KNIGHT #2
I stock the refrigerator for the night with half a dozen eggs, a plate of cut-up fruit and some pre-marinated chicken I may or may not cook tonight.
I have a salad, too. I’m past the point in the summer when I can allow myself to eat like shit.
The hot dogs last week were both because I wanted them, and I didn’t know what I’d be able to cook in that old house, but I regretted them the next day when I felt sluggish and swollen.
I showered again before I got here, but with half an hour to go before Sullivan said he’d show up, I’ve run out of things to do besides be nervous, and I consider taking another one.
It wouldn’t be to get any cleaner—I’m not sure that’s possible after all the extra measures I decided to take today for reasons I refuse to put a coherent thought to.
But I could jerk off. It might help release some of this unbearable tension.
I can’t tell if meeting up with him tonight is stupid or clever.
Sullivan didn’t tell anyone about me last year, but I have no reason to trust him other than that.
What scares me about him is that I might like him so much it’s hard for me to care about lying low.
Not when I want him in whatever way I can get him as much as I do. What I don’t get is why.
Yeah, he’s gorgeous. He kisses me and sucks cock like every non-football related fantasy I’ve ever had, but beyond that and the handful of things he told me about his girlfriend or music, I know nothing about what makes him tick.
I don’t even know if he’s gay or bi or pan or whatever.
I don’t know if he’s interested in me beyond knowing I can pass his algebra class for him, but then again, it’s not like it would actually be a good thing if he were.
It’d be a fucking mess because I can’t have him anyway.
And here I am getting way ahead of myself again. I go ahead and take that shower and jerk off.
Sullivan shows up with a backpack and a violin case while I’m mindlessly watching one of my uncle Jake’s old games.
Jake was a great quarterback, but not as well-known as my dad.
Still, there’s something about the way he played that I’ve always admired.
He was less deliberative. More aggressive.
More exciting to watch in general. When the knock comes, it’s during a lull in the game where one of the other team’s players is down.
I’ve watched this game enough times that I know the guy only sprained his ankle, but now I’m thinking about how the hell I’m gonna avoid getting majorly injured in the next few years.
It seems impossible. It’s a little like the rest of my life depends on Dillon and Derek, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
When I open the door, my brain switches gears so fast, I get a head rush. Sullivan looks so good, he might as well be a hallucination or a clothed version of exactly what I was picturing when I got myself off in the shower.
He’s in a fucking black henley with the sleeves shoved up and thin gray joggers.
His sneakers are white, and he’s not wearing any socks that I can see, revealing his ankles.
Wrists and ankles for fuck’s sake. I’m like one of those Victorian perverts who gets hard at the sight of the slightest bit of skin.
What really doesn’t help is that my pants are as thin as his, and I should have thought about that when I was getting dressed. I forgot that I have zero control over the effect he has on me, but I didn’t forget how chronically horny I am, and therefore I should have known better.
He’s polite enough to keep his eyes on my face, and I try to keep mine on his, too, despite the urge to take off his clothes and study every inch of him. See the rest of the tattoo on the inside of his right forearm that I can already tell is a violin.
He takes a peek around the place as I step aside to let him in. “This is nice.”
“I like craftsmans.”
“What are we talking about? I assume it’s something to do with the house and not like—arts and crafts.”
“That’s actually another name for it, so I can’t tell if you’re talking about the house either, but I am. It’s an architectural style.”
“You don’t have to go into detail.” He sets his things down on the kitchen table. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m just saying it’s nice.”
It’s not that Sullivan is rude or all that abrupt, but he has this way of making me feel much smaller than my size, making my own intellect feel dull even though he’s the one who can’t pass something as simple to me as college algebra.
“Are you spending the night?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because houses look different in the morning.”
He gives me a curious look.
“I mean if you’re ever thinking of buying a house, you should really see how it feels at all three times of day. Morning, afternoon, night.”
“Are you in the market?”
“Not now, but…”
“And you think your mom won’t be able to sell this one, because I’ve got news for you.” He gestures at the kitchen. “Green cabinets are trending.”
I smile. Sort of. “So, what have you been up to?”
“The usual. You?”
“Same,” I say.
He nods. “Meaning?”
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to what it’s like to talk to him. Aggravating. Anxiety-inducing. Interesting. “Just hanging around the house.”
