Chapter Thirteen

Trevor was in a small square room with a high ceiling lost in the shadows of dawn, a room whose walls were painted shabby gray to match the city beyond. He heard rain hitting the loose panes of the window. Soon would come the sound of doors opening, boys' footsteps in the hall, boys' voices in the early morning stillness, and it would be time to get up, time for breakfast and school, the sameness of another day.

He often dreamed that he was back at the Boys' Home, that he had been handed all those years like penance to do over and over again until he got them right. . . whatever right would be.

Trevor opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of a neck in extreme closeup. The dark hair at the nape had been recently shaved and stood up in baby-fine bristles. The skin was translucent white, almost poreless. The neck curved down to a bony shoulder; Trevor saw his own hand resting on that shoulder, encircling the sharp knob of the bone. The rest of the body was nestled cozily into the curve of his own.

He was amazed that the sensation of another person in bed with him-the slow rise and fall of breathing, the vibration of the curious heart-hadn't kept him awake all night. He was used to sleeping in unfamiliar beds, but always alone. What happened when you woke up in bed with someone? What were you supposed to do?

The shoulder moved beneath his hand, and Trevor felt muscles shifting liquidly, bones rotating in their sockets, the smooth texture of skin under his palm. He felt the spine arch and ripple against his chest. He realized he had never thought about how much anatomy you could learn by touching someone.

Then Zach rolled over and looked at him with those almond-shaped dark green eyes, those eyes that were the exact shade of a colored pencil Trevor had once worn down to a nub. It was a pencil he used for coloring deep waters and strange shadows, and it had been labeled simply JADE.

Zach looked at him and smiled without saying anything. Even yesterday, even before the rain it had seemed that Zach was seeing too much of him, was perhaps halfhearing his thoughts. I don't mind being in bed with you, Trevor thought, not really wanting Zach to hear it but perversely hoping he would. / don't mind being this close to you. I don't seem to mind it at all.

Like a dark pulsar from the depths of his subconscious, on the heels of that thought came: Yes, you could learn anatomy by touching someone. But Bobby took that method to its worst extreme, didn't he?

And that was when he noticed the tiny bits of paper scattered across the blanket, over the pillow, through the tangle of Zach's dark hair.

He reached out and took one. Zach turned his head to look, and his cheek barely grazed the back of Trevor's hand. Trevor held the scrap of paper close to his eyes, trying to see it in the poor light. It was less than half an inch square, but its heavy texture felt terribly familiar. He sifted through a few more scraps. Pencil marks, mostly unidentifiable lines and shading. But here and there a detail had survived. A hastily lettered word. A pair of lips sealed around the mouthpiece of an alto saxophone. A dark eye filling with blood.

Zach propped himself on one elbow, shook the stuff out of his hair. “What is it? ”

But Trevor was already up off the mattress, out of the room, running down the hall and slamming into the studio. He had left his sketchbook neatly centered on the drawing table. Now it lay wide open at a crazy angle on the floor, its spiral spine pulled askew by whatever force had ripped out the five pages of his story. The sight gave him a sick sensation in his stomach.

He picked up the sketchbook. It felt dirty, as if the pages were lightly coated with slime. Trevor supposed they might be. He made himself hold it between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, made himself walk slowly back down the hall instead of caroming off the walls, beating his head against the door frames, or simply throwing himself to the floor and sobbing.

Zach's hands were full of the scraps of paper. He was trying to examine them in the watery light from the window. Trevor held up the sketchbook. As Zach made out what it was, a stricken expression dawned on his face. “Not the Bird story? ”

So he had read it, the little snoop. Trevor couldn't bring himself to care much now. “Yeah, that's it you're holding. ”

Zach spread his hands and let the fragments flutter to the floor. He rubbed his palms together to dislodge the ones that had stuck, then started brushing them off the pillow and blanket. “Did you. . . were you. . . ”

He read the question in Zach's face. Zach was wondering if Trevor could have torn up the story himself. The realization didn't even make Trevor angry; he supposed it was a reasonable enough doubt. “I was in bed with you all night, ” he said. “You know I was. I could just as well ask you the same thing. ”

“But I didn't—”

“I know you didn't. ”

“What are you gonna do? ”

“Draw it again, I guess. ”

Zach started to speak, stopped, then could not seem to help himself. “But. . . but. . . Trevor. . . ”

“What? ”

“Aren't you pissed? ”

“What? That you read my story? ”

