Chapter 17
17
LAMPWICK
W e lie there for hours, letting the azure darkness of dusk wash over us. As day gives way to night, I cuddle with him on the blanket. It’s getting colder, since we’re approaching winter, but I ignore it. With Pinocchio under my arm or lying on my chest, I don’t feel anything but content.
Elated? Euphoric? Maybe some other big word that Pinocchio will teach me about.
We don’t even talk much since we’ve spent years, it seems, growing up together, chatting nonstop. Now we get to just enjoy each other’s company. We’ve had oral sex, and I’ve never felt this close to anyone. My best friend simply feels right; he belong next to me, I know it.
Pinocchio has shown me I’m not that awful kid anymore. I deserve some semblance of happiness, and I can think of no greater joy than making love to my best friend. I’ll spend this lifetime and the next fighting to prove I’m worthy of someone so loyal, brave, and true.
I breathe him in and sigh as we cuddle, listening to the babbling creek. “In case you were wondering,” he says softly, lying on my chest. “That was my first time.”
I snicker. “I figured.”
He looks up at me, precious eyes blinking in surprise. “What does that mean?”
“Well, I’ve been back for months, Sticks.” I brush his cheek, and he smiles.
“And?”
“And you haven’t exactly been the most sexual type, going after girls and the like.”
He rolls over to my arm. “That is true, I suppose. I wasn’t really desired in school.”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean? You were so bright.”
“Yes, but to everyone, I was a former puppet, and no one wanted to be friendly with a boy who used to be wood.”
I frown. “They were fools.” It’s true—how could anyone not want to bask in the greatness of Pinocchio?
“It’s okay. After all, I had you.” He pokes me and we share a smile.
I rub his back for a few moments more. “So, Giovanna’s the first girl who’s tried to kiss you?”
“No. I have on occasion been approached by girls.” We both giggle.
“Ah, I get it. You’re rejecting people left and right.” We laugh and he turns to me.
“Maybe none of them felt appropriate. Maybe…I’ve been waiting for the right person.” He brushes my hair and beams at me.
Please don’t break my heart, Pinocchio . The words want to escape my lips, but I have the sense to hold back. My emotions threaten to flood my throat, declarations of love and devotion that feel both overdue and much too soon.
“Or perhaps you’ve just been waiting for a sodomite like me to suck you off,” I say with a smirk.
He laughs and leans in. I kiss him slowly, breathing in his scent, wanting to memorize everything about tonight. I get to hold my best friend, taste his lips, and make love to him, knowing he wants me back, at least for now. Our stolen moments in the privacy of the creek will have to be enough. Speaking of…
“We should probably get back,” I say.
“I suppose so.”
“And we need to establish what we’ll do at home.”
He sits up and beams at me. Even in the darkening dusk, Pinocchio lights up my world. “What?” I ask with a grin.
“Home. You and me. I like the sound of that.” He stands up, smiles, and reaches his hand out.
My heart threatens to choke me. The way I feel about him is overwhelming. I have visions of sleeping with him every night and forging a future together, but I have no idea if he’ll want me in the long run. So, I take his hand and let him pull me up.
“But yes, we need to set some ground rules,” I say, distracting myself by folding up the blanket.
“Let’s…keep it private.”
“Agreed.”
We walk up the ridge and he takes my hand, sending shooting stars of affection up my skin. “But I’m pretty sure my dad knows.”
“What?” My heart pangs with fear.
“He all but said it was okay if I was a homosexual.”
“Really?” We walk down a particularly rocky path, our arms swinging along, fingers interlaced.
“Yeah, because he used to be a homosexual too.”
“What?!” I yelp.
“Oh yeah, there’s a lot to discover about Papa apparently.” He looks me in the eye as we walk. “But we have time to learn everything about each other. All the time in the world.”
His eyes nearly reflect the burgeoning starlight. The words sound like forever, so then why am I so scared to accept them?
* * *
Dinner is just as pleasant as ever. The three of us chat and laugh over parmagina di melanzane and spaghetti. In the candlelight, I grin at another one of Geppetto’s funny tales of the olden times. I sense the charge between Pinocchio and me, but I refrain from crossing those few centimeters and taking his hand or touching his feet. It’s difficult, but our relationship is so new, and we need to take it one dinner at a time.
Hours later, I’m all washed up when the nerves start to set in. I’m in my pajamas, tapping my feet in the living room. Geppetto is already snoring in his room, and even Arpeggio is asleep. Now I anxiously await for Pinocchio to come back from his bath.
He returns looking comfy and clean as he strides right into the room. I close the door and settle on my floor bed while he sits on his mattress above. Like most nights, a tiny candle illuminates the small space so he can read. With his feet under the covers, he takes a book out and places it on his lap.
We speak nothing of our burgeoning relationship. Our mutual desires are so palpable, it’s like invisible strings are pulling me toward him. But I don’t cross that threshold.
I sit upright and gaze at him intently while he begins to read. “Once upon a time,” he begins. “The shark man fell in love with a human. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life making his human happy.”
His warm voice doesn’t lull me to sleep tonight. I barely pay attention to the words, opting instead to watch his perfect mouth move while he recites the tale. His lips are pink, and I recall how he felt on my hardness.
I can’t take this.
“And so, he…” As Pinocchio reads, I stand up and sit next to him on his bed. All these months, I haven’t dared to touch his mattress, lest I become overwhelmed with lust. But now, he and I are together, at least in secret.
I pull him next to me with my right arm. I place my chin on his shoulder, and he smiles and tenses up. “And then what?” I ask.
“And he…um…he made a wish to, um…”
Pinocchio keeps stealing glances at my lips, rendering him unable to read. I’m flattered I have this effect on him, but mostly I’m filled with lustful desire. “Use your words, Sticks,” I purr.
I cuddle closer to him, and he glances back down. “He made a wish to become human, himself. To walk on land and meet his soulmate.”
“He wanted to become a real boy,” I murmur. I kiss his ear, and he shivers. “Just like someone I know.”
“Ah.” Pinocchio sighs and pushes away the book. “Lampwick, what…uh, what do you…?”
“I’m sorry, Sticks. But I just can’t keep my hands off you,” I whisper. I knead his shoulders, and he leans back. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”
“But…”
“I promise I’ll move back early in the morning.” I kiss the back of his neck, and goosebumps rise in response. “No one has to know,” I whisper.
He sighs and nods. “Okay.”
I quickly shift and blow out the candle while he puts away the book. Within moments, the two of us are lying down in the darkness.
The small bed is hardly comfortable for me, and I all but wrap myself around Pinocchio. The back of his head presses into my face, and his brown curls tickle my nose. Still, he smells and feels so heavenly.
I’d rather be uncomfortable with the man I call my home than live in a palace with anyone else.
“Goodnight, Sticks,” I whisper.
“Goodnight, Lampo.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me back into your life.” I kiss the back of his neck, a privilege I’ll never take for granted.
“You belong here,” he says through a yawn. He takes my hands around his waist and cuddles me close, and my heart swells in contentment. As I drift off, the only thing I can think of is how I want to hold him like this for the rest of my nights.