7. Hotaru
“Congratulations.” Nate falls in step with me as I climb the stairs, heading for my room.
I beam like I won the damn regional championship when I haven’t officially made the team yet. Tryouts start next week. I rolled with the guys yesterday while Coach watched. Nate had to stay after and this is the first time we’ve gotten to talk since.
“You think it went okay?”
“No.” He shoves my shoulder. Thankfully, we’re on the landing before my floor, and I don’t fall backward down the steps. “I think you killed.” He hurries me up the stairs with another shove. “I think you’re in contention to steal my spot as captain.”
“Not a chance.” I hustle up and to my door.
Nate is there, right beside me. My Adam’s apple gets caught in my throat. He’s so close. Same as he has been for the last week. Under the guise of training me to be the captain after he’s gone.
I know better.
Guys who aren’t hard up for your dick don’t stand as close as Nate gets to me. They don’t find too many excuses to touch another guy. They don’t look like they want to dine on your dong for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“I don't know.” His thick shoulder bobs. “The way you rode Kallen was pretty epic.”
My gaze lifts to the busy hallway. People are coming and going at a frantic pace. It’s Friday, a week and a half since I talked to my suitemate. Not that I care or am counting or anything.
Some guys are headed to the quad for a bonfire. Some are in a hurry to get to the cricket field for a game with a top rival. Others are blowing off all activities to hang out and play video games in their friends’ rooms.
“You going to unlock your door and let me in?” He grips the strap of his book bag as though it’s the only thing keeping him from throwing himself at me.
“That depends.”
“On what?” He smirks.
“Are you letting me in?”
There’s no intonation in my voice. No joke to be found. My question is about as real and raw as it gets while maintaining plausible deniability.
“Open the door,” Nate rasps.
“You didn’t answer my question.” I fold my arms over my chest, hating the stiff jacket we have to wear every freaking school day.
His mouth gapes for a second before snapping closed. “Yes.” There’s a quiver in his voice that hasn’t been there before. He’s never been a bottom or the submissive partner. I hike my brow.
“Yes." He nods and licks his lips, coming to terms with the situation.
“Past this threshold, you don’t run the show. I do.”
He snorts. “You’re like thirteen.”
“Fifteen.” Sixteen soon. I don’t tell him. It doesn’t matter. “Age has nothing to do with it. It’s dominance. I will dominate. You will submit. Or you can leave.” I unlock the door. “After all, I didn’t invite you in. You invited yourself.”
I leave him in the hallway and toss my book bag under the desk. He’s in and closing the door before I turn around. The lock snicks, and he’s on me, invading my space. His mouth rushes in, set for mine.
“Whoa there, Romeo.” I grab his face into my palms and ease him back. “If you want to kiss me, I have a better place for you to do it.”
“What?”
“On your knees.” My index finger and gaze point at the floor.
His eyes go wide, and he stares at me. Disbelief colors his cheeks. There’s lust there too.
“I’m sure you envisioned how this would go, but?—”
“Didn’t you?” He seems to be at war with himself. His gaze simmers, and his pants tent. He also rubs a hand over his short beard, trying to piece together his shattered notions of this rendezvous.
No, actually. Someone else features in my fantasies. And in them, I’m the one happily dropping to my knees.
“I don’t have to envision.” I straighten, only meeting his chin. “I know how it’ll go.”
“You sure are cocky.” The playfulness returns to his voice. The flirtation. He’s beginning to see how good it can be to lose control.
“You have no idea. If you want to find out.” I gesture to the floor in front of my feet.
“I’ve never…” He blinks at my feet.
“Sucked dick? Yeah, me neither.” But I’ve had mine sucked. Quite a lot. Kendra had many friends.
“We could do other stuff,” Nate offers.
“It’s okay.” I give him a wink and look at the door. “Maybe I’ll see you at the game later.”
“Wait.” Nate drops to his knees.
I take a step back. “I like domination, Nate, not coercion. Get up.”
A swallow works his thick throat. I can envision it now. My length plowing deep enough to gag him. I can almost hear his moans.
He licks his lips and eyes my crotch. His mouth opens to speak, but three heavy knocks on the door launches him to his feet. His cheeks are red as though we’ve done something wrong.
“Yeah?” I call out.
Nate looks at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. Panic throws a parade in his eyes.
My eyes don’t waste time on him. They find the defiant crack between the bathroom door and the jamb expanding, and then Mr. Judge’s stunning face appears in the widening gap. There’s malice in his gaze.
“Uh, so, like I was saying, great job at practice.” Nate tosses over his shoulder and scrambles for the door.
“Thanks.” I hop onto my bed and recline back as he fumbles with the lock and finally escapes, hastily slamming the door in his wake.
Reclining on two pillows, I stare expectantly at my suitemate. A cloud of doom and gloom hangs over his head as usual. The difference is now lightning flashes and thunder rolls. His anger gives life to his features. It highlights the newfound thickness in his neck, the blunt cut of his jaw, and the depth of his eyes.
My chuckle is light. It masks the lump in my throat and the fire in my veins, rushing toward my cock. “Lock that door for me.”
His gaze narrows. He’s lost his jacket, shoes, and his belt. His sleeves are rolled up his wide forearms.
“I’m not trying to trap you in here. Christ.” I hate that he affects me. I glare at the ceiling. “You came into my room.”
What is it with assholes today? They get my dick up and act like I’m the one in the wrong.
He moves fully into my room but keeps the bathroom door open for an easy escape. His impressive width rivals the door itself as he carefully pivots to it and turns the lock. I press my nails into my palm to keep from focusing on the fact that he’s in my room, the door is locked, and we’re alone.
