The Day After #2
It’s a little awkward at first, figuring out how to hold my jaw, positioning of lips and tongue and teeth and a gag reflex that has never been tested like this.
And the concrete floor of the shed is digging into my knees, sweat rolling down my spine.
But as I find a rhythm, sliding up and down Sam’s shaft, I can hear him falling apart above me, his breath coming in gasps, broken curses and bits of praise that make me think I must be doing something right.
Sam’s fingers are twisting in my hair, and his scent is all around me, sweat and soap and sex, overwhelming and intoxicating.
This is what I want. More than anything, I want to be with someone I can take care of, someone who appreciates me, who understands me.
Sam has always been my best friend. And to know that this is possible, that he’s my person in every single way that someone can belong to someone else — well, it’s more than I can process.
And I’m going to be thanking whoever sent him to me for the rest of my life.
Sam’s tugging at my hair, trying to get my attention, and I open my eyes, even as I continue to bob my head.
“Max — if you don’t want — I’m so fucking close — you can pull off, you don’t have to —”
Oh, but I want to. So I give him a wink and I pick up speed, fingers digging into the backs of his thighs.
And Sam huffs a laugh, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.
But then he’s throwing his head back, a groan falling from his lips as he spills, filling my mouth with bitter salt.
And I swallow it down, because I love him, because I want all of this with him, forever.
“Shit, Max — fucking hell, I can barely remember my own name —”
Sam runs both hands through his hair, letting out his breath as he leans against the wall. Then he reaches down, hauling me to my feet and kissing me soundly.
“Can I return the favor?” he whispers.
“Just come home with me,” I murmur back. “Or, you know, drive me home, because it’s your car.”
Sam giggles, and leans in to kiss me again. But then we hear the sound of a car door in the driveway, and his eyes go wide. “Oh fuck, the lawn —”
He grabs the gas can and pulls up his pants, and I smooth down my hair, and we pile back out into the yard, only sort of looking like we’ve been having sex in the toolshed.
Most of Sam’s family heads straight toward the house: Sam’s dad, cut from the same Boomer conservative cloth as my stepdad, his brother Nathan, the track and field star that Sam’s dad actually wanted, and the twins, Jenna and Corey, who are still figuring out who they want to be.
But Sam’s mom stops to stare at us, her hands on her hips.
“Max Finley, I didn’t know you were coming over this morning!” she exclaims. “Did you boys have a fight or something?”
“All my fault, Mrs. Dove,” I call back. “But I’m going to make it up to him, I promise.”
“That’s good to hear. You boys are such good friends, and it would be a shame if you ever let anything come between you.” She starts toward the house, then turns to look back at me once more. “I’m making us all some brunch now. Would you like to join us?”
“No thanks, I already ate,” I shoot back, and I’m pretty sure I can hear an explosion of mirth from Sam as he refills the lawnmower. “As soon as Sam is done here, I think we’ll head home.”
“Suit yourself,” she trills, and waves goodbye.
Someday, we’ll tell everyone what we mean to each other. But for now, I want Sam all to myself.
SAM
It’s going to take me a long time to get used to this.
I’m completely naked, lying on my stomach in bed with the covers just barely pulled up to my waist, face half-buried in my pillow. Max is curled up beside me, smiling softly as he studies me, absent-mindedly trailing his fingers along my spine.
“I can’t fucking believe any of this,” he murmurs.
I snort. “You’re telling me. I have to keep pinching myself.”
It’s pretty much been like this all day.
The whole way home from my parents’ house, Max was peppering me with questions, wanting to know everything I’d been through the past few years.
And for once, I was honest. Why hold back now, when I know for sure that Max is right here with me, that he wants everything that I do?
It’s freeing in a way, finally letting it all out.
When we got home, I needed a shower, and Max didn’t want to let me out of his sight, so we tried doing it together.
But soaping led to kissing and kissing led to touching, and before we knew it, we were stumbling out of the shower soaking wet to collapse on the couch and finish what we’d started.
Then we took a long nap, because neither of us really got any sleep last night.
But I woke up to Max climbing on top of me, kissing down my neck and knocking my thighs open, and now I’m wondering if we are ever going to get anything done ever again.
Because I’m pretty sure I don’t want to leave this bed anytime soon.
Max is inching a little closer, pressing his lips to my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I raise my head off the pillow, cocking an eyebrow. “For what?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. I just keep thinking about you — like, how you were so fucking lonely for so long. And I feel like a total bonehead. I should have figured it out earlier.”
“Max.” I roll onto my side so that I can face him, threading my fingers through his. “Dude, it’s water under the bridge. We got here eventually, right?”
“I guess. Only —” He furrows his brow, and I pay attention, because Max is almost never introspective like this.
“I mean, was I worth it? You’re fucking great.
You’re so damn beautiful, and smart, and you’re more talented than I am and pretty much the best person in the world.
And I’m — ugh, me, I guess. You could have had anybody. ”
“Oh my god, Max —” I hold out my arms, and he launches into them, pushing me onto my back.
And I wrap him up in a tight hug, skin against skin, my knees squeezing his thighs, my lips pressed against his temple.
Finally, I let him go just enough so that I can cradle his face, our noses nearly touching, his hair falling around his face.
“Max, you’re my whole world,” I breathe.
“You’re the most loyal friend a person could ever ask for.
You listen to me, and you remember all my stories, and you care about me.
You always make my coffee just right and you insist on letting me get in the shower first in the winter because you know I like it scalding hot.
You stick up for me, even when the person I’m fighting is me.
Even if you hadn’t felt the same way, even if all I’d ever had was what you gave me all these years, it would have been better than anything I ever could have had with someone else.
But now that I know that I have you — all of you — I can’t tell you how happy I am.
I wouldn’t have traded back a single one of those lonely days. ”
“Fuck, dude, you’re going to make me start crying again —”
Max leans down to kiss me, and it’s a good thing he does, before either one of us loses it again.
It feels like a miracle, being able to blurt out whatever is on my mind, to kiss Max whenever I want, to be myself without worrying that I’ll give away too much, that he’ll guess the truth.
I hope I never take it for granted, that I always remember how hard we fought to get here.
When Max pulls back, smoothing my hair away from my forehead, there’s a mad twinkle in his eye. “So, uh — did you ever write any songs about me?”
I can feel my face turning fire-engine red, and I cover it with both hands. Max squeals, grabbing my wrists and trying to peel them away.
“You did! Oh my god, can I hear them?” he crows.
“No!” I shriek. “I mean, maybe someday. When I’ve had a little more time to get used to the whole thing. It’s just — I dunno, too raw right now.”
Max pouts, and I reach up, trying to stuff his lower lip back into his mouth.
“I can tell you one music-related thing, though,” I tease.
He perks up a little. “Okay, I’m all ears —”
“You know that song ‘Scattered,’ the one that’s on Nimrod? Well, I always sort of felt like if we had a song, that would be it.”
Max is grinning all over his handsome face. “You picked a Green Day song for us?”
“Yeah, you know — it’s all about having a lot of history together and looking back through your memories and thinking about the past and present and future —”
“And I’m giving it all to you,” Max finishes. “God, I fucking love you.”
I bite my lip. “Say it again —”
“I love you —” He presses his lips to my forehead.
“I love you —” Another kiss, this time on my cheek.
“I love you I love you I love you I love —” And he’s peppering me with kisses, tickling my ribs as he presses me into the bed, and I say it back, whispering through my giggles as I struggle to get out from under him.
And as he grabs my wrists, pinning me down and holding me still, as his kisses become more serious and I start to wonder if I can come for a fourth time today —
I know one thing for sure.
I will never, ever get tired of this.