“No, ” Zach said impatiently. “I'm sorry but... no. I mean, aren't you mad that it's gone? ”

Trevor sat down on the edge of the mattress. He looked at Zach, who was leaning forward, his hands clenched into fists against his bare chest, his muscles tensed, his eyes very wide and blazing. “Well, you obviously are. ”

“Why aren't you? It destroyed your work and threw it in your face! How can you not be pissed? ”

Trevor took a deep breath. “There's something in this house. I think it might be my family. ”

“Yeah, I think maybe so too. And you know what I'd do if I were you? I'd say so fucking what and get the hell out of here. If it'll tear up your work, it'll hurt you. ”

“I don't care. ”

Zach opened his mouth to reply, could not find anything to say and closed it again.

“If I hadn't been here, I wouldn't have drawn that story in the first place. Birdland gave it to me. What can I say if Birdland wants it back? ”

“Try bullshit. ”

Zach slid across the mattress and laid his hands on either side of Trevor's head, his fingertips pressing gently against the temples. “This is your Birdland. And these. ” He dropped his hands to Trevor's, took away the mutilated sketchbook, wrapped Trevor's hands in his own and squeezed. “If you came back here to find something, at least admit what it is. Don't get to thinking you need this place for your art, because you don't. That would be suicide. ”

“Maybe I want to commit suicide. ”

“Why? ”

Trevor pulled his hands away. “Why don't you just drop it? ”

“Because your father did? Is that why you think it's so fucking romantic? 'Cause if you do—”

“Why don't you shut the fuck up and get your stuff—”

”-maybe you ought to think about this: HE JUST LOST HIS GODDAMN SENSE OF HUMOR! ”

Zach reached for Trevor's shoulder, maybe only wanting to grab it and shake it to belabor his point. Trevor didn't want to be grabbed. He brought his right arm up to shield himself, and Zach made the mistake of trying to pull it down. Trevor saw his left hand curl into a fist, watched it draw back and piston forward into Zach's still-talking mouth. He felt the skin split warmly against his knuckles, felt spit and blood smear across his hand. It hurt where it had connected with the hardness of teeth and gums. But it wasn't his drawing hand.

Zach's head hit the wall hard and he slid to the mattress, dazed. Above his bloody mouth, his eyes were a more vivid green than ever, wide, stunned, scared. Those eyes begged mercy. It was a wonderful emotion to see in someone's eyes. You could grant it if you wanted. But you also had the power to refuse it.

Trevor pulled his fist back to do it again. His other hand curled around Zach's wrist, felt the small bones grind deliciously beneath his fingers. He watched Zach's eyes. This was what they had looked like before they died. This was how it had been on the other side of the hammer.

He's right, you know.

Trevor stopped.

If Bobby couldn't stand to live without his art, okay. Suicide is always an option. But he didn't have to kill them. You didn't have to spend the rest of your life alone. Momma would have taken care of you and Didi. Is saying he lost his sense of humor so far wrong?

He'd had such thoughts before, usually late at night in a cheap bed in an unfamiliar city. Now they came again unbidden and made him realize what he had been about to do. He had been ready not just to hit Zach, but to hit him again and again, as many times as it took... to shut him up? To kill him? Trevor didn't know.

He shoved himself away from Zach, rolled off the mattress and lay on the floor in the dust and the ruins of his story. Half of him hoped Zach would come over here and beat the shit out of him now. Trevor would lie still and let him do it.

But half of him hoped Zach would stay away. Because the softness of Zach's lips spreading and splitting open against his hand had felt so damn good. . .

Zach pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and willed himself to disappear into the mattress. He was sure Trevor's fist was going to smash into his face at any moment, and he only hoped that blow would knock him out before the next one came. He knew he should defend himself. He couldn't land a punch, but he could kick.

But fighting back was the one thing he could not do. He had a stoic dread of physical pain born of hard experience: you took what you couldn't avoid, but you didn't ask for more. Zach had learned long ago that if you fought back, they only hurt you worse.

When the blow didn't come, he risked a look, though he had a particular horror of being punched in the eye so hard that it just squirted out of its socket. But Trevor didn't hit him again. Trevor was halfway across the room, lying on the floor with his arms wrapped around his head.

Zach swallowed a mouthful of blood, felt hot helpless tears spilling over the rims of his eyelids, stinging his wounded lips. Blood dripped off his chin, made deep red blossoms on the bare mattress, ran down his chest and traced the pale arc of his ribs in vivid scarlet. Zach felt it pooling in his navel, trickling into his crotch. He put his fingertips to his mouth and they came away slicked nearly purple. He looked again at Trevor, still curled miserably on the floor.

