm. He hoped Peter wasn’t going to make a habit out of bringing guys home, because Chris didn’t want to lose those nighttime talks. He rolled onto his side and glared at the wall, trying to picture what hot, buff, gay guy had managed to get into Peter’s pants. He hoped that the guy wasn’t an asshole. Chris would have to kick the guy’s ass if that was the case. Chris waited for the sound of a door opening. He wanted to know the second the guy or guys left. He’d be able to talk to Peter afterwards, and Chris couldn’t imagine that Peter’s hookup was planning to spend the entire night. But as the minutes crept forward, Chris was forced to consider that maybe Peter’s lover was sleeping over. He’d have to see the guy in the hall in the morning and pretend he didn’t care. Chris was surprised to find how annoyed he was that this nameless, faceless stranger might get to have Peter in the dark hours at night and might steal Peter away.

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Chapter Three Chris spent more time in the bathroom than he strictly needed the next morning. He lingered over shaving, washed very thoroughly in the shower. Spent an unnecessary amount of time reading on the john. It wasn’t like anyone else needed the room. The guy across the hall spent every night at his girlfriend’s place, and the only other person on their side of the hall was a girl. But when Peter came stumbling, bleary-eyed, into the washroom around eleven, he was alone. “G’Morning,” he muttered, bending over the sink for a drink of water. He filled his cupped palm with about fifteen swallows before he stood up and swiped his hand across his wet mouth. “Not hungover at all.” His lips curled into as close to a smile as Chris had seen Peter muster in the morning. “Got lucky, I guess.” His easy chuckle made Chris tense with annoyance. “Yeah, I heard.” Chris sounded pissier than he’d intended. It wasn’t like Peter’s late-night activities had been loud enough to keep Chris awake. He shook his head. “Dude, sorry.” Chris didn’t know what had gotten into him, but when he checked Peter’s expression, wondering whether the other guy was mad, he noticed that Peter’s cheeks were ruddy. Peter let the flop of his hair cover his eyes. “Oh my God.” He seemed to be mortified for a second, and Chris could imagine another version of Peter—nervous and skinny and maybe a few years younger. “No. I didn’t have anyone over last night.” Chris wondered what Peter meant. He could have been whacking it alone, but there really had sounded like more people. Then the

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realization of what Peter had been doing hit Chris in a blinding flash. His own cheeks flushing more than Peter’s, he whispered, “Porn?” He didn’t know why he was surprised. After all, Chris’s old roommates had spent half their waking hours watching the stuff. It’s just that Chris never really understood what the guys saw in it. He never knew what he was supposed to be looking at and usually felt more sorry for the girls than turned on. “Yeah, porn.” Peter rolled his eyes. His lip quirked up into a little smile and he let out a laugh curiously like a giggle. “Sorry about that. I’ll wear my earbuds next time.” Chris could tell he wasn’t going to stay embarrassed, which was nice. It wasn’t like Chris hadn’t gotten turned on by hearing it, too. It was only natural. “Nah. Don’t worry about it.” Chris adopted his most laid-back manner. “At least there weren’t any of those screechy, fake girl-gasms.” He reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste and readied to leave the bathroom. But when Chris nodded good-bye to Peter, the guy was standing there with his mouth open as if he was confused. “Girl-gasms?” Peter cocked his head. “Yeah.” Chris shrugged. He’d never really talked about porn with the guys in his old room, but for some reason he felt like with Peter he didn’t have to worry about sounding like a freak. “You gotta admit, it sounds pretty fake when chicks in pornos start making all those noises.” Chris shuddered, adding a bit of drama for effect. Peter blinked. His forehead puckered in a moment of thought. “Yeah, completely gross.” Chris wasn’t sure what the look had been for, but Peter didn’t seem annoyed or mad or anything, so he started for the door. “Hey, you want to go grab some breakfast? I was thinking of venturing off campus.” There was something odd to his voice, but Chris figured it was just Peter being tired. “Sure. That would be cool.” Chris stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall, blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. He’d been in the dark bathroom too long.

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It only took a few minutes to throw on some clothes, and Peter was ready a few minutes after. Chris would have thought Peter might take longer, like he had some special creams or face treatments to apply, but by the time Peter knocked on Chris’s door, he was just as scruffy as he had been in the bathroom, just with wetter hair and a fresh set of clothes. “You ready?” Peter kept his distance from Chris’s door, as if it made him uncomfortable to look inside. “Sure.” Chris slipped his wallet in his back pocket. He thought about inviting Peter in and showing him around. But really, there was nothing except a bed and the bookshelves. Chris didn’t even have a TV. “Are we walking, or do you have a car?” He stepped into the hallway. It was empty, but Chris felt a thrill of nerves as he realized this was the first time he and Peter were out together. Well, outside their rooms or the bathroom. “I have a car for now. I figure I should use it before my younger sister turns eighteen.” Peter opened the door to the staircase and led the way down to the ground floor. He seemed like he was hurrying, though Chris had no idea why he would. “She gets the car then?” Though it was almost April, the weather in Vermont was still cold in the morning. Chris pulled his jacket up around his shoulders as he kept pace. Peter slowed as they crossed the street separating the campus from the system of roads beyond. There wasn’t any student parking near the dorms except for the lot reserved for seniors. Other students with cars had to park blocks away on neighborhood side streets. “Yep.” Peter smiled. There was something else in his expression, a bit of a wink. If Chris didn’t know better, he might have thought Peter was flirting. Of course that couldn’t be the case, considering Chris wasn’t gay. “It’s stupid for me to keep the beast here, with how much I pay in gas and parking tickets. But I’ll only have her for a few more months, so I can’t bear to give her up.” Peter stopped in front of an aging

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European car. The chrome finish was cracking off the details, but it had leather seats and had probably been top of the line when it was new. Peter opened his door and then leaned across the front seat to flip the lock for Chris. When Chris settled on the passenger side, Peter rolled his eyes as if he were embarrassed. “The power locks haven’t worked in a while, sorry.” Chris smiled. It was still an exotic adventure being in college. He’d never been in a BMW before, older model or not, and he grinned to think that Peter thought he’d care about the car’s features. “No worries. At least you have a car.” Chris didn’t mind being stuck on campus most of the time. The place was bigger than Chris’s hometown and had tons more going on. He never understood some of his friends’ desire to drive south to Boston or north to Montreal. “Yeah, finally.” Peter pulled out of the parking spot. How he’d managed to parallel park in such a narrow space, Chris couldn’t guess. When Peter got to the intersection where the smaller road led to a larger one, he flicked his turn signal even though there was no one else around. He took the curve before shooting Chris a grin. “Sucks not being able to get a license until eighteen in New York.” With a sly jut of his jaw he said, “You boys are probably driving at twelve down in South Carolina.” Peter imitated Chris’s accent— badly. Snorting out a laugh, Chris said, “It’s Tennessee, asshole.” It was funny as hell how Peter did those stupid imitations. Some of them were dead-on, but others were just dorky. “And yeah, I got my permit at fifteen, but I’ve never had a car.” He thought about his dad’s old pickup and how it only worked half the time. Chris had walked or hitched a ride to high school more often than not. And he’d bussed it to the community college three towns over. “Oh, sorry. Tennessee.” Peter snickered, obviously winding up to tease Chris some more. His lip quivered, as if Peter might have been trying to stop his smart mouth from saying the next thing on his mind.

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His eyes sparkled with laughter before “’Cuz that’s so different from South Carolina” bubbled out. “Dick.” Chris hit Peter’s arm in a mock punch. He couldn’t stop smiling. Peter put his opposite hand on the wheel so he could rub his arm, pretending to be hurt. “Wow. Pretty rough there, Tex.” “Texas is nowhere near Tennessee!” Chris tilted his head back, pretending to be indignant though he could hardly stop himself from laughing. “Fucking New Yorkers, thinking the world ends in New Jersey.” They razzed each other the rest of the car ride, with mock slugs devolving into tickling by the time Peter pulled into the diner. It was one of those places that had every kind of breakfast food, along with—for some reason—Greek and Italian. Chris had been there once before, when the coach took them out to eat after winning regionals. “This okay, Tex?” Apparently, Peter wasn’t going to let the nickname drop, even though it was wholly inappropriate. “Yeah. They have great pancakes.” He followed Peter up the stairs and into the diner. The place was organized into a series of booths all with red, plastic cushions and metal finish wrapped around the tables. The hostess gestured them toward the back, where Chris could tell there were a few other customers. As he rounded a dessert case, his stomach plunged. Over the edge of the booths, Chris could make out the heads and faces of part of his soccer team. His old roommates, Don and Sanchez, were sitting with Romero and a few of the other guys. He didn’t know if they’d been out all night or had woken up for breakfast, but the former seemed more likely. Unfortunately, if they’d been partying until morning, they were probably still drunk. Chris caught Peter’s arm. “Hey, you wanna go somewhere else?” He only had time to see Peter tip his head in confusion before he saw a figure rising from the booth beyond Peter’s shoulder.

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Romero blinked at the two of them, his eyes bloodshot. “’Ey!” He lifted a finger to point Chris’s way, and Chris wished he could melt into a puddle on the floor. “’Ey, Fischer! Who’s your friend there?” Peter tensed, his back still to Romero. Chris watched as fear, then anger, and then a cold resignation flashed in Peter’s eyes. For a second, Chris wondered if Peter was going to strut right up to Romero’s table and be loud and obnoxious until he shamed Romero into silence. However, Peter held his ground. He focused his gaze on Chris. “Do you want to leave?” Chris didn’t know. His gut twisted at the thought of turning tail and leaving. He’d never fucking live it down at soccer practice. But he didn’t want to cause a scene, either. He looked at Peter sympathetically. “Do you mind staying?” Peter flipped back his hair. “They’re your friends. I don’t care.” His voice had gone cold, and the way he tilted his chin was an obvious I-don’t-give-a-fuck act. But Chris didn’t mind—whatever Peter had to do to protect himself was cool with Chris. He looked over Peter’s shoulder and waved. “Hey, guys.” He wasn’t sure if he should touch Peter’s arm or not to urge him forward, but Peter seemed to get the hint regardless and followed at Chris’s side. “Late night, huh?” Chris nodded at the table. “See you guys at practice later.” He tried not to stop at their table, but Don stood up as best he could in the awkward booth. He held out his hand for Chris to slap. “Hey, man. How’ve you been?” Chris didn’t want to blow off his friend, so he paused, clasping his hand. “I’ve been good. Just busy.” He felt weird, having Peter standing there silent, so he added, “Um…this is Peter Cohen. He lives next door to me. Over in Cooper.” The table of soccer players studied Peter with obvious suspicion, and Chris had a sudden urge to turn around and look at Peter right

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along with them. Did Peter look gay to the casual observer? Chris had gotten used to Peter’s hair and slightly more-fashionable-than-mostguys clothes. And since he was way less flamboyant than Nathaniel, who was always around the hall, Chris had started to think of Peter as pretty much normal. “Uh, yeah. We know,” Romero said with a look of disgust on his face. Don’s expression was unreadable, but a couple of the other guys at the table were snickering into their fists. Heat climbed Chris’s face, and he said a hurried good-bye before crossing the few steps to their booth. Peter slid into his bench ahead of Chris. When they were seated, Peter slumped down far enough that his head was below the wall. “Well, that went swimmingly,” Peter said with his usual sarcasm. Chris wasn’t sure how to feel about what had just happened. Other than Romero, most of the guys on the team were pretty openminded—or so Chris thought. After all, Holsum was a liberal school. Why would anyone go there if they weren’t comfortable with alternative lifestyles? “Sorry about that.” Chris let out a long exhale, trying for a calm he didn’t feel. In his head, he imagined that sexy Indian music Peter liked to play when he was studying. He opened his menu and decided to pretend that they were back in their dorm rooms. “Romero can be a jerk.” He said it quietly enough that the guys a few tables over wouldn’t hear. “Meh, there’s one in every crowd.” Peter tossed his hair out of his eyes. The waitress arrived and poured coffee into their cups. Fortified by caffeine, Chris tried to strike up conversation. But it seemed like every time Peter relaxed enough to get talking, a word or phrase carried from the soccer team’s table. “…fucking…” “…douche bag…” “…queer…”

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Chris couldn’t tell what they were talking about. It could have been anything. But it was hard, after the look Romero had given him and Peter, not to feel like the topic of conversation was Chris and his new “gay” friend. He pinched his eyes closed, wishing he could better ignore them, and Chris said, “They’re not normally such assholes.” He wanted to reach across the table and touch Peter’s hand. He missed being in the car, where he could sock the guy in the arm or maybe give him a little wrestle—anything to get that pinched look off Peter’s face. “It’s just Romero is a senior and the guys go along, trying to show off.” That was the best Chris could explain it. He knew Don wasn’t homophobic. Don had grown up near San Francisco and gone to the Pride Parade once with his gay uncle. “Doesn’t bother me.” Peter fussed with his silverware, his eyes empty. Part of him had shut down, and his face was so blank it was like he’d gone dead inside. Chris wanted to fucking kill the guys. “You sure you don’t want to leave?” Their food arrived and Peter set to eating with a studious efficiency. Between bites, he said, “Nah.” His gaze flickered in a heartbreaking flash of pain. “They’ll leave soon, and I don’t want to have to walk past them again.” “Okay.” Chris understood what it had cost Peter to say that out loud. He kept his face calm and steady, not letting his own annoyance add to Peter’s discomfort. “Um…How’re the eggs?” Peter gave a halfhearted answer, but he never did seem to shrug off his bad mood. **** It was late when Peter heard Chris come home the following Thursday. Peter listened to the sound of Chris stomping around next

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door but couldn’t figure out if Chris was trying to be loud for some reason or if he was drunk. “Hey, Chris.” Peter had been going out of his way to be extra friendly ever since their unfortunate date. Of course, it hadn’t really been a date—Peter had been completely delusional thinking that it was. But regardless, their first attempt to interact outside of their connected room had been a disaster, and Peter had been trying ever since to feel back on his footing. “Heya, Pete!” The volume and cadence of Chris’s voice told Peter that he indeed was drunk. “Have a good night?” Peter looked down at his chemistry textbook, open on his bed. He cursed the professor who had set the midterm for Friday. Most classes’ midterms had been earlier in the week, and the entire campus seemed to have started their posttest celebrations early. “Just cramming for the test tomorrow.” “Aw, man. Forgot about that. Sucks you still have one left.” “Yeah.” Peter closed the book and set it aside. His vision had gone blurry from hours of staring at diagrams. “You should blow off some steam,” Chris said through the wall. His voice was different—quieter and more tentative. Peter wasn’t sure what he meant, so he just answered, “Yeah, I’ve got a couple parties lined up for tomorrow night.” From next door, Peter heard some moving around and then the sound of Chris’s door opening. Still, Chris’s knock startled him and Peter looked up. “Yeah? Come on in.” He knew it was Chris, but that didn’t stop Peter from feeling lightheaded when he saw the other boy in his doorway. A red blush striped Chris’s cheeks, but Peter couldn’t tell if it was from the cold outside or if he was embarrassed. His blond hair seemed to sparkle under the hallway lights. “Can I come in?” Peter blinked. “Uh, sure.” He piled his books and papers onto the floor and shuffled to the far end of the bed. The only other place to sit

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was a chair, and Peter’s pulse raced as he wondered whether Chris would chose the seat or flop down on his mattress. He almost swallowed his tongue when Chris did the latter, bouncing like a happy Labrador onto Peter’s bed. Peter could smell the beer and sweat on him and under that, the rich, masculine scent Chris always left behind in the showers. “So, you wanna watch porn tonight?” Chris gestured over to Peter’s laptop sitting on his shelf. He stretched out, leaning back on Peter’s throw pillows as if he hadn’t just suggested something insane. “Um…” Peter wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in case he was somehow misinterpreting Chris’s suggestion. “Really?” “Man, you should see your face.” Chris slapped his arm in that mock-fighting way he had in the car. He looked at Peter with his big, blue eyes—all innocence and temptation. “C’mon, it’s no big deal.” Peter tried to cover his panic with a snicker. “It’s not every day someone asks me on a porn date.” He hoped Chris was too wasted to hear his voice tremble. Ever since Chris’s birthday a couple weeks back, his soccer buddies had been pushing him to drink past his limit. Normally, it pissed Peter off, but that night he was grateful Chris probably wouldn’t remember. “I should have bought you a corsage.” “Dumbass.” Chris socked him in the arm again, though this time it was less of a slap and more of a stroke. He smiled in that goodnatured, country-boy way of his. “I used to watch it with my old roommates all the time.” Peter smirked. “How very heterosexual of you.” Chris ignored his snide remark and used his bare foot to point at the laptop, as if he was too lazy to get out of Peter’s bed. “Load it up, man. I want to be shocked and awed.” “Fine.” Peter stood just far enough to reach for his computer. He tried to distance himself emotionally from what was going on, even though his cock was already hard and his skin felt so tingly he worried he’d climb onto Chris’s lap.

