Brian
WE TOOK everything off but our underwear and got under the covers. I put my arm under a pillow, so Landon could lie on it, and he did, flopping onto his back, still breathing hard. I lay on my side against him, my other arm over his chest. My body was completely limp and happy. The pain in my gut had mellowed about the time Landon started touching my bare skin. Because hormones. I felt fucking fantastic.
Then I felt a twinge of guilt for feeling that way when so many kids would never have this, when Jake was gone. He would never share a moment like this with someone he was crazy about. How did I deserve to have this when he was dead?
I pushed that feeling away. Landon didn’t deserve to be stuck with a moody bastard, especially not after that. I focused all my attention on him, letting the feel of him, the smell of him, flood my mind until there was no room for anything else.
It was the first time I’d ever felt him other than a few clothed hugs. I loved his body. He was hotter than me, his skin radiating heat that warmed my soul. He was long and tight and wiry. No soft curves. But his skin was downy and as smooth as a baby’s. The contrast was heavenly. I stroked his ribs, marveling at the texture.
Everything about him felt right, clicked with something inside me, that it was like a piece of my core shifting into place. If my gayness had ever been hypothetical, now it was clear. Immutable proof meet Brian Marshall. Brian, immutable proof.
Landon stared at the ceiling and stroked my arm. “Well, that didn’t take long,” he said wryly.
I barked a laugh. “Excuse me?”
He grinned. “No. Sorry. Not that. I meant… we kissed last Saturday night. Seven days later and here we are.”
I snorted. “And we didn’t see each other for two of those days.”
“True. So much for my iron self-control.”
I raised my head to get a better look at his face. “You were trying not to have sex with me? Was that, like, a life goal?”
He gave me a duh look. “Dude. You’re Brian Marshall. Do you know how hard it’s been to be close to you these past few weeks and not, like, perv on you or act like a douchenozzle? I’ll have you know, in the quest to be a good friend, I rose above.”
My heart lifted with a surge of happiness. “Sorry. Am I threatening your sainthood medal?”
“You totally are, good sir. And I deserved that damn medal.”
“Mmm. Welp, I recognize and salute your prior efforts. But thank God we’re past all of that nonsense.”
I laid my head on his shoulder and traced my finger down the slight indentation between his pecs. He made a noise like a sigh and didn’t say anything for a bit. His thumb brushed back and forth on my arm.
Who knew thumbs could be erotic? I had a new appreciation for Landon’s since that back rub.
I felt him swallow. “Did you want this to be a one-time thing or….”
I propped myself up on one arm and glowered at him.
He looked abashed. “Sorry. I don’t mean… I don’t want that. I just don’t want to assume.”
“Assume what?”
“That—” He hesitated. Then he got his serious and mature expression. “I don’t want to assume you want to be with me. Be together. Like… a couple. I know you can’t be out. I know it’s complicated for you.”
That made me feel like shit. “Yes, it’s complicated. Does that mean we can’t have this?”
“No! No, it doesn’t mean that. If you want that. This, I mean.”
Something about his earnestness made me smile. He was so, so sincere. And there was that earlier confession where he’d said how hard he had to work to only be my friend and nothing more.
He did. He totally wanted me.
I smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m ridiculous?” His eyebrows went up like he was offended, but one corner of his mouth tilted too.
“Stop trying to be all polite and let me off the hook. I don’t want to be off the hook. I like you.”
“You do?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes. I liked you before.”
“You did?”
I waged a brief but intense battle in my head. I didn’t want to be a dweeb. But there was something I’d been wanting to share with Landon for a while now.
Making up my mind to be brave, I got up and went to my backpack. I pulled out a battle-scarred gray notebook—purposefully nondescript—and looked through it. I found the page I was looking for. I folded the front of the notebook back so only that one page was visible and returned to the bed. I held it out to him.
I tried to act chill, but my heart was hammering with nerves and an inner voice was lamenting the demise of my cool factor. Rending garments over it, in fact. Oh, well.
Landon glanced at the page, then up at my face. He took the notebook. “Madison mentioned you wrote poetry.”
“For a few years now.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“What? Something wrong with writing poetry?”
“Nope,” he said decisively. “Not at all.”