Why bother? I was right all along: the second you make yourself vulnerable to someone, they start drawing blood.

Yeah, but if a real vampire came along, you'd bare your neck in a second.

Zach almost laughed through his tears. It was true; he was always ready to take the flashy risks, always ready for the rush of impending doom as long as he could thwart it at the last second. But the slower-acting and ultimately more dangerous risk of involving his life with someone's, of laying his soul open to someone, that was just too much.

He felt a surge of self-loathing. His whole life had been lived by the Siamese-twin philosophies of Do what thou wilt and Fuck you. Jack, I've got mine. Beyond all his digital daring he was a coward, unable to fight or love. No wonder he made such a good punching bag.

Trevor might be crazy, probably was crazy, but at least he was looking for the source of his craziness instead of running from it.

Trevor raised his head. His face was wet with tears too. . He saw Zach looking at him, saw the blood, and his expression of uneasy calm crumbled into fresh woe. “You can leave if you want. I won't. . . hurt you. ”

“I don't want to leave. ”

Trevor tried to speak, could not make his throat work, lowered his face into his hands again.

“Trevor? ”

“Wh. . . ” He forced back a sob. “What. ”

“Why don't you get back in bed with me? ”

Amazed, not trusting his ears, Trevor looked up. He saw Zach's face, scared but not angry. Even with blood dripping fresh off his chin, Zach wanted him over there. Trevor couldn't imagine why. He only knew that he did not want to stay here alone on the dirty floor of his childhood room, with his faded drawings staring down from the walls.

He crawled across the rough floorboards, through the drifts of torn paper and dust, toward the mattress. When he was halfway there Zach held out his hand, and Trevor crawled toward that.

Zach clasped the outstretched hand and pulled Trevor onto the mattress, into his arms. He pulled Trevor's head into the hollow of his shoulder, buried his face in Trevor's hair. Zach's body felt to Trevor like a reflection of his own; Zach's bones seemed to interlock with his like atoms in the structure of a molecule. Trevor thought he could feel their very souls, their molten cores of pain, flowing together like white-hot metals.

How can you know that? Is this falling in love? And if it is, how the hell does anyone SURVIVE it?

He realized that he was sobbing and Zach was too, that their faces and throats and collarbones were wet with each other's tears, that their skin was spattered and streaked with Zach's blood. Zach's arms were wrapped tightly around Trevor's chest, and his sharp chin dug into Trevor's shoulder. Trevor turned his head slightly and his mouth found Zach's jawline, still bloody.

Without thinking, Trevor rubbed his lips across the blood, then licked some of it away. Then Zach's mouth moved to meet his, and Trevor supposed this was kissing, this warm, strange, melting thing. He tasted salt and copper and the sharp smoky flavor of Zach's mouth. Zach's torn lips were very soft against his, surely sore. As they kissed more deeply Trevor felt the wounds come open again, felt Zach's blood flowing over his tongue. He sucked at it and swallowed it. He had spilled it; now he could take it into himself. And it tasted so sweet, so full of the twin energies of life and death.

Zach's hands traced light patterns across his chest, making the skin shiver into goosebumps. Trevor moved his mouth to Zach's ear, smelled yesterday's rainwater in Zach's hair. “What are you doing? ” he whispered.

Zach placed his lips against the hollow of Trevor's throat and left them there for a moment before he answered. “Do you mind? ”

“No, I don't think so. I just don't know. . . ”

“Don't know what? ”

“Anything. ”

Zach glanced up, met Trevor's eyes. “You mean you've never. . . ”

Trevor was silent. Zach's eyes widened and he started to speak, but was apparently struck dumb with awe. Finally he said, “What did you do? ”

“Nothing. ”

“Jerk off? ”

“Not much. ”

Zach shook his head slowly, marveling. “I'd be dead in a week if I didn't do something. I'd be splattered all over the walls. ”

Trevor shrugged.

“Well-” Zach lowered his head so that the longer strands of his hair fell forward and tickled Trevor's chest. Most of his face was hidden, but Trevor saw a fierce spot of color blazing in one pale cheek. “I would show you. If you wanted me to. ”

“Zach? ”

He looked up. His eyes were full of doubt and desire, enormous-pupiled, insanely green.