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“So, do you have a favorite site or something?” Chris curled up to cross-legged, his eyes intent on the screen. He bit his nail, looking sexy as hell—excited and curious. God. Peter thought he was going to burst into flames. He wished he were drunk, too. Then he’d have an excuse to lean in and kiss Chris’s damp, pink lips. Peter could touch him, maybe fondle him, or offer a blow job. And if Chris turned him down, he could blame it on the alcohol the next day. But unfortunately, Peter was stone-cold sober and too much of a chicken anyway. “Yeah, there are a few I like.” He tried to sound nonchalant, though his hand shook as he struggled to use the touch screen. “Some can be pretty gross.” He opened a site that he thought wouldn’t freak Chris out too badly. The guys were clean-cut and young. The lighting was good. Everyone used condoms. “So, um…What do you wanna watch?” Peter couldn’t look at Chris as he waited for the answer. He kept his eyes glued to the screen as if the thumbnail pictures were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen. But he listened with every fiber of his being for what Chris would reply. “Uh…what do you mean?” Confused, Peter turned his head to find Chris only inches from his face. Chris was looking at the computer, his body lined up with Peter’s but not touching. And unlike Peter, who had only pretended to be riveted to the screen, Chris was staring at the images with wide eyes like he was terrified and fascinated all at once. The expression broke something in Peter, made his insides go liquid and warm. Swallowing to settle his nerves, he said, “Well, there are vids of guys jerking off, some where two guys are doing blow jobs—” “You mean it’s not all butt fucking?” Chris scanned the page, and when he found what he was looking for, he pointed. “Those guys look like they’re going to.” He’d pointed out a thumbnail where a guy was lying on his back, spreading his legs. Peter scrolled over to enlarge it and saw that the

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guy’s hole looked wet with lube and the man crouched between his legs was rolling on a condom. Peter’s cock pulsed to desperate life, and his body went from horny to gotta come or I’m gonna die. He dragged a blanket over his hard-on, but he was sure Chris could see the thing waving from his crotch. He hadn’t worn a shirt to bed, and just the feel of Chris’s warmth, so fucking close Peter could taste it, made his muscles feel like he was going to jump out of his skin. “Listen, I gotta go to sleep.” Chris looked at him like Peter had stolen his puppy. “Nah. I wanna watch,” he whined. “I don’t care if you’ve got wood. It’s totally normal when you’re looking at shit like this.” He gestured to the screen with a careless wave. “Oh my God.” Peter fought a wave of hysterical laughter. “So, you’re saying you want to watch two guys fucking?” Peter raised his eyebrows, willing Chris to explain further. He didn’t know what he was expecting—for Chris to admit he was gay? Or questioning? Or curious? But Chris didn’t elaborate. Instead he just nodded in that laid-back way of his and said, “Yeah. Sounds good.” He sat cross-legged, which made his loose T-shirt settle in a puddle on his lap. Peter wondered if Chris was hiding a hard-on, too, but then he realized he was staring at Chris’s crotch, and he forced his eyes back to the screen. “Fine, I’ll play it.” He clicked on the image and waited for the video to download. When the two actors appeared on screen, fully naked and ripped in that porn-star way, Peter found that it wasn’t the action on screen that made him quiver. It was the way Chris moved almost imperceptibly closer. “Not grossing you out?” Peter whispered. The guys on screen were kissing and rubbing each other’s arms and chests. “Nah. Same as any other porno, I guess.” Chris leaned in even farther, and his breath tickled Peter’s ear. His shirt feathered against Peter’s bare back.

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Peter closed his eyes, feeling the desperate tension winging through the air. He was swollen with want and lightheaded from holding his breath. His skin prickled with nervous sweat. He didn’t think he was imagining it was mutual—but he couldn’t tell. He tried once again to control his heartbeat, to chill the fuck out and just watch the damn video, but the guys’ on-screen kisses went deeper, their cocks crushed together, and Peter couldn’t stand it anymore. He shook his head to clear the maelstrom of emotions and turned to Chris. “Dude, I really do have to go to sleep. Midterm’s in five hours.” Chris flushed from his smoothly shaved face down his neck. The crimson shade bled down to the notch of his collarbone showing above his blue, crew-neck shirt. His pupils were wide and his lips damp, and Peter needed him to get the fuck out of his room before Peter kissed him down to the mattress. “Seriously, you’ve gotta leave.” He knew he sounded annoyed, but he didn’t know how else to say it. He needed Chris gone, with his smell and his innocent eyes and his too-good-to-be-true body. “Oh, yeah sorry.” Chris bounded off the bed. His jovial manner from earlier switched to something awkward and apologetic. His shoulders slumped. “Didn’t mean to barge in.” “Er, no worries. I just need to catch some sleep,” Peter said to Chris’s back. “Maybe some other time.” He pinched his mouth closed, not understanding why he’d said that. But apparently, Chris hadn’t thought it weird, because he didn’t bother looking back before he said, “Good luck tomorrow,” and slipped out the door.

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Chapter Four Peter flicked on the stereo, snapped shut his computer, and reached down his pants. He was so hard he couldn’t bring himself to touch the tip right off the bat because it would be too sensitive. Lying back on his bed, he fumbled with the bedside lamp and thrust the room into darkness. Then, tugging on his shaft in quick little jerks, he used his other hand to rifle in his drawer for his moisturizer. He felt pens and condoms but couldn’t locate the bottle onehanded, so reluctantly, he let go of his throbbing pole to squint through the blue darkness into the drawer. He opened it wider, reaching into the backmost depths. Then he heard a gasp. It was so quiet he might have imagined it, so he strained to listen. There was a squeak of a bed frame and then another sound, halfway between a moan and a grunt. Peter knew Chris had made the noise but couldn’t tell if Chris had wanted Peter to hear. Peter spied the bottle lurking behind an old candy bar wrapper and snatched it out of the drawer. Quick as his fingers could work the cap, Peter poured some on his hand and fed his palm down the sheets. When his fingers wrapped around his heated cock, he heard another moan through the wall, and before Peter could squelch the urge, he groaned in response. He arched his back, reveling in the knowledge that Chris was next door touching himself at the same time. Even if Chris hadn’t meant to be heard, even if he was freaked out or disgusted that Peter was making noises, too, at least they were in this together.

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“Fuck yeah…” Chris’s whisper carried through the wall. And Peter couldn’t help answering with an, “Oh God,” as he twisted his crown, smoothing the moisturizer through his pre-cum in a sloppy mess. He wanted to ask Chris what he was feeling, what he liked, but Peter bit his lip. Instead, he whimpered loud enough that he knew Chris had to be hearing. Chris was doing the same, though his sounds were more guttural—growls rather than moans. Peter’s thighs shook and his balls clenched with need, but he gripped his base to stop from coming too soon. It was too good, too quietly intimate. He’d rather be with Chris like this than with any other guy he could think of, even bare and pressed flesh to flesh. “Gonna come…” Chris panted. Peter wished he were brave enough to tell Chris he was coming, too. Instead, he let his whispered chorus of “Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God” explain as Peter sped up his strokes. His hand vibrated over slicked flesh—smearing the sheets with hand cream and dribbling arousal. “Fu-uck…” Chris’s voice was a heart-wrenching, ball-twisting growl that sent Peter spinning into orbit. He clenched his eyes, wanting to feel every pulse of his body, hear the sound of Chris’s pants. Peter dragged his sheets down just in time to shoot long ropes of cum across his chest, the last lash falling hot on his belly. In the moment that followed, their rooms went silent. Peter thanked the lord his stereo was still playing so there was enough background noise for him to mop up without feeling awkward. When he was done and had rearranged his blankets so he wasn’t sleeping in a sticky patch, Peter stared at the wall separating his room from Chris’s. Peter wanted to tell Chris good night. The words were poised on his lips. He could practically taste their sweetness. In a long, painful second, Peter realized he wasn’t going to say it, and his heart shrank in his chest.

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But right when he was turning over to fall asleep, Chris said from next door, “G’night.” Peter inhaled a quick breath, as if he’d caught a butterfly in his hand. But of course Chris had said good night. It was those damned country manners. But that didn’t stop Peter from feeling like dancing. “Good night, Chris.” Peter grinned into his pillow. Though he knew he should sleep, he stared at the wall between them until the morning light turned his room golden. **** His sheets had never felt so good as they did that morning, Chris thought as he twined his legs around the fabric. Man, he hadn’t ever done anything like that before—come with someone else listening. The few times he’d made it with girls, it had been private and a lot more mechanical. Knowing another man—Peter, to be precise—got off on his groans was a sexual thrill Chris had never imagined. He half wanted to jerk off all over again, even if Peter wasn’t awake to hear. But Chris had to pee, so he rolled out of bed and grabbed a towel for the shower. When he reached the door he paused with his fingers on the handle, wondering what he was going to say if Peter was standing outside. Much as he’d had a good time, Chris twitched at the idea of saying something about it out in the open. Through the wall was one thing. It was totally normal to whack off before bed, and he’d overheard his old roommates at it enough that Chris didn’t feel awkward about Peter and him doing it. It’s just that they hadn’t fapped near each other so much as with each other. And though the hair of difference made it a hundred times hotter, it also made it so Chris didn’t understand what came next. A noise came from Peter’s room, the sound of Peter’s bed shifting on the linoleum ground. Chris rushed out his door to get to the bathrooms before Peter had time to drag himself out of bed. He cleared the short stretch of

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hallway, hopped into the stall, and relaxed into relieving his bladder when he heard the bathroom door open. Though he was still peeing, Chris closed his eyes. Then, realizing he might miss the bowl altogether, he snapped his eyes open and shook himself off before tucking into his shorts. “Uh, hey.” It was a chicken move, hiding in the bathroom stall, but Chris wasn’t sure he could bring himself to open the door. “Hey.” The sound of Peter opening the shower curtain echoed off the smooth bathroom walls. A moment later, the water started, filling the room with a dull slapping. “Have a good day.” Chris stepped out of the stall and crossed the room. He didn’t wait for Peter’s reply before he escaped into the relative safety of the hall and stole to his room. When he’d closed the door, he let out a breath of relief, though he didn’t know what he was relieved about. It’s not like Peter was going to razz him about jerking off, since the other guy had been doing it, too. It’s just…the whole thing was too fresh in his mind. He’d liked it. Yeah, Chris didn’t have any trouble admitting he’d liked it a lot. In fact, he could see doing it again sometime. But he had no words to gloss over their late-night session. The best he could do was pretend it hadn’t happened. Chris shucked on his clothes without showering and waited in his room for Peter to leave for his test. Peter didn’t say anything as he shuffled around his room getting dressed, though at one point Chris thought he heard the other boy sigh. The sound was exasperated, but Chris didn’t know if that was because Peter was stressed about his midterm or if it was something to do with Chris’s silence. When Peter had finally opened his door, Chris called out, “Good luck.” The words felt awkward on his tongue and like they weren’t at all what Chris wanted to say. But Peter responded with a halfhearted “Thanks” before shutting his door and leaving.

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The air in the room felt still and stifling, and Chris struggled to get a full breath into his lungs. He couldn’t fucking take things being weird between him and Peter. Chris had already lost his mom that year, and the thought of losing his friend was enough to make panic rise in his throat. He had to make it okay somehow. He figured Peter was cool with what happened—or at least cool enough not to be mad. But Peter would get pissed if Chris acted like a douche. Setting his shoulders back and lifting his chin, Chris stepped out of his room and into the hallway, refusing to hide any longer. The sunshine through the windows felt like it was lighting a whole different world. Chris was secure enough in his sexuality to face things with Peter head-on. Heck, jacking off around another guy didn’t make him gay. But he had to admit he had engaged in a sort-of same-sex encounter. It made him feel…well, he wasn’t quite sure. Sophisticated, maybe? Yeah, he thought as he strode out onto the grounds and made his way toward the cafeteria, he felt cool and adventurous. This was the kind of thing he came to college to do. He had wanted to expand his horizons and try new things, and now he had. It felt right. At the last minute, Chris turned off the path that led to the cafeteria and headed in the direction of the bookstore and café. Normally, he didn’t like eating breakfast there unless he was working. There was always a chance he’d get asked to fill in for someone who’d called in sick. But today he wanted the mellower atmosphere. The bookstore was quiet and nearly empty, though a few other students loitered around the coffee bar, texting into their cell phones and muttering to each other in the hushed tones of the tired and hungover. “I’d like a latte,” he told the barista. In general, Chris only drank drip. He’d been raised to think anything more extravagant than black coffee was both effeminate and elitist. Anyway, he usually didn’t

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want to spend a dollar extra for milk when there was half and half on the counter for free. But today, Chris wanted to treat himself. He wasn’t Chris Fischer, country transplant, anymore. No, he was Chris Fischer, hip young man with his entire future sprawled at his feet. Chris settled onto one of the raised stools that lined the edges of the café. There were newspapers strewn around, and he grabbed one. It was the type of paper that didn’t do serious news, only articles about bands and snarky weekly columns, but that didn’t matter. It had been ages since Chris had read anything for fun. His older brother had always taunted him for being a bookworm as a kid. But over the years, Chris had spent more time on sports and less on books. Of course, he’d always kept his grades up. School was never hard for him, and none of the colleges he’d wanted to graduate from would have accepted anyone with a low GPA no matter how great they were at sports. He flipped through the pages to an article debating the relative merits of the town’s various summer music festivals and lost himself reading. It wasn’t until a familiar voice caught his attention that Chris looked up from his paper. “I may have to blow the professor. No way did I pass that bitch otherwise!” It was Nathaniel, strutting into the café with Peter at his side. Whatever Peter was saying Chris couldn’t hear, since, unlike Nathaniel, Peter didn’t feel the need to say everything as a shout. “Ooh, it’s your roommate!” Nathaniel made a beeline across the room toward where Chris was sitting. Chris tensed, knowing it was the moment of truth. He’d have to suck up his discomfort and talk to Peter in broad daylight, in front of the line of students at the café. But Chris felt up to it. He was a man of the world now, mature and confident. Tossing back hair he didn’t have, Chris raised his hand in greeting. “Hey, Nathaniel. Hey, Peter.” He waited for Peter to approach, maybe strike up a conversation.

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However, Peter just waved from ten feet away. “Hey.” He nodded but then stepped behind the last person in line as if he hardly knew Chris. Nathaniel stopped his advance midstep and looked at Chris with confusion etched on his face. “Yeah, um…Nice seeing you, Chris.” He hesitated before following Peter to the coffee line. Chris felt heat rising in his face, but he buried it by staring blankly at his paper and then taking a flavorless sip of coffee. The milk had cooled, and Chris wasn’t thirsty anymore anyway. So he tossed out what was left of his drink and left before Peter had a chance to ignore him again. **** Nathaniel bounced as he talked, the half-foot shorter guy trying to reach Peter’s ear. “Girl, why you dissing that cute straight boy?” The line jostled, knocking them closer. Nathaniel managed to get in a quick grope, but Peter pressed his hand away. “Firstly, stop saying girl. It’s insulting.” Nathaniel waved his hand. “Oh please, I’m reappropriating that shit.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He paused to give the barista his order. When he and Nathaniel waited for their drinks, he said, “Also, Chris and I aren’t really friends. I don’t have to talk to him every time I see him like some pathetic groupie with a crush.” The look on Nathaniel’s face was so disbelieving that Peter wanted to elaborate, defending himself against accusations Nathaniel hadn’t even made. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Nathaniel grabbed his coffee off the counter and went to the topping bar to add his usual three packets of artificial sweetener. “But that boy is fine. You should be nicer to him.”

