Chapter Eleven
What. The. Fuck.
Elliot ran his hands under the faucet as if washing them would make them stop glowing.
His power churned in his gut, hot and fast, like a disturbed hornet’s nest. His blood was pumping with adrenaline and magic.
Every part of his body was extra sensitive.
Like he could hear, see, taste better. Like some freaking superhero.
He’d never felt an orgasm like that. Had never felt anything like that in his life. He wanted to run out of the house and find someone to heal. Show up at the hospital and empty out the emergency room in two point eight seconds flat.
He clenched his hands into fists, and the light finally went out, though he was still shaking.
If there was any doubt that Elliot’s magic was somehow tied to Damon, it was gone now.
Don’t take the bait, decrease my heart rate, he recited the spell that practically never worked.
His magic flickered, and a single wave of calm flooded him. Elliot sighed in relief. He slumped against the sink. His mind cleared enough that he could actually think.
What was that?
They’d been wrestling for years, so what had changed?
Maybe it was a fluke. Stimulation would make anyone aroused.
Like Elliot told Damon in the beginning, it didn’t mean anything.
Maybe Damon had just been curious. Maybe he’d been imagining jerking himself off and was imagining a girl giving him a blowjob.
Although, he had kept moaning Elliot’s name.
And he was all bent out of shape about Benjamin. What was that?
Oh God.
Elliot ran his wet hands through his hair as the realization sank in.
That was him losing his best friend.
He’d thought telling Damon that he was gay had changed things between them...
This? This? Damon would never talk to him again.
Elliot would have to pretend nothing happened. They’d agreed to forget it. So that was what he’d do.
Forget. Forget all about sucking off his best friend. The best friend he’d had a crush on for as long as he could remember.
Yeah.
Right.
Elliot padded into the dining room where Ms. Montré and Damon were dishing out food.
“Uh, so I’m really sorry, but I just realized I need to get home,” he said.
Damon’s head whipped up. “Why?”
Elliot winced. Ms. Montré was watching them with curiosity. He swallowed. “My mom wants me to help her…uh, with the mulching. Yeah. She, uh, got a shipment, and it’s too heavy for her to spread, and my dad hurt his back so...”
Damon glared at Elliot. “You can’t leave. You can’t! You were…going to help me with my math homework.”
Elliot worried his lip.
“Please,” Damon said, the word a broken plea. “I need you—your help, I mean.”
Elliot’s willpower cracked. He’d never been able to resist Damon’s sad eyes. He couldn’t deny him anything.
“Text your mom and tell her we’ll do the mulch together next weekend. It’ll get done twice as fast,” Damon said.
Elliot pulled out the chair beside him and sat down at the table. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled and pretended to pull out his phone to text his mom.
Damon took a deep breath and sighed it out, passing the bowl of pasta to Elliot after taking his helping.
Their fingers touched, and they shared a look that Damon broke first.
Damon pushed his food around his plate and gave his mom one-word answers about school and baseball, forcing Elliot to make up the slack.
After dinner, all Elliot wanted to do was go home and stare at the ceiling and try to figure out what the hell was going on.
He needed to be alone to think about how he should act.
He didn’t know the best way to go about this.
Did they have a mature conversation about it?
Did they continue to pretend it didn’t happen?
Did Elliot suck it up and admit his feelings?
Ha. No way.
Elliot was distracted by these thoughts as he followed Damon to his room, which was why he let out an embarrassing squeal when Damon grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulled him inside, and pressed him against the closed door.
“I couldn’t let you leave. I can’t...” Damon squeezed his eyes shut. “Please. I don’t want to fight like last time.”
“We’re not,” Elliot said. “We’re not fighting.”
“I can’t handle you avoiding me. Us not talking,” Damon said, his knuckles white as if he could hold Elliot there with him through pure strength of will.
“It’s okay, Damon,” Elliot said, grabbing his wrist, which loosened his hold on his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere—”
Damon launched forward, silencing his next words with a kiss.
Elliot tensed, his confusion and shock freezing him in place for a split second, and then his power lit him from the inside out, the heat from his magic and his desire melting him, making him pliable and moldable to Damon’s wandering hands.
Damon’s mouth slotted over Elliot’s, and his stubble scraped along Elliot’s cheeks, rough and biting. Damon flattened his palms over his chest, up his shoulders, grabbing either side of his jaw and forcing Elliot into whatever position Damon wanted.
Elliot finally regained some motor function and let his hands travel under Damon’s shirt, reveling in the peaks and valleys of Damon’s ab muscles under his hands.
He’d always wanted to lick them, wanted his mouth on them.
That had been the very first thing he did when Damon had let him touch him.
He was obsessed with his body. Had been for so many years.
And now it was pressing into him and he was free to touch it all he liked.
Elliot wound his hands to Damon’s back and kneaded the lean muscles along his spine and down toward his ass.
He hesitated for a second, but Damon was nipping at his bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth, so Elliot squeezed the round muscled flesh of his ass and used that leverage to pull their groins closer, practically humping him.
He tried to memorize the ecstasy that was Damon’s body against his.
It’d been so much better than Elliot had ever let himself imagine it could be.
Damon ground his pelvis against Elliot’s, their hardening dicks rubbing against each other.
Frantic need erupted; power burst from Elliot’s hands, but neither of them noticed or cared. Every cell of Elliot’s body was singing Damon’s name in perfect harmony.
Damon’s tongue was mouth fucking him, vicious and demanding, with so much need it made Elliot want to know what it’d feel like if Damon really fucked him.
What it’d feel like to have more than just Damon’s tongue inside him, to have all of him inside of him.
Damon was already imprinted in Elliot’s every cell.
They grew up together. Every cherished memory Elliot had had pieces of Damon in it.
“Damon,” Elliot moaned as Damon kissed and nipped his jaw, but he shouldn’t have broken the silence because in the next second Damon was gone, backing up with scared wide eyes.
Elliot put his hand out, but Damon only stared at it like it was poisonous.
“Hey. It’s okay. It’s fine.” It wasn’t. But Elliot could pretend. He’d been pretending for years.
“We can’t...” Damon rubbed his eyes. “I’m not…”
Elliot sighed. “You aren’t gay?”
He shook his head.
Elliot pressed his lips together. “Is it possible that maybe...”
He stared at him like the next words out of his mouth might cause an explosion and destroy everything.
Hell, maybe they would.
“Is it possible that you’re bisexual?” Elliot asked.
Damon stepped backward until his knees hit the bed, and he sank down. He put his head in his hands. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“I can go,” Elliot said. “I don’t want to upset you.”
“No.” He looked up with tears in his eyes. “Please don’t leave. I...I have no one to... I need my best friend.”
Elliot’s heart broke at the anguish in Damon’s voice. He sat beside Damon on the bed and wrapped his arms around him. Damon buried his head into Elliot’s chest and sobbed.
“It’s okay,” Elliot said, rubbing his back. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t. You’ll never lose me.”
The last time they were in this exact position was when Damon’s dad died. His dad had been amazing, funny and jovial, just like Damon. If he was still alive, Damon could have gone to him. Could have told him what he was feeling.
But Damon didn’t have his dad anymore. As much as Elliot was confused and upset and heartbroken over whatever was happening between them, it was ten times harder for Damon.
“I’m not going anywhere, Damon.” Elliot held him tighter and hoped the sentiment said what he couldn’t. What he’d been unable to admit to himself until now.
I love you.