Chapter 19
Circus
Fuck. Today.
I stare at a random spot on the floor, slumped down in my couch and wishing the world would go and fuck itself with a giant barbed dildo.
Five years today since I last saw their faces.
Since I saw the fierce flash in Mom’s eyes every time she caught sight of my broken nose.
Since Dad smiled warmly as he brought me soup for lunch.
They were never supposed to go out that night.
They were supposed to help me get over my heartbreak, and see me graduate, and send me off to college.
I take another sip of the scotch and hold back my gag.
I hate scotch.
But it was Dad’s favorite, so it seems fitting.
To sit and get wasted.
To watch the day pass outside, while I sit here, completely forgotten about.
Leon will be over at some point to make sure I haven’t killed myself, but the joke’s on him because I’m not suicidal.
Or is it on me?
Because maybe if I was, the pain would go away.
Instead, all I have left of them is a deep ache behind my sternum that’s infecting my bloodstream.
And it hurts.
It hurts to know this was never supposed to be my life.
I was meant to study business and become a suit. To visit home on the weekends and call my parents every night.
Maybe I even would have taken them for granted and forgotten to check in while I was at college having my first adult experiences.
I’ll never know.
All I know is that I won’t be visiting them at home or forgetting about them, ever.
And to really drive the point home, it’s Mother’s Day next week. Thank fuck I’ll be in LA.
I sigh heavily and it seems too loud in the quiet, empty house.
Maybe I shouldn’t have sold my childhood home. Would I have ever gone back there? My sources say fucking no.
But my dumbass seventeen-year-old self took that option away.
I frown as I register a tapping noise, but it goes away.
I lift the bottle of scotch to my lips and this time take an even longer drink.
I’m tempted to grab my phone and check my notifications. Check and make sure people still love me and remind myself there are people in the world thinking of me in this exact moment, but my phone is locked away.
Because I know too well that getting blind drunk and social media do not mix.
I blink and sit up a little, sure I heard a creak. The noise is gone now, but did I? Or is it just the alcohol messing with my head?
“Want company?”
I jump about a foot and spin to see Rowan standing in the doorway. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
He doesn’t answer. I take another drink. Then burp loudly.
“Hells no to company. Today’s my day to get wasted, and I’m not having anyone around to judge me for it.”
He walks closer anyway. “You’ve never judged me for my shit,” he says as he reaches out and pries the bottle from my hand. “And I’ll never judge you for yours. Besides, that would be pretty hypocritical of me when I’m planning on getting blackout drunk too.”
“What?”
“Misery loves company, right?” He takes a long drink, then shudders as it goes down. “Bottoms up.”
“You know …” I stand, stepping forward until I’m well within his personal space. “When a gay man says that, it has an entirely different meaning.”
I take the bottle and as I drink, I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows thickly.
“Good to know,” he says.
“Mmhmm. And I’d be more than happy to do as I’m told.”
Rowan starts to laugh, but I pick up on the way it’s slightly off-key.
I’ve rattled him. Which is perfect. Having the alcohol swimming through my veins makes it way easier to say what I’ve been thinking for weeks, and he better hurry up and catch up to my level of intoxication, or he’s not going to be drunk enough to handle me.
He takes my arms and steers me back toward the couch.
I fall backward and a bit of scotch sloshes out of the bottle and over my hand. Rowan takes it from me as he sits too, so I turn, catch his eyes, then very slowly start to drag my tongue through the alcohol on my fingers.
His groan sends waves of pleasure across my skin. “No more of that.”
“Of what?”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re teasing me.”
“Fucking duh.” I flatten out my tongue and drag it from my wrist, up over my palm.
“Circus …” His voice is husky, and I love the sound.
“If you’re determined to stay …” I wriggle closer and steer the bottle back to his lips. “Drink up, boyfriend.”
He only hesitates a second before he does what I say. “So, is this what you’ve been doing all day? Or do you go visit them too?”
I snort. “Nope, I just drink. I, umm …” I turn away from him and take another sip from the bottle. “I haven’t actually been to their graves. Other than the funeral.”