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“First you get on my case because I might like him, and now you’re being queen-y because I don’t.” Nathaniel cocked his eyebrow. “Queen-y? Now who’s internalized hetero-normative behavioral expectations?” Peter felt his lip quirk into a rueful smile. “Would you please stop quoting Gender Studies 305 to me?” He strode past Nathaniel and toward the door of the café, too irritated to sit to drink his coffee. The weather outside was crisp and sunny and almost nice enough to lift Peter’s crummy, sleep-deprived mood. “Hey.” Nathaniel rushed to catch up. “I didn’t mean to piss you off. Whatever. You don’t have to be nice to him. I can understand why it would be weird living next door to someone so hot, but so obviously—” “He’s not that straight,” Peter said without meaning to. Nathaniel grabbed his arm, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. “Oh my God, oh my God, he’s not?” Nathaniel waited, looking like he was holding his breath. Clearly, he was way too excited and in need of his own drama. “I didn’t say he wasn’t straight. Just…” Peter clenched his jaw, knowing how ridiculous he sounded. “Maybe he’s not as straight as he seems.” He waited for his friend to go all hyperpuppy again, but instead Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “And you know this how?” Peter sped up his strides so Nathaniel wouldn’t see him stammer. He had no fucking desire to tell his friend about what had happened the night before. Hell, he didn’t even know what had happened. For all Peter knew, the whole thing could have been his imagination and Chris hadn’t been talking to him at all when he made those noises, when he said “fuck” like his spine was being ripped out as he came. A moment of abject fear hit that maybe Chris had been wearing earbuds while he was masturbating and hadn’t been listening to Peter at all.

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If that was the case, Peter thought he might throw up. “Hey, I need to…” He racked his brain for something he could claim to have to do that would throw Nathaniel off his trail. “I have to do laundry.” “Oh.” Nathaniel stopped short. He lived on a floor with its own washer and dryer, and there was nothing Nathaniel hated more than trekking to the basement to hang with Peter while he washed clothes. Already, Nathaniel peered around the campus grounds as if he might find someone to save him from the drudgery. “No worries. I can entertain myself for a few hours.” It wasn’t hard after that to shrug off his friend, and Peter spent the rest of his day vacillating between anger at Chris for being weird in the bathrooms that morning, fear that Chris hadn’t really been whacking off with him at all, and guilt over not being nicer at the café. He flipped through the emotions with ever-increasing speed so that by the time it was night and Peter had made a token appearance at the party Nathaniel had demanded he attend, he was exhausted. He dragged himself back to his dorm room, and though it was only midnight, Peter felt like he had been awake for days. It didn’t help that he hadn’t really slept the night before. Peter lay in bed, staring at his ceiling. He willed sleep to carry him off before Chris came back from his jock party and drove him even crazier. However, the stars were aligned against him. When Peter was just starting to doze off he heard the clack of Chris’s door opening and the unmistakable sound of Chris tromping across his room. “Hey, you awake?” Chris asked. “Sure, what’s up?” Peter hoped Chris didn’t hear how he was trying to sound casual. Chris shuffled around his room before answering. Then his bed creaked as he sat down. “Are you pissed at me?” Peter thought about it. “No.” He was going to say Why would you ask? but that would’ve been stupid. Chris might have been in wicked denial about his orientation, but overall he was a pretty smart guy. “No, I was just wiped out from my test this morning.” It was so easy

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to lie through the wall. Almost as easy as it was to slip into their regular banter. “Oh yeah, how’d the test go?” Chris asked, returning to his friendly self. “Eh. I’m sure I did fine.” Peter rolled over so that he was staring at the wall, eying the exact spot where Chris was probably sitting. He knew from standing in Chris’s doorway that his bed was against the opposite wall. So if Chris was sitting with his feet on the floor, he was almost certainly looking in Peter’s direction. “Hey, are you going to play that album from the other night again?” “French rap?” Peter offered. “Yeah, I liked that one.” Smiling, Peter reached for his stereo to cue up the artist. “I’m gonna take a shower. Be back in a sec.” It felt just like they were roommates again, or even lovers. So much so that Peter found his temper flaring once more. It wasn’t fair that Chris got to have everything he wanted—a friend and confidant and sometimes jerk-off pal, and Peter got nothing. Well, Peter considered, he didn’t get nothing. He enjoyed what he and Chris had. It’s just he wanted more. A lot more. First and foremost, he wanted Chris to admit what had happened between them. He got that Chris might be questioning and going through his own shit, but Peter had feelings, too. “Hey, Pete?” Peter had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed Chris’s return. “Yeah,” he said grumpily. But Chris didn’t seem to notice. “Are your lights out already?” “Um…yeah.” Peter didn’t know why it mattered. He started to ask, but Chris rushed to continue. “Oh, I was just wondering if I’d be able to tell through the wall. Like, if it’s so thin light would go through.”

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As far as excuses went, Chris’s was pretty meager. But Peter figured he might be ramping up to say something, so he kept quiet. His one breath led to a second, and just when he thought he was going to have to say something to fill up the great yawning pit of silence between them, Chris asked, “Y’know that thing we did last night?” Peter’s pulse thrummed behind his ribcage. “Uh, yeah.” He wasn’t going to specify what that thing was in case for some reason he was mistaken. “The thing after the porn, I mean.” Yes! Peter pumped his fist in the dark, glad Chris couldn’t see him doing the world’s most restrained happy dance. Then Peter cleared his throat and affected his most confident tone. “Yeah, that.” Sadly, he couldn’t think of what else to add. Peter would have thought all the work he’d done with awareness on the Queer Student Council would have made him more prepared to deal with a guy who was questioning. But he had nothing. “You’re cool with it, right?” Chris had never sounded less sure of himself as he did right then, and Peter wished he had something, anything better to offer than, “Yeah, sure.” After a moment, Peter knew what else he could give. And though it cost him something to say it, he decided to take a step into the deeper end of the pool. “It was nice.” Chris let out a sound that might have been relieved. However, Peter’s tension ratcheted higher. He thought he might die if Chris hadn’t liked it, too. Peter flipped through things to say, some way to minimize his admission. All Peter could come up with was, Well I’m gay, so of course I enjoy jerking off with fabulous men. Especially possibly straight ones. Luckily, he had the wherewithal not to give voice to the thought. “Was fucking awesome,” Chris finally said. Peter would have shimmied a second time, but he’d frozen in place. Happy excitement coursed through his body, the thrill of it so sharp he wanted to launch out of bed and run in circles until he

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burned off the excess adrenaline. He let out a shaky breath, trying to force himself to act cool and collected instead of dizzy and about to cream his pants. “Yeah, we should do it again sometime.” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Peter couldn’t believe he’d said that out loud. Gah. He just hadn’t known what else to say, and now Chris would think Peter was a perv or— “How about now?” Chris asked with false bravado. Peter found even that mock confidence centering. Taking the bait, he said in just as offhand a manner, “Sure, you want a soundtrack in the background?” He meant a porno but figured Chris would understand. Chris didn’t answer for a heartbeat, and Peter thought he might bail out or call Peter’s bluff. After a tension-filled moment, though, Chris said, “Nah. Just music is fine.” “Cool.” After his single-word answer, Peter didn’t know what to do. He was so self-conscious that he wasn’t even hard—which was funny, since under normal circumstances he got hard every time he saw, heard, or smelled Chris. But just when Peter thought he might bow out and have to face abject humiliation the next day, Chris said something that would change Peter’s life. “Uh…How should we start?”

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Chapter Five It wasn’t that Chris didn’t know what to do with the dick in his hand, but he was surprised by his level of performance anxiety. He was hard and stripped naked, sitting on his bed with his back against the wall and his legs straight in front. But for the life of him, Chris couldn’t figure out what was supposed to come next. “Are you touching it?” Peter asked. His voice felt like both a caress and a demand. “Yeah.” He was still nervous, but Chris gave it a little tug, biting his lip as sensation sizzled down his thighs. He waited for Peter to say something else, thinking it would be easier if Peter directed his actions. “Dry or wet?” Chris looked at the wall. “What?” Peter didn’t say anything back for a second, and Chris wondered whether he might have insulted him. “I don’t really know what you’re asking.” “Oh.” Peter snickered. “I meant, are you using moisturizer or lube? Or spit?” “No.” Chris shivered. He was embarrassed. And oddly, being embarrassed was kind of turning him on. “Never done that.” “Oh man. You’re missing out.” Peter’s words were tipped with a moan, as if he was rubbing off, too. Chris sucked in a breath and then realized he was holding it too long. Was Peter working his cock with something slippery? That allencompassing desire to watch hit Chris like a tidal wave. Of course,

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all he could do was ask and create pictures in his mind with the answers. “Are you?” “Yeah.” Peter gasped, like he could feel Chris picturing him. As if Chris’s imagination was glancing over his slicked cock. “Feels good. You want me to bring you some?” “No.” Chris’s stiffy flagged in his hand. That would be too much, having Peter step through that door, probably wearing only boxers, his hard-on tenting his shorts and pointing at Chris’s bed. Suddenly, Chris’s cock sprung back to life, leaking as his nuts tensed. “No, I’m good.” “I don’t want you to come yet,” Peter said quietly. “Can you do that?” Chris rose to the challenge. “Yeah, sure.” He wasn’t some fifteenyear-old who couldn’t hold his load. Though it sure felt like it when his balls started climbing again. He shifted lower on the bed, feeling the rough sheets against his back, the way his leg muscles bunched. Now that Peter had told him not to shoot, it was the only thing he could think about. “Squeeze the base if you have to.” Peter’s panted words forced Chris to instantly obey. He wrapped his middle finger and thumb around the root of his cock, right above the scratchy mess of his pubic hair, and squeezed. Chris’s eyes rolled back in his head at the delicious torture. “Like it?” Peter asked, his voice thick. “Yeah,” was all Chris could say as he took up stroking again. He’d tug up from root to tip in quick pulls before easing off to tease under his head. “Do you like it hard and fast? Or slow?” he asked before he could lose his nerve. Chris had always wondered how other guys jerked off. Not enough that he would spy or anything—he wasn’t a freak. But, when he listened to his friends at night, he had always wanted to ask what it felt like for them, if they got as hard or as achy as he did. “Slow, right now,” Peter breathed. “Don’t want to waste it.”

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“Yeah.” Chris could come again in half an hour, so spewing never felt like missing out. But yeah—he agreed that what he was doing right now was too good to end—even if they were only going to stop long enough to recover. “Cup your balls.” An illicit thrill rocketed though him as he did what Peter said, caressing over his sac and then rolling each side in his fingers. He’d never much played with that part of himself before, but he could imagine how Peter might find it hot. “Is that what you’re doing?” Peter didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was coy. “Maybe.” That single word made Chris perk up with interest. He licked his lips. “What do you mean?” “Well, there…and behind there.” Chris pumped his cock harder, imagining Peter’s long fingers surrounding his sac then pressing past. It sounded like Peter liked to use something slippery, so his touch would be wet—almost like a mouth. Chris’s dick flexed. “What do you mean, ‘behind’?” His voice was a rasp, and Chris suspected he knew exactly what Peter meant. Even as he thought about it, Chris eased his fingers over the ridge of skin at his taint. Good hell, it would feel great if his fingers were slippery. “You’ve never touched your ass before?” Peter sounded as lust addled as Chris. If he wasn’t, Chris couldn’t imagine he’d be talking about something so filthy. “No.” Chris tried not to sound judgmental. He had no idea what other guys did to get off in the privacy of their own beds or the bathroom stall. “Should I?” “Oh, God, fuck yeah…” Peter’s bed jangled like he was bouncing it off the springs. And though Chris wanted to follow suit, tug his pole until he shot like a fountain, his curiosity got the best of him. “Do I need to be wet?” As he asked it, he fed his hand lower, spreading his legs. He

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gently touched the rim of his anus while with his other hand he kept up a slow, steady pulse. “It’s better that way. Lick your fingers…” Peter’s bed wasn’t making so much noise any longer. It was as if Peter had slowed down so as not to come. The thought was enough to make Chris want to arch off the bed and lose his load, but all he could do was groan, “Aw, man. I can’t.” It was too much, even that tentative touch right up against his ring. It was a whisper of sensation but so intense he could feel it to the tip of his dick. He wondered if Peter would insist, if his next-door neighbor would push him that one step further out of his comfort zone, but instead Peter said, “Ah well. Someday someone will lick you there, and you’ll know.” Chris imagined warm breath against that part of him, strong hands pulling his cheeks apart, the zing of a tongue flicking right…there…He bucked into his hand. God, he knew it would be good the way Peter said. It would feel like fucking heaven. And then Chris was right up at the gates, and he didn’t think he could stop from going over. “Oh fuck. Man, I think I’m gonna…I mean, can I?” “Yeah, baby.” Peter’s voice was soft and sweet, so caring it was like Chris knew that if he launched he’d be caught on a cloudy pillow. “Let me hear you.” Peter sounded a second from shooting himself, his breath coming in whistles. But Chris knew he wasn’t coming yet, because somewhere inside, Chris knew Peter was listening, waiting. Peter was the one driving this freight train, and he’d keep his eyes wide open until it flew off the cliff. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Chris whipped his hand over skin so taut it might burst, but after holding out so long, he worried he couldn’t shoot. So when his finger teased over that tight pucker again, he pressed inside just enough to pinch. And when it still wasn’t enough, he swiped his tongue over his digit and reached down to press inside.

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“Oh my…fuck, fuck, fuck….” He arched off the bed, cock pulsing in his hand and cum landing in sizzling droplets as high as his neck. From the next room he heard Peter gasp. His bedsprings sang like a chorus of demons. Under his breath, Chris whispered, “Yeah, Peter. Come for me.” He didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. It was like a different person was saying it, someone who existed only in the darkest part of night. Chris shook off his awkwardness, and as Peter ramped down, he forced out a laid-back chuckle. “That was fun.” A second later, Peter snickered. The happy laughter covered the sound of both of them wiping up, but it also covered Chris’s embarrassment. Licking his dry lips, Chris tried to be as casual as possible when he asked, “You going to sleep now?” “Oh yeah,” Peter replied. He was already yawning. “I get tired after.” Chris smiled, skinning his legs down under his covers. He didn’t bother putting on his shorts since his body felt too hot and sensitive. “Yeah, me, too.” There were feelings—some good and some difficult—lurking at the edges of his mind, but Chris didn’t let his consciousness go there long enough for any one of them to take hold. Instead he said, “We should watch a movie tomorrow night or something. I could really use a night in.” Peter sounded a little funny when he said, “Yeah, that would be cool,” but Chris assumed he was just tired. As for Chris, he could barely keep his eyes open. “G’night, man.” “Yeah…Good night.” **** Chris drifted in a haze of calm all the next day day. He and Peter found out that the summer blockbuster they’d both failed to see in the

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theaters was streaming online, and they’d made plans to meet up at nine in Peter’s room to watch it on Peter’s laptop. He hung out with Don at breakfast, and later they sprawled out the lawn to nap and hang out. With midterms over, students were mostly milling around. It wasn’t until Don asked Chris, “So, dude, you hittin’ it with anyone new yet?” that Chris realized his day might not be as perfect as he’d thought. Chris blinked, wondering how to answer Don’s question, but Don saved him by saying, “I know you and Jennifer broke up before…” He trailed off as he always did when mentioning the topic of Chris’s mom passing. It was cool—Chris didn’t need to delve into that pit of emotions unless he wanted to anymore. But it wasn’t Don’s reluctance to mention his mom’s illness and death that struck Chris as odd. What freaked Chris out was that he didn’t know how to answer. He said, “No. I don’t have the time.” But what he meant—what he thought deep in his chest—was that he might be seeing someone after all. Not that he and Peter were dating. Well, not really. But they were doing something. Don rolled onto his side on the grass, staring at Chris. “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Sorry about mentioning…” “Nah, it’s cool. I’m better about that.” He didn’t want to talk about his mom. “No worries.” He heard the shaking of his voice and felt bile rise up, burning a hole behind his sternum. “Hungover, huh?” Don gave him a sly smile. “Yeah, man.” Chris glommed onto the excuse. His mind reeled, trying to process the very real possibility that he was dating a guy. Okay, not dating but…What the fuck were he and Peter doing? He couldn’t even blame that shit on getting perverse sexual favors from a gay guy. Some of the dudes he’d met had talked about the one time they let some queer blow them or jerk them off. But even if Chris could have used that excuse—to himself as much as to his friends— he knew it was a lie. Peter hadn’t so much as touched him.