He pulls his laptop out of his backpack. “What all do you do there?”
“Swim, play video games, watch movies, practice. Basic summer shit.”
“Ah.”
“What does summer look like for you?” I ask.
“You already saw what it looks like for me.” He sits down in a chair, opens his laptop, and logs in. “There’s a ten question quiz after every chapter. I already know what a variable is, so if there’s something else you feel compelled to try and teach me, you can proceed with that baseline.”
I take the seat next to him, needing to pull my chair closer to see his screen. He tilts it toward me. He’s got his browser open on the first quiz. I nod toward it. “Go ahead. Take a stab at number one.”
He stares at me. “It’s a word problem.”
“That’s because word problems prove the practical application of algebra.”
He responds with a blank stare.
I ask, “Do you have any learning challenges I need to know about? Dyslexia? Anything like that?”
“No.”
“Then you can read and process a word problem.”
He snorts. “Says you.”
I lean away from the laptop. “Just try it. I’ll be here the whole time.”
The look on his face is priceless. I’ve managed to aggravate him. “This wasn’t the deal I thought I signed on to.”
“Neither one of us technically agreed to anything other than a time and place to meet.”
“Do I smell bad or something?” he asks.
I shake my head at him with a short laugh. “No.”
“Because you smell really good.”
Falling easily for this, I tell him, “I just took a shower.”
“Would it help to know there’s not a single other math or math-related class required in my curriculum?”
“That’s what you think,” I say. “You’d be surprised how often basic algebra comes up in the core curriculum. Sociology?”
“I’ll skip the math questions on the sociology tests.”
“Psychology.”
“Already passed it.”
“Government, sometimes.”
He grins. “You’re reaching.”
I don’t realize our heads have been leaning closer and closer until his mouth meets mine, and he’s kissing me. He’s playing me so hard, I might as well have strings, but his tongue in my mouth is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
It’s a short, deep kiss, and he gives me a small peck when he’s finished delivering it. “Regarding my technique, I’m a huge fan of constructive criticism.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, unable to think.
“I can tell cheating goes against some moral code you have, so I brought some extra incentive.”
My mind may as well be melting out of my ears. I can still hear him, but every molecule of blood in my body is headed south. “Cheating doesn’t seem to be a problem for you at all.”
He runs a hand down my chest, over my breastbone to my abs where it slides from left to right. “What does the word complicated mean to you?”
“I…” That’s too deep. I’ve got no coherent answer or clue what we’re talking about anymore. “What does it mean to you?”
“You want to get to know me? Why? Is there a point?”
“Yeah—I mean—I don’t know.”
“Do you want to be my friend, champ?”
His hand on my abs, so close to my dick, it’s driving me crazy. “Maybe.”
“Don’t you think that would be messy?”
“Probably,” I concede.
He leans in to lick a line up my neck before sucking my earlobe between his lips. It’s incinerating. “Can I tell you what I want?” he asks in a heated whisper.
“Please.”
“I want this one thing to be incredibly uncomplicated.” His hand finally, finally covers my stiff erection, smoothing over it through my pants.
I don’t want to negotiate anymore. I want his fucking mouth. I turn my head, my lips seeking his, but he tips his chin back, keeping them out of reach. His fingers trace the outline of my cock. “What are we gonna do about this quiz?”
If I were any harder, there’d be a rip in my pants. “I don’t know if I can algebra right now.”
He smirks. “Need your cock sucked?”
How pathetic am I? I nod, my cheek brushing his forehead.
He moves his hand out of the way. “Show me what I’m working with.”
I pull open my waistband, and half of my dick appears like it couldn’t wait to see him.
“Goddamn,” Sullivan whispers. “It’s so pretty.”
He inches my t-shirt up, revealing the trail of hair leading to the dark, trimmed thatch of it above my cock. He runs his fingers through it as he lowers himself to his knees. I turn to put him between my legs.
“Can I touch you?” I ask.
He gives me a small frown. “You want to?”
I nod.
“How much?”
“Enough to take all your quizzes.”
“Damn. I thought I’d have to work harder, but if you wanna be easy, I’ll take it. Touch me all you want. But don’t be rough. You have to pass one of the actual tests for that.”
“I’m not rough,” I tell him and then bite off my words as he sucks my cockhead between his full lips.