18. Kieran
KIERAN
I almost never get drunk.
In the first place, it’s expensive. Also, I’m the guy who usually has the forty-minute commute home.
But not tonight. Griff’s in the mood to drink, because his pregnant wife can drive him home, and so we’re playing some kind of stupid drinking game that involves getting me a little drunker every time the guys calling the game use the word “stick.”
“Kieran has to do my shot,” Kyle says. “I’m done drinking for the night.”
“You could crash at your brother’s place,” Griff says. “Is there a spare bed?”
“Nope!” I say sloppily. “There’s barely any furniture at all.”
“Are you going to show us your pad?” Griffin presses.
“Sure,” I say. “After the game.”
When the time comes, I rise unsteadily to my feet. The alcohol is swimming through my bloodstream, leaving me feeling pleasantly loose and carefree. It had been too long since I’d hung out with this crew, and it was nice to just watch TV and talk smack with my brother and cousin.
I thank Zara for having me over. “Is there anything I can help you with?” I ask, giving her what is probably a sloppy grin.
“No.” She laughs. “Go home. Your more sober roommate already scrubbed the chili pot for me. Besides—you helped me out with a little childcare earlier.”
“That was nothing.”
“Don’t say that or I’ll ask you again.”
“You can,” I insist.
She grabs my shoulders and points me toward home. “Drink some water before you go to sleep.”
“Good plan.”
When I step outside, Kyle is puffing on a cigarette. “Two seconds, okay? I need it to wake up.”
“Filthy habit,” I say. Although I’ve been known to smoke after a party.
I consider asking my brother for one, but then change my mind.
The truth is that I don’t want to sober up right away.
It’s nice to feel loose and carefree, for once.
Although the cold November air is bracing in a good way, and I feel my head start to clear, regardless.
“Let’s see this place,” Griffin says, exiting Zara’s kitchen door a couple minutes later.
Kyle crushes the cigarette under his boot. “Cool. Let’s do it.”
“Pick that up,” I insist. “Don’t litter in my hood.”
With an eye roll, Kyle bends over to retrieve his butt, and then follows me across the yard and up the front path.
“Nice house,” Griff says.
“I couldn’t afford it if I were paying the market rate,” I admit, unlocking the front door.
“You need chairs on this porch,” my brother says.
“It can wait. I need a hell of a lot more than that.”
When we step into the living room, they chuckle at its barrenness. “You’ve got the couch,” Griff says. “But no TV?”
“Later,” I grunt. It’s not like I ever have time to sit down.
I show them the kitchen, where I spend a lot of my time, anyway. I toss my keys and phone onto the counter. Then I realize I still have Roderick’s in my other pocket, so I set it down where he’ll find it later.
“Hey,” Kyle says. “You didn’t tell me your roommate was a queer dude. Isn’t that kind of weird for you?”
Everything inside me sort of freezes up.
“Jesus.” Griffin gives Kyle a non-serious slap to the side of the head. “Don’t be that guy. What does Kieran care?”
“I only meant that maybe if he brings guys home with him, Kieran would have to listen to ’em…”
“Oh, shut it!” I sputter, finally finding my voice. “Jesus.”
That’s when I hear Roderick’s door close softly, as if someone has just attempted to shut it noiselessly.
“Oops,” Kyle says, and I want to punch him.
“He’s probably heard worse,” Griffin whispers. “But you could apologize, maybe.”
Kyle’s gaze flicks toward the back of the house. I can’t imagine what my boneheaded brother might say for an apology. He might actually make it worse.
“No,” I grunt. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Show us your room,” Griff suggests.
“Nah,” I say, suddenly eager for them to get gone. “Nothing there but a bed and a desk. I don’t even have a dresser, yet.”
“I think Mom has an extra one,” Griff says. “Want me to ask?”
“Sure,” I say, just hoping they’ll leave. “Thanks.”
Griff squeezes my shoulder. “Good to see you, dude. You’re pressing cider with me tomorrow night, right?”
“Yeah, but I’ll be late,” I point out. “Somebody has to water the cows.”
“Ah,” he says. “Is your dad doing better?”
“Still kinda rough,” Kyle says. “Progress is slow.”
They make their way out, and I say my goodbyes while trying not to sound hasty.
When they’re finally gone, I head toward the one place in the house where I never go—Roderick’s room. The door is shut, but there’s a strip of light showing beneath it. I knock. “Hey man, can I come in?”
“Sure.”
I open the door and find him lying on his back on top of his sleeping bag, hands folded behind his head. “What’s up?”
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“About…?” He looks confused.