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“Hey, I should bail…” He fought a wave of dizziness as he moved to stand, so Chris sat down again. He didn’t know where to go. Chris couldn’t go back to his room, and he didn’t have enough money for a hotel. Crap, he could ask for a room reassignment, but that could take months. His mouth dry as paper, he heard himself ask, “Hey, Don, can I crash with you guys tonight?” Don propped himself up on his elbows. For a split second, his eyes narrowed, and he seemed like maybe he was going to make some asshole comment. But in the end, he just lay back on the grass with his backpack wedged under his head and said, “Yeah, man. Sure. You can even use your old bed.” **** “What the fuck is up your ass today?” Nathaniel snapped his fingers in Peter’s face. They were sitting in the student union, opening mail. Peter realized he’d been staring off into space for so long he couldn’t remember what he and Nathaniel had been talking about. “Oh, sorry. What?” He tried to pretend that he’d just missed the last few words. Honestly, though, Peter could hardly remember how he’d gotten there from his dorm room. He had no recollection of opening his mailbox, either, though there were credit card offers in his hand. His mind had been swimming ever since that morning, when Chris came into his room—actually walked into Peter’s actual room—and asked what movie he wanted to see. They were going to have a real, honest-to-God date. Peter wondered whether he’d spontaneously combust from excitement or if he should be offended that Chris hadn’t asked him to go somewhere in public. “Earth to Peter Cohen.” Nathaniel slapped his hands together. “Seriously, I’m not going to hang out with you any longer if you’re not even going to pretend to pay attention.”

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Peter shook his head, trying to clear out enough thoughts to function. “Listen, I’m not gonna be the best company today.” He started to stand, but Nathaniel grabbed his arm. He looked up at Peter with concerned eyes. “You okay, honey?” Nathaniel tilted his head. His normally manic and scattered personality faded, and he stared at Peter with razor-sharp focus. “Did something happen?” “No.” Peter huffed out a breath. Fuck it—he couldn’t keep the shit with Chris bottled inside. He knew that if he did, this secretive not quite a thing he and Chris had going would get even more bizarre. “Fine, yeah. Something happened. Is happening. And I don’t fucking know what to do.” Nathaniel had been leaning forward, his attention rapt. But slowly, and thoughtfully, he sat back and gave Peter space. “You wanna talk about it?” They were sitting on a half wall that separated the exit of the mail room from the hallways that led to the food court. People bustled around, but no one was listening. “You know I won’t judge, right? No matter what it is.” Nathaniel laid his hand in the space between their crossed legs, letting Peter know he could take it if he wanted. Though Peter appreciated the gesture, he wasn’t ready to hold hands with his best friend in public. He’d been uncomfortable about displays of affection with his ex-boyfriend, Brian, and they’d been dating. “Yeah, but it’s private, okay? Not something you could go blabbing around at parties.” Peter felt bad for saying it and more so when Nathaniel’s eyes widened like he was offended. But then Nathaniel said, “You know I’d never spread any gossip that’s really a secret.” It was true. Nathaniel liked to talk, but Peter had never heard his friend say anything really hurtful. “Fine.” Peter looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. Then he leaned closer and muttered, “There’s some stuff going on with me and Chris.” Nathaniel’s eyebrows shot up. “Go on,” he said like a therapist.

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Peter gave him an eye roll. “Yeah, well—we’ve done…some stuff, and now Chris wants to come over and watch a movie tonight, and I bet we’ll do more.” Just the thought of it made Peter’s skin tighten and his breath go shallow. But he didn’t know if the reaction was excitement or fear. “And?” Nathaniel offered. “You don’t want this because…?” “He’s not gay.” Peter threw up his hands, trying to express to Nathaniel with his body the obviousness of the problem. Nathaniel bit his fingernail. Then he shrugged. “You don’t know that.” “Well, he thinks he’s straight.” Peter didn’t want to consider whether that was denial or whether Chris honestly liked girls. It’s not like Peter had ever heard him talk about a girl, or say he wanted one, or even mention that one was hot. But it didn’t matter. Peter was out of the damn closet. He didn’t want to be thrust back inside. “So he told you this after you guys made out?” Peter hesitated. “No.” He wasn’t sure how to explain it or even if he should try. “We didn’t even really make out.” Nathaniel furrowed his forehead in confusion. “You mean you kissed but didn’t do anything else?” Closing his eyes to hide his embarrassment, Peter said, “We had a tug together.” “Ooh, sexy. I bet he looks hot when he—” “Through the wall.” Peter hoped if he said it fast enough, it wouldn’t sound so bad. Like pulling off a Band-Aid extra fast. Only Nathaniel didn’t miss a beat. He cocked his head. “Like, you weren’t in the same room?” Fuck, now Peter sounded delusional. “Well, no. But we were talking to each other and moaning and stuff.” This time, Nathaniel didn’t just leave his hand where Peter could grab it but reached out and took Peter’s fist in his own. His lip twitched, but his eyes were serious. “Peter. Are you sure he was doing what you think he was doing?”

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Peter dropped his head and pinched his eyes closed. No—he couldn’t even go to that place where he questioned what had happened. If he did, he would lose what was left of his mind. “Yes. And before you ask, he wasn’t fucking with me. And it happened more than once, so it wasn’t just some kind of weird fluke.” He was stammering, his cheeks heated. Peter knew it had been wrong to go down this road. “Y’know, let’s just forget I said anything.” “Shhh…” Nathaniel petted his hand. “Now just calm down. I only needed to understand.” He pinched his lip in thought. “So, after you…did what you did…Then he said he was straight?” “Well, no.” Peter ran his hands through his hair. In truth, Chris hadn’t really gone out of his way to point out his lack of interest in men for a while. Not in so many words since their camping trip eight months earlier. “And did he act like an asshole later? Like calling you a fag, or accusing you of trying to fagify him?” Peter thought about it. He didn’t know what Chris might have been saying to his friends behind Peter’s back, but Chris hadn’t been cruel to his face. “No. More awkward, I guess. But not all the time.” Nathaniel leaned back on his hands. “So, it sounds like you guys need to do some talking. But I don’t really see the problem.” The bastard gave Peter a shrug that screamed, Get over yourself, Cohen. “The problem,” Peter tried to muster his indignation, “is that I don’t want to be dating a closet case.” Even as the words came out, they sounded flimsy. “You know how that goes—they see you on the side, behind their girlfriend’s back. Half the time, they’re homophobic as hell in public lest someone find out they might be gay, too.” He stared at Nathaniel, willing him to understand. “We’re always saying guys don’t deserve to be treated like that.” With a long exhale, Nathaniel folded his hands on his lap. He stared down at his linked fingers for a long time before he answered Peter’s rant. “Have I ever told you about Tom from high school?” Peter shook his head. “No.”

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“Well, he was a guy I fooled around with.” Nathaniel sighed, a little smile playing on his lips. “More than fooled around with actually. I liked him. Really liked him. And he liked me, too. “The thing was, he was…Well, I guess you’d say ‘closeted,’ though he said he ‘wasn’t gay.’” Nathaniel bent his fingers in air quotes. “I, on the other hand, couldn’t hide as well as he could.” He rubbed his hands over his thighs, as if he was trying to wipe off some essence of himself. “I was always different, always got called ‘fag’ or ‘queer.’ And eventually I got sick of it and told people, ‘Yeah, I am. So what?’” Peter knew all that about Nathaniel, and in a way he’d always felt sorry for him. Nathaniel was one of those guys who wouldn’t seem straight no matter how hard he tried. It was no wonder that he’d opted for flamboyance instead. “Yeah, but that’s great. You were out in junior high. It’s an inspiration.” “Yeah, well that’s what I thought back then.” Nathaniel’s scowl made it clear he didn’t think that so much anymore. “But Tom…” He looked at the ceiling. “He didn’t seem gay, and he didn’t want to admit he liked me to anyone but me.” He wiped at his eyes like maybe they were damp. “I was jealous of him and mad he didn’t have the guts to come out.” “So you broke it off?” Peter knew how these stories ended and was glad that Nathaniel had the self-respect not to let himself be used. Nathaniel nodded. “Yeah, I told him if he wouldn’t be with me openly, I didn’t want to be with him at all.” He let out a long, shuddering breath, as if he didn’t want to lose himself in the long-ago pain. “But anyway.” Nathaniel perked up a little as he continued the story. “Turns out he came out in college.” “Wow.” It made sense, Peter figured. A lot of guys engaged in failed or half-attempted relationships before they made peace with themselves. But he couldn’t help but wonder if Nathaniel wished he’d held on. “That must be weird. For you, I mean.”

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“More than you know.” Nathaniel stared off in the distance, his gaze pensive. “Apparently, his folks found out he was gay when his boyfriend called him over Christmas break.” Peter winced. “Ooh, not the best situation.” Nathaniel’s face was devoid of emotion when he said, “His father broke his nose.” “What?” Peter reeled to catch up. His own coming-out had been relatively uneventful compared to most of his friends’. And though he’d heard of gay-bashing instances among people he knew, none of them had been dished out by family. “Broke his nose and two of his ribs. I found out from my sister, who’s a nurse at the hospital.” “Oh my God.” Nathaniel shook his head. “That’s not the worst of it.” He pinched his eyes closed, as if he could erase all the hatred and the awful things his ex-lover had had to endure. “I called him to see how he was doing. Turns out his dad won’t pay for his college now. Tom got a job, but it’s not enough to pay tuition, and financial aid isn’t enough to make ends meet. He’s going to have to transfer to a cheaper school.” He paused. “Oh yeah, and his parents are getting divorced.” He shrugged. “And his siblings blame Tom.” “That sucks,” was all Peter could say. “Yeah.” Nathaniel shook his head. “When we were in high school, all I saw was that Tom was going places. His dad was an abusive alcoholic and his parents fought all the time, but Tom got straight A’s. He’d worked his butt off to get accepted to an out-of-state school.” Nathaniel looked more defeated than Peter had ever seen a person look. It was as if Nathaniel’s world had collapsed around him and not his friend’s. “My point…” Nathaniel swallowed. He lifted his chin with a hint of his normal attitude. “My point is that you just don’t know what’s going on in someone else’s life. In retrospect, Tom had very good reasons for his choices. That doesn’t mean I was wrong to break up

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with him.” Nathaniel pinned Peter with a hard gaze. “But you’ve got to understand that other people have their own problems.” Peter looked at the kids mulling around the student union—texting and gossiping and laughing. It was weird to think they each had a story. And that what he saw on the surface probably wasn’t the half of it. After what felt like an eternity, Peter conceded, “Chris isn’t a bad guy.” “He doesn’t seem like it.” Nathaniel flashed him a smile, his good mood returning. “And you won’t know what he’s thinking unless you ask.” Nathaniel snorted a laugh. “Actually, you probably won’t know then, either.” He threw up his arms. “I guess you won’t know until you know, y’know?” “Well, that sucks.” Peter frowned at his friend, though his lip twitched. Nathaniel covered his smirk with his hand. “Girl, welcome to life.”

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Chapter Six “You sure you’re not coming?” Don stood in the doorway. He wasn’t an expressive guy, but his obvious tension told Chris that his friend felt guilty leaving. Chris shifted on the bare mattress. He didn’t have any sheets to sit on since his were still in his room next to Peter’s. “Nah. I’m not up for it.” He turned back to his book, though he wasn’t seeing the words. All his attention was on Don and the expectation he was winging at the side of Chris’s head. Chris glanced at his phone to check the time. It was eight forty-five. “Free beer…” he said, like it was a temptation. “Lots of pussy…” From beyond Don’s shoulder, he heard Romero call out, “Tell him to stop being a fag and come to the party!” Without thinking, Chris bounded off the bed. He marched to the door, and when Don stepped to the side, Chris bore down on Romero. All his stress and anger coalesced onto the one thing he could name that pissed him off, and Chris had to force himself not to throw a punch. “What the fuck is your problem?” He didn’t touch the guy, but Chris got in his face so Romero knew Chris was ready to throw down. “Dude, I was just fucking around.” Romero pushed Chris off with enough swagger to make it seem like Romero was joking. “Stay home and mope over your boyfriend if you want.” Chris stumbled back a step but then found his footing. He was thinner than Romero but a little taller. Chris probably couldn’t beat the older boy in a real fight, but he didn’t think it would come to that. “He’s not my fucking boyfriend.” The thought caused a surprising wave of panic. Yeah, if Chris didn’t show up for the movie that night,

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if he ran away and moved out of Cooper Hall, Peter really wouldn’t be his boyfriend—maybe not ever. In a thrill of annoyance, he said, “But if he was, I don’t know what the fuck it would have to do with you.” Romero’s eyes flared with anger. “I…” He fisted his hands and for a second Chris thought he was going to throw a punch. But then he took a step back, scowling. “Whatever, man.” He gave an exaggerated eye roll and spun around to leave. “Later.” Chris watched Romero’s back as he left. He wondered why his pulse was beating like a drum in his ears. No way would Romero have assaulted him in a freshman hallway with Don standing right there. Anyway, the school had mad rules about gay bashing and hate speech. People put up with Romero because he was harmless. But no one, not even Sanchez, who followed him around like a puppy, would turn a blind eye if Romero ever hauled off and hit someone for being gay. “You okay?” Don asked as Chris pressed by. “Yeah.” Chris’s tension only ramped higher as he thought about how Don might want an explanation. “I just get sick of his shit sometimes.” He tried to sound casual and flopped on the bed. On reflex, he checked his phone. It was eight fifty-seven. If he sprinted, he could get to Cooper Hall by nine oh-one. Late, but not so much Peter would think twice. “He’s a dick.” To Chris’s chagrin, Don stepped into the room and crossed to Chris’s bed. “But don’t let him stop you from going to the Clark party.” Don picked up a soccer ball off the floor. He lay back, throwing the thing at the ceiling and catching it in rapid pops. “Romero’ll have his head in the toilet barfing by the time we get there.” Chris shifted, furtively looking at his watch again. Nine o’clock. He was now officially late. And though he hadn’t planned on going, had decided hours ago that he needed space to figure out the shit

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running around his brain, Chris’s entire body strained toward the door. “Fine, I’ll go to the stupid party.” He grabbed his jacket off a nearby chair. Chris couldn’t handle sitting in his old bedroom staring at the fucking clock and wondering what Peter was doing. He didn’t want to think about whether Peter was looking out the window or listening for his knock or how long it would take for Peter to realize Chris wasn’t coming. “Cool.” Don slapped his back and bounded off the bed. “Give me a second to grab my shit.” Chris shook his head. He needed to be out of that room, outside in the open where the force of his choices didn’t bear down on him, where he didn’t have Peter fucking Cohen’s expectations on top of everyone else’s. He opened the door and called behind him, “No worries, Don. I’ll see you there.” **** Peter glanced at his laptop’s clock and pretended that it didn’t matter to him that Chris was fifteen minutes late. Hell, fifteen minutes wasn’t even “late” in college time. Most of his friends considered a twenty-minute window a given when making plans. He clicked open another social-networking site, organizing his pictures one more time, commenting on and like-ing everything his friends had posted in the past week. And though he desperately wanted to click onto Chris’s page to see what he was up to, Peter resisted. Every time a door opened outside, he perked up and listened. The sound of kids talking and laughing in the courtyard outside felt like taunts. And still, fifteen minutes bled into twenty, with no knock on his door.

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“Well, fuck.” Peter sat up and perched his laptop on one of his bookshelves. His muscles were tight and his legs were asleep from sitting in one position so long. Stupid as it was, Peter had wanted to appear relaxed in case Chris went ahead and opened the door instead of knocking. He shook his head at how dumb he’d been. Of course Chris had freaked out and broken their date. Either that, or it hadn’t even been a date—just a figment of Peter’s desperate imagination, and Chris had simply forgotten that they had plans. Peter didn’t know which of the options was worse. Pushing his hands into the wall that separated his room from Chris’s, Peter stretched his back. Then he stood up and reached to one side and then the other, stretching his shoulders. “Fucker,” he said to the wall. It was stupid to talk, since Chris wasn’t there to listen. But once Peter had started, he couldn’t stop himself. “Y’know, you didn’t have to fuck with me.” Anger bubbled up in his chest, and on impulse, Peter kicked the wall. “You didn’t have to talk to me or…or groan at me.” His hand fisted, and it was all he could do not to pound on the wall, demanding answers from someone who wasn’t there. But in the end, he just placed his palm against the unforgiving drywall and leaned his forehead into his arm. “You didn’t have to make me like you.” Peter sucked in a breath, sniffing back the wetness that formed in his eyes. Fuck it. He was done. He picked up his phone and scanned through to Nathaniel’s number. Sure, Peter knew the party’s address. He could have just left and walked over there instead of calling Nathaniel first. But he needed to hear his friend’s voice, to remember that he wasn’t alone in the world, before he took the long walk away from his fantasy. “Hello?” Nathaniel picked up. There was music in the background and happy shouting.