“What?”
His disbelief puts me on the defensive. “Why the hell would I want to? Like, wow, what an amazing way to remind myself that my only family are dead.”
“Sorry …” he whispers.
The scotch is buzzing in my veins. “I don’t want to talk about them.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Silence falls between us for a while, Rowan clearly as lost in thought as I am. “I walked out of church this morning.”
The weight of that slides through my drunken haze. “No way, really?”
“Yep. Wasn’t subtle about it either. Halfway through and I was like, fuck this, and left.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Thanks. And now I’m hiding out here so I don’t have to face what my family is going to say about it.”
“Aren’t we a pair?” I ask as he passes the bottle back to me. “We both have family issues. You have too much, and I have none at all. Could you imagine being part of one of those well rounded, healthy family dynamics?”
“Do they exist?”
“The TV says yes.”
His tone turns mocking. “And do we believe everything we see on TV, Circus?”
“Always.”
“Zombies?”
“Totally real.”
“Umbrella Academy?”
“Documentary, right?”
He laughs. I’m addicted. “Explain Elmo to me.”
“What’s to explain? He’s cuddly and red.”
“But why does he laugh so much?”
“Because he’s ticklish, duh.” It gives me an idea. “What about you?”
I wriggle my fingers into his ribs, and he lets out the most adorable laugh as he squirms to get away from me. “Enough, I concede.”
The last thing I want to do is stop, but I remind myself of a thing called self-control which is becoming more and more distant as the drinking goes on.
We pass the bottle between us, as we talk about the most stupid things, and every time one of us comes close to talking about our families and bringing down the mood, we wingman each other out of there.
All I wanted when today started was to drink and cry, but Rowan has eased some of that all-consuming pain, and the more time I spend with him, the more relaxed I am.
Well, the more time I spend with him and the scotch.
Because damn I’m buzzed.
“My fingers are all tingly,” I tell him.
He takes one hand and starts to kiss each fingertip. “How do you feel now?”
Am I drooling? “Tingly, but for another reason.”
He smirks and flicks his tongue over one of them. “And now?”
My groan gets stuck in my throat, and before I can answer, he sucks my finger into his mouth.
“Erect,” I gasp. “Definitely feeling erect.”
He lets my hand drop like dead weight into my lap. Rowan presses his lips to my ear. “I was pretending that was your dick.”
A shiver racks my body. “Why are you getting me excited over nothing?”
“Isn’t that what your bottoms up comment was?”
“The difference is, I’m perfectly prepared to follow through.”
“Really …” He shifts closer, sliding his legs underneath mine. “Tell me what you’d have me do to you.”
“Are you sure your poor closeted dick could handle it?”
“He’ll behave. Someone taught me the importance of jerking off before I come here.
” His breath is heavy with the taste of scotch, and I know mine isn’t any better.
We’re both half-wasted which is the only reason we’re even having this conversation in the first place.
Which leads me to the question: Why haven’t we gotten drunk together before now?
“I could make you come here.”
“I have exactly zero doubts about that.” His voice is deep, and despite what he said about jerking off, I’d bet my house he’s as turned on as I am right now. My restraint is stretched thin, and I’m just waiting for one of us to snap.
“Want to know how?”
“Yes. Always yes.”
I lean into him, and his arms automatically close around me. “First, I’d strip you naked, exposing every one of those muscles that drive me crazy. Then I’d kiss you. Slow at first, then deeper and harder until I had to stop so you could catch your breath.”
His hands tighten on me, and I feel them start to shake. “Would you be naked too?”
“Only if you did it. Only if you popped each button open, until you could touch every inch of skin you wanted. Then you’d slide my pants over my hips and see exactly how hard I am for you.”
“Fuck.” Rowan’s head drops back, so I lean forward and lick a stripe up his neck. He tastes like salt and man, and a moan leaves me as I pant against his skin.
I need to pull back. End this.
I know if I keep pushing, I’ll take things too far.
But then Rowan whispers into my ear, “What else?”