Nothing will happen. I know that as assuredly as I know I’ll have my dick down Nate’s throat by Sunday, if I want.
After he’s adequately begged for it, of course.
Mr. Judge turns toward me. His arms are crossed over his chest, looking pissed and more assured than I’ve seen him.
I lounge like I haven’t a care in the world— lies —and wait him out.
The muscles in his jaw work, but he’s steady on his feet.
His lips finally part.
“What’s your name?” I cut him off, purposely, just to incite a reaction. He reels back like I asked him if he’s jerked off since the last time we spoke. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t. “The professors call you Mr. Judge. I’m not calling you that, and I’m tired of referring to you as my suitemate or the prick next door in my head.”
“Arlo.” His voice is so different. Like the last gasps of whipped cream from the can. Like a printer running out of ink. Used up. It’s raspy and thin.
The first time I heard it, I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought it was rusty from disuse. But no. It’s tattered and broken. It suits him, and that’s fucking sad.
“You don’t look at me for ten weeks, Arlo. Suddenly, you’re watching all my practices. Now, you’re in my room. Why?”
“Were you going to make Nate…” His upper lip curls, and I swear he’s about to snarl.
“What, princess? Was I about to make Nate, what?” I tilt my head as though I’m straining to hear what he’s not going to say. “Suck my dick? Moan like my bitch? Come in his pants?”
“Yes.” His arms unknot from his front and go taut by his sides. He clenches his fists, and the veins in his arms pop. The muscles too.
“No.” I put my hands behind my head. “I wasn't going to make him. I was going to allow him.”
“That’s not what it sounded like,” he snarls.
“You have a penchant for eavesdropping.” I grin. There’s no joy in it. Only contempt. And something else I haven’t examined just yet.
He steps forward and brandishes his index finger like a weapon. “If you force yourself on anyone, I’ll beat your ass.”
“Like the old guy who beats yours?”
His chest heaves. The color in his cheeks darkens. “Fuck you.”
Blood buzzes in my veins like I’m on the mat, locked in with a worthy opponent. “You wouldn’t have to force me.” I shrug. “Just say the word.”
“What’s wrong with you?” he spits.
The shrinks don’t know.
“What’s wrong with you?” I shoot back. “Why are you creepin’ on practice?”
“I’m not creeping.”
“Are you going to try out for the team?”
“No.” He looks at me as though I spoke an alien language.
“Then you’re creepin’.”
“I am not,” he bellows.
“It’s pretty homoerotic.” I lick my lips. “Tight singlets. Muscled bodies pressing against each other with all their might. The sweat. The grunts.”
“Shut up!” He lunges and shoves the edge of my mattress. The bed jerks and skitters. He leans over me, huffing.
I hold perfectly still.
This is one of my fantasies come to life.
His fury unleashes on my naked flesh. His hands on me, rough and demanding. His commands barked in that reedy voice. My body taking him away from his troubles for hours on end.
Our sweat mixing. Our tongues fighting. Our cum flowing.
I’m so ready. “There’s nothing wrong with the feelings you’re having.”
“Murder is frowned upon.” His hands flex, making his knuckles white. Like he’d love nothing more than to put them around my neck and squeeze.
“So is fucking, outside of narrow, neat, and tidy parameters ordained by the corrupt church. People still do both.”
His shoulders hunch. The fight drains from his features.
“Maybe they shouldn’t.”
He’s a masterpiece that’s been shredded. Only the tiniest fibers hold him together.
The instinct to reach out and pull him into my arms is new and shocking. I don’t give in to it. He’d probably implode, create a black hole, and take me with him.
What a way to go, though.
“I would never push myself onto someone,” I whisper.
“You told him to get on his knees.” His voice wobbles.
“When he didn’t do it willingly, I told him to leave. No harm done.” I grasp for the right words to explain something that so few people understand.
“I like controlling the situation.” Fuck knows it’s the only control I ever felt in my life. With a father like mine, all I experienced was edicts and disappointment. His and my own. Mostly his.
“More than that, I like a person’s willingness to give over control. That control is only as strong as the person’s trust in me. If they don’t trust me, they can pull the plug at any time. I would never make someone do something they don’t want to do. I simply give them the freedom to embrace the dirty things they desire but are too scared to admit.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not a monster.”
He straightens and wipes a hint of tears from his eyes.
“Hell, I’m still a virgin. If that’s even a thing. I’m pretty sure it’s bullshit.” I push myself to sit but lean back against the wall. That way, he knows I’m not making any moves toward him.
His haunted eyes study me for a long minute. He drags in a deep breath and then huffs it out like a beast.
“That makes one of us.”
Unlike the cheer I always planned to do when I lost my virginity, Arlo looks none too pleased about the fact that he no longer has his. His voice is thinner than normal. His face is drawn.
My heart cracks wide open.
For a second, I can’t catch my breath. It’s like he took a sledgehammer to my chest.
When my mother died, I had to push it all down. My father allowed not a single tear.
Emotion is for the weak. Kido men are not weak.
He spoke those words more than any other. They took the place that should have been reserved for I love yous. He spoke them in Japanese only.
Kido men don’t stoop to speak foreign tongues. We know them, so that we may know our enemies. We do not speak them.
Right now, I feel Arlo’s devastation deeper than my own.
Maybe it’s an innate need to protect his vulnerability. To allow him the simplest comfort of sharing his emotions, his fears, his hopes. I couldn’t do it for myself or my mother, but I can do it for him.