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The sound didn’t cheer Peter at all. “Hey, hon.” Peter wasn’t usually one for terms of endearment, but he needed the comfort. “He didn’t—” Someone knocked on the door. Peter dropped the phone. The fucking tears that he’d fought a minute earlier burst into his eyes. Motherfucker. He couldn’t answer the door crying. If it was Chris, he’d think Peter was nuts. “Hello?” Chris asked from the door. A long moment stretched, and Peter realized he wasn’t answering. Maybe it was too much. Maybe he really couldn’t handle it. Maybe he actually didn’t want to know if this was a date. Only the sound of Nathaniel screaming at him through his phone broke through the panic. “Girl? You there? You okay?” Peter snatched the phone off the ground. He didn’t want to say anything lest Chris hear him from outside. “Is your boy there?” Nathaniel asked. “Yeah,” Peter replied, so quietly Chris wouldn’t hear. “Then what the fuck are you doing calling me?” Peter blinked. Yeah—Nathaniel was right. His friend would never let him live it down if Peter blew this night. “I gotta go,” he said into the phone. He heard Nathaniel say, “Atta boy,” as he hung up. “Chris?” Peter asked, though he couldn’t think who else it might be. “Yeah, uh…I’d thought maybe you’d left.” “No, I’m here,” he said, stating the obvious. He waited a heartbeat before stepping to the door. Then he opened it before he could lose his nerve. Chris breathed hard, his cheeks striped with color. Damp hair curled at his temples as if he’d been running, and he was about the most beautiful thing Peter had ever seen.

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“Hey.” Peter forced his voice low and cool as he stepped back to allow him into the room. “Sorry I’m late,” Chris said as he shut the door. “No worries.” Peter stared at the bed, thinking of how after his emotional rollercoaster of a day he was going to have to sit next to Chris and pretend to watch the movie. “I didn’t even notice.” After a breath, Peter turned to look at Chris. He knew his feelings were written all over his face, and he didn’t have any more energy to cover them up. “Chris, I—” Chris stepped into him, so close their bodies touched. “I’m sorry.” He gazed into Peter’s eyes, his look intense. “I’m sorry I was late.” In an endless, breathless moment, he raised his hand to stroke Peter’s arm. It was a light touch—only two fingers running from Peter’s shoulder to his elbow. But it was enough to make Peter see stars. Peter bit his lip. He felt his cock filling, knew that Chris must have felt it since they were standing chest to chest. But that was okay, Peter realized, because Chris was offering something. His head was tilted back and his eyes were heavy lidded. Peter leaned in close, then closer, until their lips almost touched. “You okay with this?” he whispered. “I wish I knew,” Chris said, right before he fused their lips. He pressed but didn’t open, as if he wasn’t sure what to do now that they’d crossed that threshold. But then Chris exhaled a little huff. The ragged way Peter moaned was completely out of proportion to the intensity of the kiss. The sound of it clashed with the way their mouths gently tasted. “God, sorry,” he gasped. Peter searched Chris’s face for fear or disgust. Instead he saw fire. With both hands, Chris pushed him backward until his knees hit the bed. Chris dove at his mouth, his kisses sloppy and brutal with teeth. He kissed like he hadn’t done it much, and the thought made Peter smile. “Wait.” Peter got a knee on the bed and shrugged his shirt over his head. When Chris’s eyes went wide, he faltered. “Is this okay?” He

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crossed his arms over his chest. For some reason, he covered his nipples. “It’s just a hassle getting a shirt off with someone on top of you.” Chris didn’t answer. Instead he closed his eyes and kissed Peter again. Like a blind man, Chris felt his way to Peter’s arms, then his hands. Chris drew his limbs away from his body and then touched Peter’s torso as gently as a nun might the Holy Grail. Peter shivered. He didn’t know whether to touch Chris back. God, he wanted to—he wanted to run his hands up Chris’s shirt and clutch the muscles in his back. But he didn’t know if Chris was ready, so he held still, his lip pinched in desperation between his teeth. “Should I take mine off, too?” Chris flicked his gaze to the bed. His expression was nervous, and Peter decided to slow things down lest Chris get pulled into something he couldn’t handle. “Sit down.” Peter sat and patted the spot next to him until Chris followed. Then Peter grinned and ran his touch along Chris’s jaw. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.” Chris licked his lips, his gaze trained on Peter’s mouth and his body inching closer. “I’m ready.” It took every ounce of Peter’s self-control to lean away, pressing his hand on Chris’s chest. “You’re ready for what, exactly?” When Chris blinked in surprise, Peter kissed away his dumbfounded look. “We don’t have to plan this out. But…” God, if he didn’t adjust his cock it was going to bend at a right angle in his jeans. Peter reached down and shifted it, noticing the way Chris tensed at the sight. “I need to know your limits. What you’re comfortable doing, so I don’t accidentally—” “I wanna see your cock.” Chris stared at Peter’s hand, which had been in the process of trying to hide his hard-on. He walked his fingers along the bed then slowly to Peter’s thigh. By the time his touch had feathered up Peter’s fly and hovered at the button of his jeans, Peter thought he was going to pass out from all his blood rushing south. “Can I?”

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Peter swallowed. He clenched his legs to keep from thrusting into Chris’s unsuspecting hand. “Wow,” he breathed. “Yeah, I guess that would be cool.”

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Chapter Seven Chris couldn’t stop. The nervous way Peter kissed only spurred him harder. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s back, while with the other hand, he fumbled open his fly. The button popped easily enough, but when Chris tried to tug down the zipper, it refused to whisper open. He’d never tried to open another man’s pants. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. “Here.” Peter lifted his hips and leaned back, straightening the zipper’s angle. Then he slid it down to the base. Underneath, he wore navy-blue briefs. The head of his cock mushroomed above the elastic. Blushing, Peter crossed his hands over his front. “Sorry, man. Little excited.” Oh God, Peter was killing him with his coy, fluttering eyelashes and his ropey, muscled arms. Chris bent to press his lips to the flesh at Peter’s neck. The skin was different—firmer and rougher than a girl’s. And when Chris pressed quick bites to Peter’s jaw, his tongue snagged on stubble. Peter palmed Chris’s pecs through his shirt, measuring his strength. He must have liked what he found, because Peter growled. The sound was hot and sexy and completely masculine. Without thinking, Chris speared his hand into Peter’s underwear. His cock felt amazing, warm and pulsing, like Chris was touching himself but making Peter gasp. “Oh God, I’m apologizing right now in case I blow on your hand.” Peter clenched his eyes as if he thought Chris would be grossed out. His hips bucked subtly off the mattress.

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“You don’t want to have sex?” Chris couldn’t stop touching him—not his skin or his cock. God, he understood if Peter was gonna shoot. So was Chris. But he’d thought Peter’d want to go further than a hand job. “Um, no.” Peter’s lip quirked into a small smile. “Never even done it.” Chris didn’t really know what that meant. Wasn’t Peter gay? How did he know if he’d never had gay sex? “Really?” “Yeah. Lotta guys don’t fuck that way. Or not until they’re in a relationship. Or older.” “Oh.” He didn’t really know the mechanics of it anyway and was a little relieved to have fucking off the menu. Only because he was so high on lust did he have the guts to ask, “So, um…What do we do?” Peter gasped in a quick breath and his eyes went wide. He stared at Chris, his Adam’s apple bobbing on a swallow. “Lots of things.” He grabbed Chris’s hand and pulled him closer. “I’ll show you.” Peter kissed his cheek, then his neck, but when Peter kissed his way back to Chris’s ear, he whispered, “Just tell me if something’s not okay.” Peter reached for Chris’s fly. Unlike Chris, Peter had no trouble pulling the jeans open. Then Peter’s hand was there on his cock over the thin, soft material of his underwear. Chris knew he must have felt the dampness of his pre-cum on the fabric and the sweat from his run at the creases of his thighs. He hadn’t even made it inside the Clark party. Instead, Chris had wandered the campus trying to clear his head. He couldn’t remember the moment he’d changed his mind about Peter, but he’d been sprinting, before he even knew why, straight in the direction of Cooper Hall. However, the run had left Chris kind of manky, and he wondered if Peter might want him to take a shower, but Peter didn’t seem to mind the sweat. If anything, he must have liked it, because he shimmied off the bed to between Chris’s legs. Then Peter gave him a

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scorching look from under his lashes before he dragged down Chris’s underwear and closed his mouth over the head of Chris’s cock. “Fu-uck.” Chris gasped. Peter’s mouth was big compared to the ones he’d had on his dick before. Chris couldn’t take his eyes off Peter’s angular face, his knuckly hands. “Okay?” Peter breathed into Chris’s hip. He didn’t pause for Chris’s husky reply, instead swallowing the top half of Chris’s dick in a long, lusty swallow. Chris made a sound like “guh-unn.” He loved how Peter went at it, trying to take it deeper, forcing it into his throat. It wasn’t just that the feeling was amazing, but the way Peter’s eyelids fluttered and his cheeks hollowed was fucking beautiful. Peter made happy sounds when Chris’s cock flexed and dribbled some pre-cum. “Wait, man.” Chris hitched his hands into Peter’s armpits and pulled him up. Then he fell backward on the bed and dragged Peter on top. Peter’s body pressed long and hard against every inch of his. Chris’s shirt had ridden up so he was bare from his dick to his nipples and he felt every ridge of Peter against his flesh. Chris’s damp and naked dick lined up with Peter’s clothed one, but Peter’s plum-shaped cap kissed Chris’s tip. “Too much?” Peter looked confused. Shaking his head, Chris moaned, “Not enough.” He struggled to press down Peter’s underwear, taking his jeans to his thighs in the process. He ran his hands over Peter’s hips, grinding them together, feeling their cocks press flat against their bellies, trapped between their bucking thrusts. He hadn’t looked for very long, but Peter seemed hung. Thick and long, and bigger than Chris was. The thought got him so hot he thought he was going to lose his mind through his dick.

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“Oh God.” Peter pumped harder, his hips snapping against Chris’s, rubbing their cocks and torsos together in a maddening frenzy. He bent to lap at Chris’s nipple—sucking, almost biting. Chris lost his voice in a growl. He wanted to come. Right fucking now. He churned his hips, feeling the dampness of Peter’s cock, smelling the musk of their bodies together and the sweet tang of precum and nerves. “Wait.” Peter reared back and opened a drawer by the bed. He pulled out a pile of coasters, some crumpled papers, and a pizza box that looked like it might have been there a while before locating what he was looking for. Then he popped the cap on an extra large bottle of hand lotion and drizzled some into his palm. “Dude.” Chris couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a fucking slob.” Peter smiled. He leaned back onto Chris as best he could with his pants half-down. “Yeah. Not so great with the housekeeping.” With one arm holding him off the bed and slightly away from Chris’s body, Peter hooked Chris’s cock in his slippery hand then snagged his own dick with his thumb. He stroked the two of them together in a long pull, the pleasure of it so intense that Chris opened his mouth on a silent scream. “Motherfucker.” Chris fisted the sheets. He didn’t know if he should hold out to come. With girls you were supposed to wait until after they did—that was considered polite. But as his balls crept up and his body tensed, Chris struggled not to climax from the press of Peter’s skin, the crinkle of his thigh hair, the taste of his breath. “Oh God.” Peter collapsed on top of him, letting their cocks slap against their bellies. He bucked in a slippery rhythm. “God, I can’t stop.” He buried his face in Chris’s neck and whispered, “Tell me you don’t want me to stop.” Chris gripped Peter’s back—all bones and muscles and sinews. He didn’t know what they were doing—it wasn’t sex as he’d been taught to define the word. But as Peter’s dick hardened tighter, causing a chain reaction where Chris’s cock ached into the hot, wet

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place between their bodies, it felt an awful lot like making love. “Yeah. Yeah, I wanna see…” Peter arched, his face screwed tight, and his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. Then, as if caught in a storm, Peter curled in on himself and shivered as his cock shot scalding wetness onto Chris’s stomach. The touch of that heat—Peter’s cum drenching his cock—lit a fuse at the base of Chris’s nuts. He snapped his hips off the bed, slipping through the puddle of arousal, and in a half-dozen desperate thrusts, his back arched and his cock pulsed with his orgasm. “Oh God,” Peter repeated, this time more quietly. He said it as if this time it really was a prayer. “Shit, tell me you’re okay with what we just did.” Peter’s voice sounded like it would crack, like his emotions were strung so tight that one wrong word or look from Chris would break him into a million pieces. But freshly screwed, covered in the juice of the man he really liked, Chris couldn’t think of a single problem. “I’m cool.” And when Peter narrowed his eyes, Chris said, “No freak-out impending, man.” The lines of tension melted from around Peter’s eyes, though he kept his lips pursed. Peter rolled off and grabbed some tissues. Then he handed a few to Chris. “You wanna take a shower?” **** He and Chris rubbed off against each other again in the spray of the showerhead. It was a slower grind—full of soap and shampoo and quiet giggles, since technically they were in a public place. When they got back to Peter’s room and started up the movie, Peter finally got up the guts to say, “Listen, we don’t have to be open about this in public.” Chris didn’t say anything back right away. Instead he kept his gaze focused on the screen, where the action hero was climbing out of a hole blasted in the ground by aliens. “That’s probably for the best.”

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Peter thought he was going to leave it at that, and they’d settle into an awkward era of fucking in private and being less than friends in public. It wasn’t what Peter wanted. At least not forever. But he’d settle, for a while, if it meant being closer to Chris. “You know I like you, right?” Chris butted their shoulders together. It was as close to a proclamation as Peter could imagine. “But I need some time. I don’t wanna pretend we don’t know each other or anything. Just…” Chris bunched up his shoulders like he was trying to protect himself. “I’m not ready to be a totally public couple right now, okay?” “Sure. I mean, yeah. That’s cool.” Peter tried to sort out the mess of thoughts and emotions rushing around his head. Chris liked him, and that alone made Peter feel like he was spinning on a cloud. But the other part—about not being “out” as a couple—that made him feel like the floor was pulled out from under his feet. It shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like he’d been expecting anything else. “Do you mind if Nathaniel knows?” Truth was, Nathaniel already did know, so Peter felt a little guilty for breaking their agreement before it started. “Nah.” Chris’s shrug looked a little forced. But he didn’t move away. Instead he wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “As long as he doesn’t pass it around or anything.” He looked nervous, but Peter appreciated that Chris was giving things his best shot. “I’ll swear him to secrecy.” Peter pressed against Chris’s side. “Oh, and just so you know—you don’t have to stay over.” He could feel Chris’s smile in the way Chris kissed his cheek. “You mean you don’t need me to hold you all night?” Chris chuckled. Peter shook his head. “Nah. I know two grown men can’t get much sleep in a twin.” His gaze flicked to the wall between his room and Chris’s. “Anyway, it’s not like you’ll be far away.” “Yeah.” Chris nuzzled Peter’s ear. “I’ll be right next door.” ****

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Peter nodded awake, first unsure of what large mass was pressing him off the edge of his bed and then wondering who was knocking on his door. With a smile, he realized the former was Chris, who’d fallen asleep during the movie. The latter could only be one person. “Who’s there?” Peter asked, though he suspected it was his best friend. “Rise and shine, girl!” Nathaniel called through the door. Then, to Peter’s horror, he turned the knob and entered. “Wait.” Peter launched out of the bed, grabbing a towel that hung over his chair and draping it around his hips. He tucked himself out the door before Nathaniel could get a glimpse of the beauty that was Chris Fischer sleeping. “Shh…” Peter held his finger to his lips and shut the door behind him. “Oh my fuck, is he in there?” Nathaniel stared at Peter’s door as if he had X-ray vision. He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Shit, was he good?” Peter pressed a hand over his friend’s mouth, trying to stem the tide. “Yes, and it’s none of your business.” He dragged Nathaniel down the hallway and into the bathroom. “Listen, you need to keep quiet about this.” He glared at Nathaniel, trying to impart the seriousness of what he was saying. “He’s not ready to go public with—” The door to the bathroom opened and Chris walked in. He nodded to Nathaniel and then smiled shyly at Peter before stepping into the stall and starting to piss. Nathaniel said, “I’m gonna take off. Later, Chris.” But his eyes were wide and he gestured with his thumb to his ear and his pinky to his lips, mouthing to Peter, “Call me.” “You don’t have to take off,” Chris said while flushing. “We could go grab breakfast, I skipped dinner last night and I’m fucking starved.” Peter had never seen Nathaniel look as panicked as he did at that moment. His friend was standing with his mouth open and his eyes

