19. Clayton
Clayton
He was so shy for it being his first time with a male, but yet he was so open to it, too.
He was open and honest, telling me how he was feeling along the way.
I was right there with him, telling him that it was okay, and that it didn’t need to happen.
He was very adamant though and wanted it.
I shouldn’t have wanted it, but the second his hands were on my body, I was selfish.
Needed him. Wanted him in a way that I've never wanted anyone before.
If I focus on how I don’t trust him, I’m afraid I’ll never get past this, but I have to give him this chance.
Unless.. I can’t.
Maxwell stirs, eye fluttering open. He stretches his arms out and his body in a way that looks like a body shouldn’t move. Turning his head, he looks at me and smiles. For once, it’s wide and shows his teeth. He looks stunning.
“Why don’t you smile like that more?” I ask.
He clears his throat before speaking. “Like what?”
“With your teeth.”
“I don’t like them.”
“Why?”
“The bottom row is all fucked up and one of my front teeth is chipped,” he explains.
“I think you should smile for me more,” I whisper. “I like your smile.”
He smirks, shaking his head and blowing air out of his nose. “I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t hide.”
“Thank you,” he mutters.
“You’re welcome,” I smile down at him.
“No. Thank you for being here. You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re here, next to me.”
Maxwell snuggles back into my chest and I place a kiss on the top of his head. I could lay like this with him for hours and I wish I could, but unfortunately we both have classes we should be attending.
“Up and at ‘em. Have to get ready for class,” I say, tapping my hand on his shoulder. He groans back to me, but begins to shuffle out of bed.
“I have to go back to my dorm. I need clean clothes and a shower.”
“Information or invitation?” Maxwell smirks at me, a glint of humor in his eyes.
“Are you asking to shower with me at seven in the morning?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Maybe it’ll give us a good day,” he encourages.
“Alright, let’s go.”
“Shit, fuck, Clayton,” Maxwell groans. “We’re going to be late.”
“You’re the one who wanted to shower with me,” I say, rubbing my thumbs into his shoulders. “You’re so tense. Loosen up, would ya?”
“Yeah, shower. Not give me a ten minute massage. Come on,” he says, cutting the water off.
“Fine. No fun.”
“Really? You want to be late?”
I considered it for a moment. Saying screw class and just staying here, holed up with him, but unfortunately in life there are still responsibilities to be met.
“No,” I mutter, stepping out of the shower. I grab the towel off the back of the door, glad that the both of us have connecting bathrooms and don’t have to use the community ones.
Wrapping the towel around my waist, I grab another clean, folded one from the shelf above the toilet and pass it to Maxwell.
My eyes scan him up and down. The flex of his thigh muscles as he moves, the little trail of hair leading down to his groin. The bulge pressing against the fabric of the towel.
He turns to the sink, grabbing a comb from the counter. I hadn’t noticed it before, but he has a birthmark starting at his back and wrapping around to just the side of his front. It’s darker than the rest of him and large. It almost looks like the shape of a peanut.
Stepping closer to him, I trace a finger over the outline, hovering right about the towel he has wrapped around his waist. “I like your birthmark,” I say.
“Oh, thanks,” he says. Less like words and more like a breath. Turning around to face me, he cups my face and gives me a quick kiss. “Stop touching me or we won’t make it to class at all,” he says, his lips hovering in front of mine.
“What if we just skip?”
“Nope because then it’ll be my fault later. Come on,” he says, brushing by me and grabbing the pile of clothes I set out for myself. Shoving them into my chest with a smirk, he turns again and grabs his clothes.
Dropping his towel to the floor, I stare at the curve of his ass and the way it moves as he gets dressed.
“Well, when you keep moving around here naked, you make it hard.”
“I’m wearing clothes now. You are not. Get dressed, pretty boy,” he demands. Sitting on the edge of my bed, he leans back on his hands, and watches my every move.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“With.. I don’t know, sex eyes.”
“Oh, this?” He questions, tilting his head down a bit and his eyes seem to go dark. Focusing right on me, studying the way I move. “We can’t miss classes. We only have about a month left.”
“Ugh, fine.”
We both finished getting ready. I throw some gel in my hair to tame it. Maxwell puts his trusty headband on. Just as we’re finished and ready to go, my phone rings. Grabbing it from my desk where it’s charging, I see it’s my mom calling and answer the phone.
“Morning, Mom,” I greet.
“Hi, honey. Sorry to call so early it’s the first free moment that I’ve had. I’m planning our camping trip for the Fourth of July. Are you going to make it?” I turn my head to Maxwell and he’s looking at me like hurry up.
“Yeah. Can you put me down for two?” I ask.
“Who is coming with you?”
“Oh. A friend,” I say.
“A friend? I’m more than your friend!” I hear Maxwell behind me.
“More than a friend?” Mom parrots, voice filled with happiness. “Oh, this is going to be so good!”
“Okay, yeah, more than a friend. It’s complicated. His name is Maxwell,” I concede.
“That’s great, honey! I can’t wait to meet him and see you. I miss you.”
“Miss you too, Mom. I have to get to class, love you.”
“Oh! Sorry! I’ll let you go. Tell me about him later,” she sing-songs, and I’m sure if I was standing by her she’d wink at me. Hanging up the phone, shoving it into my pocket, and grabbing my bag, Maxwell stops me before leaving.
“What am I RSVPed for?”
“Camping trip for the fourth of July,” I tell him.
“Ah…” He trails off. “Well, usually Mav, Dax, and I hang out for fireworks and drinking.”
“Invite them,” I offered.
“Are you sure?” He looks at me skeptically.
“Yeah, why not?”
“Are you… mad at Maverick?”
I think about my answer for a moment before I respond.
Maverick was the first one to own up to what they did being wrong, but it seems easier to be mad at him when I’ve already forgiven Maxwell.
If I can forgive him, why can’t I forgive his friend too?
Maybe I’m too caring or too understanding or too lenient, but thinking about it, I don’t have enough energy in me to be angry with Maverick.
“No. I’m not,” I admit and it’s the truth.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, Maxwell, I’m sure.”
“Are you ever going to stop calling me Maxwell?”
“Maybe.”
“You called me Max last night.”
“We should go,” I say instead, ignoring that statement. Maxwell nods, opening the door for me.