He hunched over and read the poem, holding the notebook in both hands.
And man, was it terrifying watching him. The only people I’d ever shared my poems with were my English teachers and, occasionally, the class if the teacher made me read one out loud. I’d never told Jake about the poems, and I could imagine my dad’s reaction. Writing verse wasn’t exactly macho. Or even modern. But sometimes I just had to let things out. And poems were a quick and easy way to express what I felt.
I dated all my poems at the top. The one I showed Landon had been written in September, the first week back at school. I remembered the day that had inspired it. I’d seen Landon in the halls. It was the first time I’d seen him since the start of the new school year, and he’d looked older, healthy, happy. He’d been wearing a blue short-sleeved button-down shirt and jeans, and he’d had on a backward baseball cap. So damned cute. I’d seen him high-five some girls in the hall and stop to chat with them, smiling and laughing.
My stomach had flip-flopped that day, seeing how carefree he’d looked. And, let’s face it, with a good old-fashioned rush of horny want.
The poem, however, was called “Living in Your Skin,” and it was more about how I watched him from afar, how I envied him, how I wished I had the courage to be free like he was. Still, it was there, between the lines. I’d been crushing on him too.
I would never show him my more recent poems about him. Oh, hell no. No guy needs that big of an ego boost.
He finished reading it, but he continued to stare at the page, his thumb rubbing the notebook’s spiral wire, like he couldn’t look at me.
“You hate it,” I said, trying to take the notebook from him.
He clung on to it, not letting go. “Of course I don’t. I don’t know what to say. You’ve got a talent for language, Brian. It’s amazing.”
He looked at me, eyes warm. I breathed a sigh of relief. This time when I tugged, he let me take the notebook. “I just wanted to show you that I did think about you back then. Before.”
“Can I read some more?”
“Fuck no.”
We both laughed, and it broke the tension.
“Pretty please?” He pouted.
“Maybe someday,” I said archly. “If you’re really nice to me.” I got up and put the notebook in my backpack.
He sat up on the bed, folding his legs. “Since we’re confessing…. Obviously, I noticed you too.”
“Yeah? Tell me more.” I got back on the bed, lying on my side.
He made a face. “Come on. You know all the girls in school crush on you. Let’s just say I wasn’t immune and leave it at that. But—” His expression got worried and he chewed his lip.
“But what?”
“Can I ask you a serious question? Do you think this is because of the shooting? Like some kind of… transference thing? Gratitude? Because you don’t owe me anything, Brian.”
“I’ve thought about that.” I settled back on a pillow, one arm behind my head. I looped one of my calves over his lap just to be touching him. “Obviously, I have PTSD and being around you helps with that, and that’s probably because of what happened that day in the cafeteria. But this isn’t gratitude. You’re the strongest person I know. You don’t dick around with people. You try to listen to everyone, but you stand up for what you believe in. And I can’t think of another person I’ve ever met in my entire life who I think… is truly an outstanding person.” I swallowed. “Plus, you’re hot.”
Landon laughed—a shaky, slightly hysterical laugh. “Now you are definitely pulling my leg.”
“Every word is true.” I made a cross on my bare chest. “Hope to die.” We squinted at each other doubtfully. “Okay, bad metaphor. But the rest is true.”
Landon looked at me for a long moment, then rubbed his face. “God. Okay. Okay, if you really want to do this.” He sighed. “You know I’m crazy about you. It’s kind of terrifying.”
I rubbed my calf on his leg. “Same.”
He scooted around, lying down next to me. He put his arm loosely over my side and we were face-to-face.
“Your dad would freak.”
I nodded. “Is it okay if we keep this to ourselves? I know that sucks for you. Me being in the closet. But—”
“No. I agree. Totally. You’ve been through enough. I don’t want you fighting with your dad. We’ll just… leave the hand-holding and stuff for when we’re here. Cool?”
I nodded. He was so protective and careful. It made my heart swell again. God, Landon always understood. How could he always understand? I didn’t deserve him, probably. Whatever. I was too selfish to care.
He carded his fingers through my hair and kissed me.
We had a plan, of sorts, for as long as it lasted.
For as long as the dam held.