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darting from side to side like he was trying to organize a new world order. “Um…yeah. I was gonna hit the café in a bit. You guys wanna come?” Nathaniel looked like he might have wanted to gesture more at Peter, but Chris sauntered out of the stall to wash his hands, and Nathaniel shut his mouth and his hands dropped from his hips to his sides. Chris gargled some mouthwash and then spit it in the sink. “Sure. You don’t mind, right?” He smiled up at Peter, lips wet and expression so sweet that Peter wanted to suck his cock. “Nah, I don’t mind.” Peter wasn’t sure whether Chris was trying to prove something to him by leaving the dorms together or if Chris was scared to go back into their respective rooms and figure out what happened next. It didn’t matter, though, because Chris was all swagger, smiles, and tousled hair. And he wasn’t running away screaming. So Peter only said, “Sounds like fun.” “Yeah.” Nathaniel looked from Chris to Peter, his expression wry. “Lovin’ the afterglow. But I’m going to wait somewhere that’s not a bathroom. Meet you in the courtyard?” Peter dragged his attention away from Chris. “Yeah.” He blinked at his friend. “Yeah, be down in a sec.” When Nathaniel left, Chris reached for Peter’s hand. He tugged Peter closer, pressing a kiss into his mouth. “G’morning.” Chris rubbed his morning wood into Peter’s hip. “Sorry I took up your whole bed.” “Nah.” Peter reached down and stroked Chris through his boxers. He was so happy he could hardly see straight. “Wasn’t as tight a squeeze as I’d thought.” Or maybe it was just that Chris had felt so right in his bed Peter hadn’t minded the cramped space. “Do we have time for a jerk in the shower before we meet up?” Chris didn’t reach for Peter. Instead he humped into his hand like a horny puppy. “Sure, baby.” Peter kissed Chris’s jaw, where his blond stubble was starting to grow in patches. He smiled as he realized his tough-

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guy jock probably still couldn’t grow a full beard. “Even brought a towel.” He unhooked the cloth from his waist and tossed it in the corner. “Ew, gross, I’m not using it if you leave it on the floor.” Chris picked it up and hung it on the towel rack. “Were you raised in a barn?” Peter snorted out a laugh as he started the shower. He was hurried, not wanting the perfect bubble of their relationship to break. If he let Chris out of his sight, Peter worried Chris would freak out and run. “C’mon, the water’s fine.” Peter stepped in the shower, not watching to see if Chris followed. His panic grew, and Peter felt like any second Chris would realize he wasn’t gay and storm out of the bathroom. Instead of the door slamming, Peter heard the swish of a shower curtain. And then Chris was behind him, naked. He was still warm from sleep and his erection slapped onto the crease of Peter’s ass. Chris wrapped his arm around Peter’s chest. “Not freaking out yet?” Peter reached for his body wash. He poured some on his hands and soaped up his armpits lest he forget later when he and Chris were putting the slipperiness to another purpose. “Nah. Having too much fun.” Chris reached around to Peter’s cock. His touch was tentative and soft, like he wasn’t sure Peter would like it. Peter leaned his head back on Chris’s shoulder. “I’m glad” was all he said. Though inside, Peter wondered if Chris would still be enjoying himself once they left the few tiny rooms of their haven. Peter soaped up his hands and reached behind him, sliding his grip up and down Chris’s hips, urging Chris to fuck into Peter’s crack or maybe thrust between Peter’s legs into the weight of his balls. He wanted Chris to experience everything there was to loving a man, everything he might not ever get again if Chris changed his mind. If

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this was their only time together, Peter wanted to make sure Chris would never forget.

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Chapter Eight Chris’s chest pounded as they walked across campus. He couldn’t tell if he was acting differently, and it drove him crazy. Every few seconds, he’d notice the sexy flash of Peter’s eyes or the way Peter carried himself like he could fuck a corn dog through a keyhole. Then his emotions would go in a tailspin as Chris wondered if the casual observer could tell he was gay. By the time he, Nathaniel, and Peter lined up at the counter—which was all but empty so early on Sunday morning—Chris felt like his heart was beating in his throat. He knew that Peter and Nathaniel were trying to include him in the conversation, but he couldn’t seem to make out what they were saying, so he just nodded and mumbled agreement. If Peter noticed Chris’s weird mood, he didn’t comment. In fact, Peter had been totally cool since they left the dorm. He’d kept plenty of distance from Chris, sticking closer to Nathaniel. Peter wasn’t going to give him away—his next-door neighbor always acted gay. Not in a bad way, but from what Chris had seen of him around campus and the dorms, Peter checked guys out all the time. It wouldn’t be weird for him to be seen flirting with Chris. The problem was Chris couldn’t tell if he was flirting back. Had he been giving off a “gay vibe” all along and not known it? Could the girl who was handing him his coffee tell that he’d come on the ass of a man that morning? He wasn’t sure if he was the same person or someone completely different. But more importantly, he had no idea whether anyone else could tell.

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“Hey, I should grab that book for Stalson’s class while I’m here.” Peter sat up from his stool. He left his coffee on the counter. Food and drink wasn’t allowed around the store. “Can you guys watch my drink for a sec while I grab it?” He said it to both of them, but his eyes were on Nathaniel, as if Peter knew Chris was too strung out to guard a cappuccino. “Sure.” Nathaniel waved him off. He shot Chris a sultry look. Oddly, instead of making Chris frightened, Nathaniel’s ham-fisted flirtation calmed him down. Nathaniel’s voice was impish when he told Peter, “I’ll watch your boy.” Maybe it was his nerves, but Chris found himself giggling madly at Nathaniel’s antics. “Yeah, Peter, see you in a sec.” It was the first thing Chris had said out loud since they’d left Cooper Hall. “Cool.” Peter searched Chris’s face for a second, but then he turned to leave. Chris exhaled. “You holding up okay?” Nathaniel pursed his lips on a sip of his mocha. His forehead was pinched in an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression. When Chris didn’t answer, he said, “Listen, you don’t need to know how to act.” “I’m cool.” Chris tried to cross his legs and look chill but then worried it made him look girly. He settled his feet on the ring of metal at the base of the stool, letting his legs fall to the sides. Then he worried he was flashing Nathaniel his dick. “Yeah.” Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, watching Chris fumble with what to do with his legs. He said dispassionately, “You look like you’re doing fine.” Chris hoped his warning glance was enough to shut Nathaniel up. Yeah, he was cool with Nathaniel knowing about him and Peter. But not if the guy was going to go around mentioning it in public. “I don’t care whether you act like a big ol’ fairy or as butch as a leather daddy, all I care about is you not bailing on Peter.” Nathaniel

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drew his voice low. “He’d rather have you only in private than not at all.” He opened a paper that was strewn on the table in front of him and leafed through the pages. “So, are you planning to head to the Butterfield kegger on Thursday, or do you get a night off from the jocks for good behavior?” Chris snickered. “Butterfield, probably…” He was going to continue, but out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his old roommate, Sanchez. The guy’s head was turned sideways as if he was talking to someone and his arms were full of books. Chris panicked and ducked behind a column. He closed his eyes and said a quick and silent prayer that Sanchez wouldn’t stop for coffee. After a second, Chris peeked around the edge to make sure Sanchez had stayed on his path toward the bookstore’s cash registers. His friend must not have been thirsty, because he was already paying for his books. A moment later, Sanchez was heading to the door, and Chris breathed a sigh of relief. It was only when he looked back at his seat that he caught Nathaniel’s exasperated expression. Shoulders dropping in defeat, Chris stepped over to his stool and sat down. “I just acted like a total freak, didn’t I?” Nathaniel patted the table, as if he’d wanted to pat Chris’s hand but didn’t dare. “Yeah. It was pretty funny actually.” “I…” Chris worried he might say something obnoxious. Something like I’m not a fag or I’m leaving. But Chris wasn’t that guy. So instead of lashing out, he shook his head, hoping Peter wouldn’t come back quite yet and see him breaking down to Nathaniel. “This is so fucking hard.” Nathaniel sighed. “I can’t even imagine.” “What?” he asked, looking into eyes he’d just now realized were green. Chris had expected Nathaniel to make fun of him or at least give him shit for not being able to man up. He hadn’t been expecting understanding.

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“I said, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. It must completely suck.” Nathaniel gave him a gentle smile. His lip quirked up. “But you might want to think about how Peter would’ve felt if he’d been here.” The heart that had been in Chris’s throat the entire morning felt like it dropped right out of his chest. Holy fuck, he’d feel like shit. “I’m not going to do that to him,” he told Nathaniel. The other boy made the tiniest smile before he took another sip of his coffee. Then he said, “You’re damn straight.” **** Chris knocked on the door. He didn’t wait for Don to answer before cracking it open. “Hey, Chris.” Don looked up from his bed. He was shirtless but obviously awake, since he was clutching his smartphone in his hand. His thumbs were poised like he’d been texting. “Where’d you end up last night?” “Well…” Chris took a deep breath as he walked into the room. This was the first step, he told himself. Maybe the only step for a while. Hell, he didn’t plan to tell his family ever. As for the rest of the team—they were okay guys, but it wasn’t their respect Chris was worried about losing. “That was sorta what I wanted to talk to you about.” Chris paced across the room and back. “Sure, buddy. What’s up?” Don sat higher in bed. He tended to act the part of the dumb jock, but Chris had always felt like the big guy was solid and stable in a way that the other guys on the team weren’t. “I…” Fuck. Chris didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know where to start. So he said the simplest thing he could think of. “I had a date.” “No worries.” Don shrugged. Before he could lose his nerve, Chris said, “With a guy.”

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Don blinked. His jaw pressed forward, but Chris couldn’t tell if it was in anger or just a sign of thoughtfulness. But then Don said, so casually Chris wondered if Don had heard right, “S’cool. It’s not like I farted around wondering when you’d show.” “Oh.” Chris stopped his pacing. Then he rubbed at the knot on the back of his neck. “Well, just don’t tell the other guys. I…I know they’d be dicks about it.” “I’m not sure about that.” Don shrugged. Chris threw up his hands. “I know how they are.” He didn’t mean to sound as pissed off as he did. But Chris couldn’t help the frustration. “Dude.” Don stood. With his broad shoulders, he looked like he could stop a truck. “If or when you tell them, they’re not going to be as bad as you think.” “Really?” Chris narrowed his eyes. “‘Faggot, this’ and ‘Queer, that’? You know how they are.” “Chris…” Don stepped up, stopping Chris with a hand on his shoulder. Don was huge for a soccer player, but he was agile and could surprise the other team’s offense with how fast he could move. “They do that because they don’t know you’re gay.” Under his breath, Chris mumbled, “I’m not…” but he didn’t bother to continue. “Um, yeah. Whatever.” Don rolled his eyes. “My point is they aren’t going to risk expulsion to pick on you.” He scrubbed at the stubble on his chin. “They say shit because they don’t know.” “Oh.” Chris thought about it. His friend was right, though that didn’t make Chris feel any better. “Yeah, I guess I could report them…if I wanted.” The truth was, he didn’t just want his friends not to bash him and Peter. He wanted his soccer buddies to be his friends, to accept him regardless of who he dated. Don shot him a sympathetic look. “Yeah. I know—you probably wouldn’t report them even if they did say something.” Don gave him a friendly punch in the arm. “Listen, you know I don’t care, right?”

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Chris felt his lip tremble. Crap, he hadn’t known how much he needed his friend’s approval until he felt his nose and eyes getting hot. “Yeah. I know you’re cool.” “The other guys are mostly fine, too.” “Yeah.” “But they may not be your best buddies anymore.” “Yeah.” Chris closed his eyes. That was it, really. The issue wasn’t that his friends would confront him directly. Maybe even Romero wouldn’t. The issue was that they would drift away. “Kinda sucks.” “Eh.” Don fell back onto his bed, picking up his phone. “Welcome to life, buddy.” **** “God, what happened to you?” Peter stepped to the side and let Chris into his room. Chris’s shoulders were slumped and his face lined with tension. He looked more tired than Peter had ever seen him. “You okay?” “Yeah.” Chris fell, face-first, into Peter’s bed. “Wonder if I could get a do-over on this day.” Peter sat on the edge of the bed and laid a careful hand on Chris’s back. The guy was damp as if he’d just showered, but his body was a ball of tension, his muscles so knotted Peter could feel them bunching through his shirt. “Trouble at soccer practice?” “No.” In a moment of understanding, Peter knew the problem—Chris had just experienced his first-ever day of knowing for a fact he was gay. Peter felt his chest constrict in sympathy. “Hey.” He patted Chris’s back. “It’ll get easier.” Chris chuckled, rolling his head on the pillow. “Man, I hope so. Can’t imagine it getting harder.”

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Peter leaned down to kiss Chris’s neck. He murmured, “Don’t worry about it. No one else is here right now.” When Chris huffed out a breath and relaxed a little, Peter rubbed his thumbs into the shelves of muscle along Chris’s back. “Fuck, that feels good.” Chris stretched his hands over his head, allowing Peter to massage under his shoulder blades. “Good.” Peter loved the feel of Chris under his hands. He still didn’t quite believe this perfect thing could last. But Chris had come back to him—even beaten and lost and confused. He’d knocked on his door and found solace in Peter’s bed rather than running back to his old life. That went a long way toward assuaging Peter’s nerves. Peter urged up Chris’s T-shirt. “Hey, lemme do this for real.” Chris wrenched around to undress. “You wanna take your pants off, too?” Peter asked innocently. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me naked.” Chris smirked, but he did as Peter suggested, skinning out of his sweatpants and boxers. Peter only had a moment to admire Chris’s sexy, compact frame before Chris rolled onto his belly. “But hey, I’m expecting an actual massage here. You better not be expecting to just get laid.” “Aw man! You figured me out. And here I was thinking you were nothing more than a dumb jock.” Peter tickled up Chris’s sides. But before Chris could retaliate, Peter straddled Chris’s hips and pressed the heels of his hands alongside Chris’s spine. “Smart-ass.” Chris’s words were drowned in a moan. Then he went liquid under Peter’s touch. “Man, you’re good at that.” God. The sight of Chris laid out naked on his bed had Peter so hard his dick felt trapped in his shorts. Surreptitiously, Peter flipped open his fly, giving his cock more space. He tried to sound less horny than he felt when he said, “Glad you like.” “Hey, Peter?”