“I know you remember how good my mouth is. And trust me when I say it’s gotten even better. Your dick, your balls …” I pause before taking it one bit further. “Your hole.”
Rowan jerks back and I’m worried for a second that this is the too-far point, but then I see his face. His eyes are wide, his breathing is shallow and erratic.
He starts to lean forward, so slowly I swear he’s fighting himself on it. I’m holding my breath to see what will happen.
And then his lips brush over mine.
His hands shake as he cups my face, but they don’t seem as bad as usual. I can feel the way he’s holding himself back though. Restraining. Attempting to hold on to a quivering semblance of control.
I close my eyes and memorize the feel of him. His lips, his scent, his strong hands.
He pulls back, nose brushing mine, and our eyes clash.
A second stretches between us. Then two.
He moves before I can prepare myself.
Rowan tackles me back into the couch, and his mouth crashes into mine. It’s hard and demanding, and as soon as he works my lips open, his tongue surges into my mouth. I feel his groan right down to my toes.
His kisses are desperate, and I respond with as much passion, and it’s just now occurring to me how starved for affection I am. I can only imagine how it must be for him.
To never let himself touch or look or give in to these feelings, and all that pent-up need is coming through loud and clear.
“Kelly,” he pants into my mouth.
The sound of my name sets me on fire. I part my legs and pull him flush against me, and the feel of his heavy body on mine, his hard cock rutting against my own, makes my brain check out.
I can’t focus. Can’t think. All I can do is feel and kiss and grind against him.
His groan echoes mine, and his breathing picks up a notch. I bend my knees more and grab his ass, encouraging every thrust that works deeper, harder. My shorts are painful against my throbbing cock, but Rowan seems to have lost all control.
He starts to grunt as he picks up the pace, and then his whole body goes stiff.
His moan is long and drawn-out, and he collapses on top of me, kisses turning slower and more sensual.
Meanwhile I’ve still got a raging hard-on.
“Come with me.” I ease up and grab his hand, dragging him with me to my bedroom. My thoughts are cloudy with lust as I push him back on the bed and slowly strip out of my clothes. Then I reach down and start to stroke myself.
His eyes zero in on the sight.
Rowan’s mouth falls slack as I start to jerk myself faster, working myself back to orgasm.
“Can I?” he whispers.
I step forward and he immediately scrambles to the edge of the bed. When his hand closes around the taut skin of my cock, my knees almost buckle.
“Oh God, yes. Please.”
He gives a long, slow pump, and I want to cry.
“Faster.”
I don’t need to tell him twice. Rowan picks up the pace, and his big hand doesn’t take long to get me to the edge.
I don’t have a chance to warn him.
Tingles race from the base of my spine to my balls as my orgasm explodes. My eyes slam closed as I drop my head back, letting the waves roll over me. It subsides as I concentrate on evening out my breathing.
Only then do I look at him.
Hair a mess, lips red and wet and swollen. Blue eyes still as hazy with alcohol as my brain feels, which can be the only reason he hasn’t freaked out yet.
I’ve come over the front of his shirt, and a small amount has hit his chin. I duck down and with one lick, I gather it on my tongue, grab his hair to tilt his head back, and kiss him.
He gasps into my mouth but kisses me just as passionately as before.
When we finally break apart, we’re both panting.
“I’ll get you some clothes.”
“Yeah … thanks.”
I’m worried that voice in his head is trying to come back. “And the scotch?”
“Definitely the scotch.” He stands and starts to strip off.
I know I’m supposed to be doing something, but my brain is all, What clothes? and chooses to gape at him instead.
When he removes his shorts to reveal his cock hanging heavy and thick between his legs, mine perks up, ready for round two.
I force my attention away and dress the man.
But he only pulls on the underwear I hand him and then settles under the covers.
Well, when in Rome. I pull on some underwear too, grab the scotch, and climb in beside him.
And it feels like nothing has changed.
We laugh and joke and flirt and let our hands wander until the bottle is finished and we’ve both passed out in each other’s arms.