“My brother talking like a doofus. Maybe you didn’t hear him. But he was wondering whether…”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “I heard him fine. But—like your cousin said—I’ve heard worse. Kyle was just thinking out loud, displaying his discomfort with listening to two guys get it on. I hated it for you much more than for me.”
“Why?”
Roderick sits up and looks me right in the eye.
“Oh,” I say slowly. “Yeah.” Because I’m not as straight as Kyle thinks I am. And won’t that be a fun little chat someday? I can’t even imagine.
“Your cousin seems nice,” Roderick says. “Griffin. Another lumberjack.”
I grin, because he really does look like one. “Totally. That side of the family is great.” I sort of look around for a place to sit, but there’s only the floor. I lower myself down, still feeling tipsy.
Even though there isn’t any furniture in here, Roderick’s room is nicer than mine. He’s begun to hang things on the walls, I’ve noticed. There’s a poster of a baker kneading a loaf, announcing a contest that took place a couple of years ago. And postcards from here and there dot the walls.
“You’re more moved in than I am,” I observe.
“I work fewer hours than you do,” he points out. “Although—look at you! Drunk on a Thursday night.”
“That was intentional,” I admit. The last drink especially. I did a final shot of tequila to amuse Griffin, but also to loosen me up. “Liquid courage.”
“For?”
“Well…” I clear my throat. “I need to ask you if you were serious. About what you said.”
Roderick sits up a little straighter. “About…you being as hot as Henry Cavill?”
I laugh, which is proof that I am still drunk. “I’ll take the compliment. But I meant about you being willing to, uh…”
“Tutor you,” he guesses.
“Yeah.”
“Any day of the week, hottie. Except for right now. Because you’re wasted.”
“Not wasted ,” I argue. But it doesn’t help that I slur the word a little. “I’m a little drunk, but I did that on purpose.”
Roderick chews on his lip, and it only makes me want to push him down and own his mouth. But then he shakes his head. “Nope. If you have to get drunk to let me suck your cock, then it definitely isn’t a good idea. That’s a big problem for me.”
I let out a groan that’s half frustration and half lust. “You have it wrong. I don’t have to be drunk to do it.
I have to be drunk to ask for it. I hate talking.
” And just to demonstrate my willingness, I lean forward until I can cup the side of his face.
With my thumb, I trace the shape of his top lip.
I’ve been picturing this mouth on my body for quite a while now. Years, if I’m honest.
Roderick’s eyes gleam. Then he stuns me by opening his mouth and sucking the pad of my thumb inside. Those eyes are full of challenge as he gives a good, hard suck, his tongue sliding hotly against my flesh.
I make an unrecognizable noise as my body flashes with heat. Everywhere. “Jesus.” And it’s only my thumb. If he puts that talented mouth of his on my cock, I’ll probably die.
Roderick pops off me and sits back, grinning. “You’re drunk, and I have poor impulse control. What a pair we make.”
I’m breathing too fast, and my dick is already hard inside my jeans. “Look. If you won’t come upstairs with me, you know I’m just going to go up there and jerk off. And the whole time I’ll be thinking about your mouth on me.” This wordy bit of honesty brought to you by Jose Cuervo .
He lets out a dramatic sigh and then falls back down on his pillow. “Nobody is fucking anybody while drunk. But I want to watch.”
“What?”
His eyes find mine. “Show me how much you want it. And then some other time we’ll fool around.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure.” He shrugs, as if he’s made a totally normal request. “I used to put on a show for you. Seems like you’re overdue to return the favor.”
I blink. Is he even serious? Right now I’m not thinking very clearly—he was right about that. But I’m overheated and horny and about to pop out of my skin. “Okay. I’ll be upstairs. Show starts now.”
I stand up and walk out of his room. I take the stairs two at a time. In my room, I don’t bother turning on the light. In the street lamps’ glow, I begin to shuck my clothing.
First my shirt hits the floor, and then my shoes. Socks. My jeans land with a jingle. I’ve lived in a small house with my family my whole life, so I’m almost never naked unless I’m in the shower.
That seems like a mistake now.
I pull my comforter down and expose the white sheets.
They’re the brightest thing in the room.
I lie down diagonally across my new bed.
It’s no accident that a bed is the first thing I purchased.
I’ve waited too long to unpack certain truths about myself—things I never felt comfortable exploring before.
One second after my back hits those sheets, my hand is on my cock.
The house is quiet, though. I guess he wasn’t serious after all. But, fuck it. I need to come.
Touching myself isn’t something I ordinarily do. I could blame the thin walls of my parents’ house, but my reasons were bigger than the limitations of four walls. I’d felt claustrophobic because of the constant sense of being judged, being found wanting.