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The nervousness in Chris’s voice made Peter tense. “Yeah?” He forced his hands to keep working, kneading down Chris’s back to press into the taut globes of his ass. “I told Don.” Peter froze but forced himself to recover. He rubbed deep and hard into Chris’s glutes, then his thighs. They’d be sore from soccer, Peter knew. Chris had told him through the wall how tight he sometimes got after practice. “And, uh…How was that?” Peter wanted to be happy that Chris had told his best friend about their relationship. However, he was more concerned about how the conversation had gone. “He was cool.” The way Chris said it was light, but Peter knew there was more to the story. “Don’s uncle is gay and his parents are way liberal. I…I don’t know if he’ll still be my best friend or anything, but he didn’t seem pissed.” Chris sounded wistful. “It’s just…Well, things’ll be different.” He cleared his throat. “I mean things ‘would’ be different. If people knew.” Peter swallowed the sadness welling up in his chest. He wanted to take this all away from Chris, to make everything okay. He wished he could flash forward Chris’s life to the place where he’d feel settled. “Yeah. I don’t think they can be the same,” he said sadly. “Wish they could.” Peter pressed a kiss into Chris’s butt cheek. He’d meant it to be flirty, but Chris gasped in a breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be weird.” Peter resumed his massage, but Chris shifted his hips in something that looked like a wiggle. “Nah. I didn’t mind.” The way Chris said it was husky and far less sad than he’d sounded before. “Oh really?” Peter put as much smirk in his voice as he could muster. Then he slowly leaned forward until his lips were an inch from Chris’s other cheek. He felt the way Chris wound tight in anticipation. Wanting to draw out the moment, Peter eased his face

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lower until he pressed his lips into the furrow where Chris’s ass met the heavy muscle of his thighs. “Mmmm.” Chris thrust forward into the mattress. Peter’s head swam at the sight. He studied the expanse in front of him, from the small of Chris’s back to the dip of his knees. Peter lusted after every part of Chris, but Chris’s posterior was like a work of erotic art. “You like?” Peter ran his lips a short distance to the tender flesh where the lowermost curves of Chris’s ass met in his crease. Chris smelled amazing—like a mix of soap and sweat and earthy, rich grass. Almost imperceptibly, he jostled his legs apart. It was just enough space for Peter to fit his tongue to the base of Chris’s balls. “Holy fuck.” Chris bucked. This time when he moved fitfully, he failed to hide the way he was trying to spread his legs. Peter shuffled so that he was in the center, giving Chris an excuse to part his thighs in a wider V. The move required him to sit up a distance, and he took the opportunity to run his finger from the top of Chris’s tailbone down along his crack. He listened to Chris’s shallow pants, watched the tension in his body. And though Peter was so stiff he ached, he couldn’t think of anything better at the moment than dispassionately making Chris scream. “Remember that thing you were telling me?” Chris whispered. “Um…about the licking?” “Yeah?” Peter eased down the bed—getting his face closer to the object of his desire and also letting his cock settle into his bedspread. He palmed Chris’s cheeks and eased them apart. “C’mon,” Chris said in a voice that was almost a beg. “You’re killing me.” Peter smiled. A deep sense of power and satisfaction threatened to overwhelm him. “Impatient,” he scolded. But then he flicked the tip of his tongue over Chris’s rim. Chris let out a high-pitched huff of pleasure. He lifted his hips a fraction, almost like an offering.

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With a growl of appreciation, Peter dove in—licking, pressing, forcing Chris open. He knew Chris wasn’t used to it, might be uncomfortable having anything inside. But it wasn’t like he could hurt the guy with just his mouth. And the way Chris twisted and moaned was too good, too wonton. Before Peter had time to wonder or ask if it was okay, he was probing his fingertip alongside his tongue. He felt the way Chris would tighten then relax, only to squeeze closed and deny him entry. But then Chris twisted his hips into the mattress, like he was a hair’s width from coming, and Peter’s digit sank in to the hilt. “Oh…oh fuck.” Chris arched, propping himself up on his elbows. Peter didn’t want to stop. He wanted to grab the lube out of his drawer—the real kind you could use with condoms. His whole body itched to finger Chris open until the guy came with half Peter’s hand up his ass. “Yeah.” Chris collapsed on the bed in some kind of relief. “You didn’t come yet, did you?” Peter was amused and more than a little self-satisfied. He grinned at Chris’s back, all covered in a sheen of sweat. Then he resumed his gentle fingering. “Nah. Close, though.” Chris writhed. He looked at Peter over his shoulder. “God, I want you to fuck me.” A million thoughts zinged through Peter’s head—that Chris wasn’t ready, that getting fucked wouldn’t earn him a gay merit badge, that Peter didn’t know what he was doing. But that wasn’t true. Peter knew enough. “Give me a sec.” Peter tugged off his clothes and reached past Chris’s head to open his bedside-table drawer. He didn’t have to search long for his lone bottle of silicone-based lube. Since he’d never had sex before it was flush up against the drawer’s back wall. “Good lord, you need to organize your shit better.” Chris smiled. But his expression turned nervous when he saw Peter pull out a condom.

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“Hey.” Peter tossed the wrapper onto the bed alongside the small bottle. He pulled Chris into a kiss. Chris tasted warm and salty. His breath carried moans. When Peter finally pulled away, he pressed their foreheads together and whispered over Chris’s lips, “Take it easy. We don’t have to do anything you don’t like, okay?” Chris nodded, his skin brushing Peter’s face. Then he lay on the pillow, lip curving into a smirk. “Be gentle with me?” Peter snickered. “Smart-ass.” He kissed a path over Chris’s shoulder, down his spine, and to those perfect dimples that crowned Chris’s hips. Peter tried to be cool and open the bottle one-handed while he jostled between Chris’s legs, but the plastic proved too challenging and Peter resorted to biting the top off with his teeth. “Having trouble?” Chris’s joke was tipped with sexy impatience. “Nah.” Peter dribbled the lube over his fingers. He eased one digit into Chris’s opening and then, with a little more difficulty, a second. Chris’s breath caught, but then he let out a sound between a groan and a whimper and he resumed fucking his hips into Peter’s bed. “Not too bad, right?” Peter eased out of Chris then back in, adding a little twist. He felt amazing inside—slick and hot and tight. But Chris’s passage was so small. Peter couldn’t imagine how he’d fit in his cock. “You gonna think I’m a freak if I say it feels amazing?” The laugh in Chris’s voice told Peter Chris knew the answer. He was bucking back into Peter’s hand, urging that touch deeper and harder. Peter forced in the tip of a third finger. He watched Chris for signs of pain, hints that it was too much. But though Chris winced then panted, he didn’t ask Peter to stop. “Want you,” Chris said, in a voice so small and needy that Peter knew he’d give Chris anything in the world. “Yeah, me, too.” Peter rolled on the condom and lubed the outside. Then he collapsed onto Chris’s back, loving the feel of their skin pressed together and the smell of their sweat and their fear. His

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cock pressed into the slick furrow of Chris’s ass, and Peter wrapped a hand to Chris’s front. Chris thrust into his hand, his hips rolling. “God, I could come like this in a second.” Peter didn’t need to get inside, he was an inch from orgasm just from Chris’s body, his moans, his smell. “I want.” Chris tipped up his hips, his crease working Peter to madness. “C’mon. Try it.” The hesitance in his voice settled Peter’s nerves. Yeah, the key word was try. Peter lifted onto one arm and grasped his cock with his opposite hand. He poised it at the indent of Chris’s entrance, but just seeing it there gave him a thrill of worry. Chris blew out a long exhale. “Okay.” He eased back a fraction, silently urging Peter to respond. “Yeah.” Peter nodded. Using his hand more than his hips, he pressed the head of his cock into that tightness, keeping in mind the angle he’d taken with his fingers, where Chris had most liked his tongue. “Wait.” Chris froze. Then, after a moment that seemed like hours, he said, “Just…let me.” He pressed back, the tight cling of him grasping around Peter’s cock. It was heaven, and in that flash of a second, Peter thought they were going to continue, but Chris squeaked out an “ow!” and then pulled off, yelping a string of curses. “Ow. Motherfucker that’s…Fuck…Ow.”

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Chapter Nine “Sh…S’okay.” Peter knew this kind of thing rarely worked out well the first time guys tried. So, picking up where they’d left off, he wrapped his hand around to Chris’s half-hard cock, giving it a loving pull. “Hey, I hear it’s great once you have a little practice.” He craned his neck to kiss Chris’s cheek and was surprised to taste wetness. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry…” Peter was too horny to stop thrusting into Chris’s back. “Sorry if I hurt you.” Chris cocked his head around to give Peter a kiss. “It’s not your fault it hurt.” With a fortifying inhale, Chris pumped his cock through Peter’s fist. This time it was fully hard. Peter ground back, glad that Chris was okay. More than okay, Chris was shimmying and grinding, working his ass in rough circles. So much so that Peter had an idea. “Here.” He turned onto his side, pulling Chris with him so they were spooning. Then Peter settled lower and repositioned his cock at Chris’s entrance. “Um… I don’t know.” “You don’t have to do anything.” Peter ran his hand—still slippery from lube—over Chris’s erection, twisting at the cap. He didn’t thrust or push, just kept Chris balanced with his hole poised on Peter’s tip. “Just don’t come yet.” Nervously, Chris nodded. But on the next stroke of Peter’s hand, he relaxed. That shift of muscles worked him a tiny bit lower, just enough so Peter felt the open kiss of him on his cap. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” Chris said a second time, making Peter grin to his ears. Even if he couldn’t fuck Chris that night, he didn’t

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care. This was too awesome, watching Chris fall apart all sloppy and horny with his ass slowly working lower. Chris’s cock flexed, and Peter gripped hard around the base, making sure Chris didn’t go over. “Just a little more, baby.” While Chris mewled and whimpered, Peter pressed a centimeter deeper, so he could feel Chris’s ring of muscle stretch. “Fuck, I…” He felt the moment Chris gave in, the breath where Chris melted into his arms. It was then that Peter pumped the smallest thrust upward and then felt the twisting ecstasy of Chris’s body sucking him inside. The sound Chris made was a strangled howl, not like anything Peter had ever heard from a human. His entire body was limp except for his dick, which pulsed like it was about to explode in Peter’s grip. “Please…” Chris whispered. “God, it’s too much. Gotta come…” Peter wanted to give in, make it all about Chris. But some tiny impulse told him it would be better, for both of them, if Peter pushed a little more. “In a second, baby. Just three strokes, okay?” Chris sounded like he was about to cry when he said, “Okay.” He bent his head, shuddering as Peter pulled nearly all the way out, then he trembled when Peter slid in to the hilt. “One.” Peter held deep, his length strangled in Chris’s tight ass. He wanted to come so badly—to fill the condom with spunk and stretch Chris wide with his swollen cock. But Peter knew that probably wouldn’t happen before it was more than Chris could stand, so he resigned himself to enjoying the feel of Chris’s trembling. He tucked his hips back, pulling out of that heat in a long stroke before sheathing himself once more. “Two,” Chris gasped—the sound strung between pleasure and pain. His dick pulsed thick and strong in Peter’s hand, dribbling in a nonstop fountain of pre-cum. Chris shivered when Peter pulled back for the third time but gave the tiniest nod before Peter speared into him, this time hard and rough.

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“Three.” Peter kissed Chris’s cheek. He jerked there in tiny pulses, his orgasm so close he could taste it. “Go on, baby.” Peter stroked Chris in hard, sure pulls. Chris shuddered, mouth babbling a stream of, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Then he bucked in Peter’s arms, his cock shooting a fountain of cum. Peter had heard that when a guy came, his ass would clamp down on your dick. But he hadn’t been prepared for the blinding ecstasy. Peter’s cock pulsed then filled, only to spurt out warmth that bathed him inside the rubber. Peter wondered if he’d ever stop coming. And Chris was right there with him, gripping his arm, his voice a garble of whimpers and cries. By the time Peter thought to pull out, Chris was done shooting, and Peter knew it was going to be uncomfortable. “Hey.” He stroked Chris’s arm. “I’m gonna move again.” He tried to sound as sure as he could, knowing Chris would feel even more awkward if Peter made a big deal out of it. “Try and relax, and it’ll be over before you know.” Peter gripped the condom around its base and tucked his hips back. Chris still winced, but not nearly as bad as he had when Peter first got inside him. “You okay?” Peter tied off the rubber and tossed it in the trash. His bed was a mess, but luckily he had a second set of sheets he could use for the night. When Chris didn’t answer, Peter put a hand on Chris’s shoulder. He watched the set of Chris’s jaw and saw the way Chris wouldn’t seem to meet his eyes, and Peter knew he’d fucked up royally. “Oh…” He wanted to call Chris baby or honey or sweetheart but didn’t want to make things worse. “Man, I’m sorry.” Chris grabbed Peter’s arm and dragged Peter around him like a blanket. He was trembling, but Peter didn’t know whether it was from anger or sadness or fear. “That was…” Chris sniffled. “That was the most fucking amazing thing in my life.” Peter pressed his eyes closed and bent his head to lay his forehead on Chris’s sweaty shoulder. God, he loved this man. Before his chest

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could burst right open, he said, “Well that’s good, because you’re the most fucking amazing thing in my life.” He tugged Chris over, still not forcing eye contact. Peter’s feelings were still too raw, too sensitive to face eye to eye. But that was okay, because Chris tucked into his body, laying his head on Peter’s chest. “D’you want a shower?” “Yeah.” Peter’s stomach bounced with his chuckle. When Chris looked up, finally meeting Peter’s gaze, his face was flushed and shiny. A smile danced on his wet mouth. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.” **** Chris had seen the guys from Eta Xi around campus, and most of them had seemed normal enough. But Chris had to admit, as Peter opened the door and led the way into Eta Xi’s wide entrance hall, he’d sort of expected at least some of the guys to be wearing thongs. Instead, Chris found a range of guys around his age, mulling about in formal wear and drinking champagne. “Um…Peter?” He didn’t want to grab his boyfriend’s hand, but he wasn’t ready to walk straight into the party. “Is there some kind of dress code you didn’t tell me about?” Peter looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “It’s their yearly Black and White party, but Greg told me the dress code was optional. “It doesn’t look optional.” But even as he said it, Chris spotted a group of guys dressed like he and Peter were—in polos and jeans. He wondered if Peter would let him ease over in that direction, but Peter headed straight for Nathaniel, who was talking to a much taller, olderlooking guy. “Hey, Nathaniel. Hey, Greg.” Peter raised his hand in greeting. Then he reached back, as if he was going to take Chris’s hand, but pulled away at the last second. “This is my, um…next-door neighbor. Chris.”

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“Hey, guys.” Chris nodded awkwardly. He knew Nathaniel knew about him and Peter but wasn’t sure yet whether this Greg guy had heard. Slowly, Chris had been getting used to the idea of people not not knowing. He didn’t want to tell everyone, and he certainly wasn’t ready for any public displays of affection. But Holsum was a small school, and he’d come to realize it would be more trouble keeping the whole thing some big hairy secret than it would be to try and act cool. “Um…Nice place.” He figured Greg was a member of the fraternity since he was wearing a jacket and tie. “Thanks.” Greg smiled. He gave off that same kind of chill vibe as Don, as if he knew who he was and didn’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinion. Chris liked him already. “I’ve been trying to get our boys here join.” Greg threw one arm around Nathaniel and the other around Peter, crushing their heads like a big brother. “And I told you.” Nathaniel scowled, pushing Greg off. “I’m thinking about it.” With a snort, Greg let go of Peter. “I think you boys just don’t want to have to work setup and cleanup.” Greg gave them a stern glare. “And you.” He pointed at Peter. “I could see you running for office one of these days.” When Peter’s eyes went wide in shock, Greg said, “One of the offices at the Eta Xi. We’re always looking for a new secretary, and it’s only a step from there to running for vice president.” He waggled his eyebrows. “That shit looks great on your resume. Not to mention the contacts you’d make at alumni mixers.” Chris watched Peter’s face go pensive and saw a glimmer of ambition in his eyes, though he knew Peter would be too busy to take on any new obligations. As Chris had spent more time around Peter he’d noticed the guy tended to attract followers. It wasn’t just Nathaniel who was always nipping at Peter’s heels. Peter had been the freshman representative to the Queer Student Council and had served posts in the organization ever since. Chris hadn’t known much about those types of school

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organizations before hanging out with Peter, but he did know his appointments had each been an honor, not to mention a lot of hard work. “Maybe,” Peter said, with a coy lift of his eyebrows. Chris couldn’t believe how proud he was of the guy. “So Chris, I hear you play soccer.” Greg said it like he was trying to make conversation, but there was something questioning in his gaze. “Yeah. Forward. I take it you don’t follow the teams?” Chris had recently learned not everyone followed what was happening with school sports. “I go to some of the football games, and I play basketball, so obviously I’m all over that.” Greg smiled in a way that said, didn’t think any of us were on sports teams, did you? “Oh yeah.” Chris blinked. Now that he thought about it, he’d seen Greg play basketball. Chris had only been to a handful of their games because most of them interfered with his practice schedule, but he’d seen Greg running up the court. “Center, right?” Greg beamed, though he tossed his head nonchalantly. “Second string, but yeah.” “Woot. Too much testosterone.” Nathaniel fanned himself. “I need a drink.” He flounced off in the direction of the drinks table, dragging a reluctant Peter. “Be back in a sec?” Peter asked as he was pulled away. “Yeah.” Chris tried to seem chill. He could handle being at a gay party without Peter to protect him. “I’m cool.” When he turned back to Greg, he saw the other guy staring at him with interest. “So, this your first party with Peter and Nathaniel?” He asked it without a hint of judgment or mocking, and Chris found that he admired the guy even more. “Yeah, you can tell?” Chris wished he had a drink and wondered if he should have followed Nathaniel and Peter, but Greg must have

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read his mind because he waved over a young guy carrying a tray of champagne. “Yes, sir?” the guy asked, red faced. He was Chris’s age and very obviously same-sex oriented. His eyes were wide with adoration as he stared up at Greg. But then, as if remembering himself, he bent his head into a bow and presented the tray at the height of Greg’s hand. “Thank you, Jason.” Greg grinned indulgently. Chris thought the guy Jason was going to curtsy or wet himself with excitement, but he hurried off to continue passing around drinks. Greg snickered, handing Chris the glass of fizzy wine. “Pledges, man. Some of them get off on the abuse a little too much.” “So…um, he’s trying to get into Eta Xi?” Chris felt his face heat. He could sort of see the attraction in serving well-dressed men. Maybe even being forced to do it in a thong… “Yeah, having a pretty good time with it, too, from what I can tell.” Greg peered over at Jason, quite obviously checking out the boy’s ass. “It’s a lot of fun,” Greg mused, as if he were making nothing more than an observation. “Yeah, looks like…” was all Chris could muster. It was weird, being surrounded by gay guys, even though in most ways they didn’t seem much different than the guys Chris knew from his classes and the team. “You don’t have to be alone.” Greg said it offhand, again like he was just making an observation and the “you” in the sentence was more like “one.” But Chris knew who he meant. Greg meant him. “Yeah, I know.” Chris looked around the room, wondering if he could ever see himself there. “Yeah, you’re totally right.” **** Chris sprinted down the soccer field. The June air was hot, and sweat trickled down his cheeks. He swiped it out of his eyes with a

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quick shove of his hand and dribbled the ball past the other team’s defense. With a triumphant smile, Chris kicked toward the goal. It flew above the head of the goalie, and Chris’s team let out a holler of victory. The game was just a skirmish since it was the offseason, and they were playing on one of Holsum’s practice fields. But that made the success almost sweeter, since he and the guys didn’t have a big crowd watching their every move. “Hey, Fischer. Your boyfriend’s here,” Romero taunted. Chris ignored him as usual. He still didn’t know whether his team knew about him and Peter, though he figured they suspected. Not because there’d been more insults thrown his way but actually because there’d been less. Romero still said shit, but instead of backing him up, most of the guys lately had just muttered, “Give it a rest.” Chris couldn’t help but feel like it was because they wondered, or maybe flat-out knew, that Chris was seeing Peter. Or maybe it was just that the guys had never been all that cool with Romero’s bullshit, and Chris hadn’t noticed before how often they’d told him to shut up. While running to get ready for a throw-in, Chris darted a look to the sidelines to where Peter stood, flanked by Nathaniel and Greg. The trio had started coming to a lot of his skirmishes, and though at first it had made Chris uncomfortable to play with his boyfriend watching, he’d grown to appreciate the chance to show off. Also, he really liked Greg. However, he never could figure out what the senior saw in Nathaniel. The guy had a crush the size of the Missouri, and Chris always found it funny that neither Peter nor Nathaniel could see it. The referee called, “Time!” and Chris and his teammates jogged toward the bench for a quick sports drink and directions from the coach. But as he crossed the field, Chris passed Peter and his friends. Peter smiled at him with a look that was happy tempered with sad. “Hey, guys.” Chris drew to a stop. He slapped Greg’s outstretched hand and nodded jovially at Nathaniel. “Liking the game?”

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“Yeah.” Peter tossed his hair out of his eyes and said with every bit of his snarky attitude, “Gotta love sweaty men playing with their balls.” Chris snorted out a laugh, and his eyes met Peter’s. Before he could second-guess the action, Chris reached out and caught Peter’s hand. He didn’t lace their fingers. Instead he hooked his first two fingers with Peter’s in what could have been seen as a half handshake, if Chris hadn’t kept holding on. Peter blinked, staring at the couple inches of skin where their fingers linked. Chris could see in the way his eyes darted that Peter was struggling to find something sarcastic to say to cover up how he felt. “Is this okay?” Chris wondered if any of the other folks gathered around the field noticed or even cared he was holding a guy’s hand. But at that moment, he searched Peter’s eyes—his face, the set of his jaw—looking for some sign of how his boyfriend felt about the gesture. When Peter lifted his chin, Chris didn’t miss the way his eyes shone or how his throat tightened in an emotion-choked swallow. Peter smiled. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Chris. It’s awesome.” **** Candles weren’t allowed in the dorms, and Chris could have gotten expelled for taking the batteries out of the hallway’s smoke detector, but that didn’t stop him from teetering on the top step of his step stool and cautiously twisting the detector back into the ceiling. “What the heck are you doing?” Peter walked toward him down the hallway. They were the only two people left since finals had ended two days earlier. But Chris and Peter had decided to stay one extra night before driving Peter’s car down to New York where Peter’s dad had gotten both of them jobs for the summer.

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“I’m making sure our night of romance isn’t interrupted by a fire alarm.” Chris hopped off the step stool and folded it closed. Then he pecked Peter a kiss on the cheek. Chris smiled. “It’s our last night alone for a while.” Sure, they’d be living together for most of the summer at Peter’s house, but that wasn’t the same as the dorms. Chris didn’t know if he’d feel comfortable making out with Peter with his parents down the hall. Peter wrapped his arms around Chris, pulling him close. Then, with tiny steps, he backed Chris into his room. For some reason they still always slept in Peter’s room. Chris figured it was because Peter had the better sound system. “But I don’t see what the smoke detector had to do with us getting naked.” Peter pulled his shirt off over his head, and then shoved up Chris’s tank top, urging Chris to do the same. “You’ll see.” Chris tossed his top on the bed. “Close your eyes.” He waited until Peter lowered his lids before plucking the contraband pack of matches out of his pocket and lighting the series of candles he’d positioned all around the bed. Chris flipped off the light switch, waited for his eyes to adjust, and then whispered, “Open your eyes.” Peter smiled for a second before doing what he was told. And when he saw his room bathed in candlelight, his grin widened. “God, I love you.” He stepped to Chris and crushed their bodies together. Peter kissed his neck, and then up to his jaw. Before Peter could cover his mouth, Chris whispered, “I love you, too.” But the last of his words were swallowed by Peter’s assault on his lips and tongue. Peter kissed him like a drowning man gasping at his last sip of water, like he’d die if he didn’t get more of Chris’s mouth and his moans. Peter kissed him backwards until Chris crumpled onto the bed and Peter landed on top of him, hands everywhere.

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“Pants,” Chris gasped. He tried to get at the fly of Peter’s cargo shorts, but couldn’t because their hips were pressed so tightly together. “Yeah.” Peter reared back, ripping his shorts open and then fumbling with the drawstring of Chris’s sweats. It took some shuffling and a moment where Peter hopped out of his shorts in an unmanly fashion, but then Peter was on top of him again, naked and hard and everything Chris could imagine wanting. “Peter?” Chris couldn’t stop himself from asking something he hadn’t dared before. “Yeah?” Peter lifted his head. Like always, he was totally attentive. It only made Chris love him more. “We’re…Well, we’re together, right? Like, exclusive?” Chris figured they were, because they’d spent every night together since they’d started fooling around. But still, Chris was going home for a few weeks in the middle of the summer. He needed to know how things stood during that time, especially if he was going to come out to his family as he planned. Peter’s brown eyes went soft and liquid. He gave Chris the smallest, sweetest grin Chris had ever seen. “Of course we’re exclusive, dumb ass.” Though the words were harsh, the look on Peter’s face was caring. “I…” Peter broke eye contact, shaking his head. He didn’t, however, break the connection of their bodies. Chris rubbed his thumbs along Peter’s sides, urging him to say what he was thinking. He needed those words, whatever they were. “Baby.” Peter’s eyes were wet, but he chuckled like he was laughing at himself. “If I didn’t think my parents would freak, I’d ask you to marry me.” Smiling, Chris wound his arms around Peter’s waist. “I thought they didn’t care you’re gay.” He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, knowing Peter felt as seriously about their relationship as he did.

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Peter resumed his path of kisses up and down Chris’s neck. “Oh, it’s not because I’m gay. They don’t believe in getting married until thirty.” Chris had to laugh at that. In his hometown, kids got married at twenty-one all the time. He found it hilarious age would matter more to Peter’s parents than sexual orientation. “Well, maybe we should wait then.” Chris closed his eyes, his body responding to Peter’s kisses and hands. “Yeah, guess so.” There was a smile and a whip of wickedness in Peter’s voice. And then Peter was nipping his way down Chris’s chest, and lapping tiny licks on Chris’s nipples, making Chris writhe and pant. He thought about flipping Peter onto his back and going down on him, but he was enjoying too much the feel of Peter’s mouth working lower and lower on his belly. “Hey, get your cock up here.” “Really?” Peter shuffled to his knees and straddled his way up the bed. When he reached high enough that his cock batted at Chris’s mouth, Peter stared down, his expression pensive. He wound a hand around the back of Chris’s head. Lifting so Chris could get his lips on Peter’s crown. “You wanna?” Peter asked. Chris lapped at Peter’s tip, the taste of Peter’s pre-cum exploding on his tongue. He arched his neck, trying to get more in his mouth, and Peter bent forward at an angle to feed his cock deeper. “Oh, God.” Peter tensed. He pumped gently, his moves tentative, though it seemed like he couldn’t stop jerking. “Oh, God, this feels so good, but you gotta let me know if I choke you.” Chris made a garbled noise meant to express his pleasure. He figured Peter could tell he was enjoying himself because Chris bucked his hips off the bed, his cock waving in the air. He moaned around the insistent heat stretching his lips, sliding over his tongue. Peter never went too deep, but he didn’t pause his relentless thrusting, not even when spittle gathered around Chris’s lips and he felt drool slide down one of his cheeks.

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“Murfh…” Chris patted Peter’s thigh, asking him wordlessly to pause. “Yeah?” Peter pulled out abruptly, settling Chris’s head back on the pillow. “You okay?” His eyes were wide and his cock damp and inches from Chris’s face. And Chris wanted everything from Peter, every inch of his body and every way Peter could think of to use him. “I want you.” Chris pressed Peter lower on the bed, urging him to between Chris’s legs. They hadn’t tried anal since that first time, but Peter fingered or used toys on him almost every time they made love. Chris smiled. “Dude, I am so beyond ready. Just do it already.” Chris wrapped his legs around Peter’s hips and his arms around Peter’s shoulders. Then he craned his head up to whisper in Peter’s ear, “You can pretend it’s our wedding night.” Peter’s shuddering laugh echoed down his body, rubbing their hard cocks together. He ground into Chris, his hips rolling in a maddening rhythm that always made Chris so shivery and hard that he thought his head would fly right off. “Okay, then. Since we’re man and…man.” Peter winked at him and reached into his drawer of doom. This time he found the lube more easily, since they were using it almost every day. When he pulled out a condom, he paused. “Chris?” Peter didn’t wait for Chris to respond, just shifted a little. “Do you want me to use a rubber? I mean, I haven’t had sex with anyone else, and you used condoms the couple times you did, so…” Chris thought about it. “We’re together, right? Just you and me?” Peter met his gaze, and as if couldn’t bear to say it out loud he whispered, “Always.” Warmth gathered in Chris’s chest, and he nodded. “Yeah, then. Yeah, let’s not use them.” “Oh, God.” Peter fell on top of him, hands frantically groping open the lube bottle. Peter’s voice cracked when he said, “Fuck, I…” “Yeah.” Chris nodded. “Me, too.” He didn’t know if Peter was saying I love you, or I want you, or I can’t wait to do you raw, but

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that was okay because Chris knew he thought all those things, and Chris thought them all, too. Peter’s slick fingers found his entrance and pressed in and Chris relaxed into the pressure. He was so hot and bothered he didn’t notice even the slightest pinch of pain when Peter added another finger. Only a deep, stretching fullness that had Chris begging and muttering curses. “You ready?” Peter shimmied between Chris’s legs and positioned his cock. Without waiting for Chris’s answer, Peter eased forward in short, shallow thrusts. “C’mon.” Chris grabbed Peter’s hips. His cock was batting against Peter’s stomach, drawing trails of arousal, and he was so close he could taste the twist of his balls. He wanted to come with Peter doing him for real, hard and demanding with the headboard smacking into the wall. “Oh, fuck.” Peter grimaced as if he was letting go of some longheld belief or maybe his last semblance of self-control. Then he hitched Chris’s knee over his elbow and leaned way forward, driving in to the hilt. Chris’s breath rushed out at the intrusion, but he didn’t have a chance to inhale before Peter was snapping his hips, driving into him in long, brutal strokes. And Chris didn’t want it to stop. It burned through him and out his dick, making him feel like he was coming already, though thank God he wasn’t. “Oh my fuck, this feels amazing.” Peter’s eyes were screwed closed and his mouth hung open. He looked like a dark, wild angel. He growled when he said, “Rub off. Show me you like it.” Chris might have come just from those words. He brought a trembling hand to his cock and grabbed it tight, more to stop himself coming that to get off. Peter smiled down at him, slowing his strokes to a deep, languorous grind. Each one burned and ached and made Chris feel torn in two. But Peter’s steady grin kept him grounded. Sweat dripped

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from Peter’s chest to Chris’s belly, adding to the slippery mix of lube and pre-cum on his hand. “You close?” Peter asked, though the snarky slant of his eyebrow said that he knew perfectly well Chris was a moment from shooting. “Yeah,” Chris panted. He rubbed faster, his neck arching back and his body straining for release. “Me, too.” Peter said it kindly but chose that moment to hitch Chris’s other knee over his elbow so that Chris was spread wide. Peter bucked like strikes of lightning. He looked from Chris’s face, down his body to his cock, and when Peter’s gaze landed there it was all Chris could do to keep back his climax. And that’s when Peter whispered, so quietly Chris almost didn’t hear, “Show me, baby.” And it was as if Peter had lit a fuse under Chris’s balls. His back arched and pleasure streamed from his taint up his back and out his dick and Chris was shouting Peter’s name. Peter curled forward, letting go. And the pulse of Peter’s hot cock in his ass set off another serious of miniorgasms so that Chris’s dick sputtered out little jets of cum, each in time to Peter’s moans. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Peter lowered onto Chris so their foreheads were touching, their sweat mingling. Chris thought his chest might tear apart. “Fuck, I love you so much.” He felt Peter laugh under his breath, and for a split second Chris worried Peter was going to make fun of him for getting so emotional about sex. But instead Peter rolled them onto their sides so their legs were tangled and they were clutching one another. “Y’know, they’d freak if I said I was getting married, but I don’t think they’d care if we got engaged.” He looked sheepish when he said it. “I mean, it’s not like we need to get rings or anything, and we might have to stay engaged for years…” But Chris didn’t wait for Peter to talk himself out of it. “Yes.” He pecked a kiss on Peter’s lips. “Now shut up about it.”

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Peter rolled onto his back, smiling. “You’re awesome, you know that?” Chris gave Peter a little punch in the arm. “Yeah, I know. This really toppy guy who lives next door keeps telling me.” Then Chris leaned into whisper. “I think he’s got a crush on me. Like, maybe he jerks off while he thinks I’m listening.” “Dumb ass.” Peter mock wrestled him back. “You started fapping it first.” “Maybe.” Laughing, Chris let Peter pin him to the bed. Then he looked up into Peter’s dark brown eyes, grinning. “But I will never, ever admit it.”

THE END THEDAISYHARRIS.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Retired party girl and science fiction enthusiast, Daisy Harris spends most of her time writing sexy romance and plotting the fall of Western civilization. Ms. Harris lives in the Pacific Northwest, where she tortures her husband by making it rain. She enjoys watching bridges cause traffic, watching football games cause traffic, and blithely wearing wool socks with sandals. She has two little girls who've challenged Ms. Harris’ feminist tendencies by insisting that pink clothes and high heels are appropriate for every occasion, including rock climbing and camping trips. Daisy writes M/M and M/F romance about merpeople, dragons, zombies, and college boys. And she’s never missed an episode of The Walking Dead.

Also by Daisy Harris Siren Classic ManLove: Urban Merman 1: Jamie’s Merman Siren Classic ManLove: Urban Merman 2: Hiro’s Merman

For all other titles, please visit www.bookstrand.com/daisy-harris

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com