“I don't even know how to say yes. ”

Their hands found each other and intertwined. Zach squeezed Trevor's fingers, brought them to his lips and kissed them. His tongue slid over the ball of Trevor's thumb, soft as velvet. Trevor felt something uncoil deep inside him, some unfamiliar warmth seeping like liquor through his innards. Only it didn't dull his senses, it heightened them; he was aware of every inch of his skin, every hair on his body, every pore and cell. All of them were straining toward Zach, thirsting for him.

Then they were kissing again, carefully at first, learning the shape and texture of each other's lips, testing the sharpness of the teeth behind them. Trevor felt Zach's hands sliding down his back and straying beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, cupping his buttocks and squeezing, moving down to the sensitive juncture of his thighs and lightly stroking the downy hairs there. He had an erection for the first time in as long as he could remember, had almost forgotten what one felt like. It felt a hell of a lot better snuggled into the warm hollow of someone's hipbone, that was for sure.

It's too fast! said a panicky voice in his mind. And too dangerous! He'll drink your juices, taste your brain, crack your soul open like an egg!

Hell, I think I want him to do all that.

The thought released Trevor, gave him abandon. He sucked at Zach's tongue and pulled it deep into his mouth. You became so used to the texture and mass of your own tongue that you seldom noticed it nestling in the cradle of your lower jawbone, pressing against your teeth. Having another tongue there felt alien at first, like trying to swallow some small slippery animal, a baby eel or perhaps an energetic oyster.

Their hands roamed the planes and hollows of one another's bodies. Now Zach's clever fingers were teasing Trevor's nipples, plugging into unfamiliar nerve endings, webs of sensation that seemed to radiate from his chest up his spinal cord and into his brain, down through the pit of his stomach to his aching penis. Never mind when he had last had a boner; he couldn't remember ever having had one that felt like this.

Then Zach's hand slid down to cup it through the soft cloth, and Zach's lips kissed a slow trail down his chin, along the curve of his throat and the hollow of his collarbone, and wrapped hot and wet around his left nipple. Trevor felt his heart lurch, his mind begin to dissolve in pleasure. He choked back a throatful of saliva. “Don't! ”

Zach's mouth paused but did not go away. His hand moved to the ridge of Trevor's hipbone and squeezed gently. “Why not? ”

Trevor caught his breath, searched for a reply. “It hurts, ” he said at last, though that was not precisely what he meant.

“You mean it feels too good? ”

Silver motes swarmed in the air above his face; his vision was drowning in red filigree. Trevor closed his eyes and nodded.

“Sometimes you just have to ride it. But we can slow down. ” Zach shrugged. “I'll kiss you all day if that's what you want. ” He lowered his face to Trevor's, brushed his lips ever so lightly across Trevor's. Trevor felt tears starting again behind his eyelids for the kindness of this boy.

Do you want to do this? he thought. You were finally able to come back to this house, to come home. You haven't had that damn dream in two nights. You're on the verge of finding whatever is left here for you to find. Do you want to add this to the equation?

But he was sick of listening to the voices in his head and the slow settling of empty rooms. There were other things to hear. Zach's breathing and heartbeat, the whisper of Zach's hands against the slight stubble on Trevor's face, the liquid sound their mouths made together. Zach lay half on top of him, holding him loosely, kissing him languorously. It became impossible to think of anything but tastes and textures.

They kissed dreamily, then searchingly, then with increasing urgency. Then Zach was nuzzling his neck and chest again, but this time Trevor wasn't scared. He arched his back, twined his fingers into Zach's thick soft hair. Zach's fingers strayed again to the band of Trevor's sweatpants, found the drawstring and deftly untied the bow. His lips moved across the concavity of Trevor's stomach, paused just above the cloth. Trevor thought his penis might simply explode soon. He imagined shimmering globules of semen dripping from the ceiling, nestling in Zach's hair like diamonds on blue-black velvet.

Zach looked up at Trevor and suddenly his serious, almost-scared face split into a wide dazzling grin.

“This feels so good, ” he said, “you won't even believe it. ”

He tugged the cloth away and kissed the tip of Trevor's penis, then took the whole throbbing burning thing into his mouth. He was right. All at once there was no more house, no childhood room, no dirty mattress under Trevor's back. There was only this moment and this boy, only the smooth glide of saliva and fingertips and tongue, only the deep silken tunnel of Zach's throat surrounding him. It was like nothing else ever.

He felt a stream of pure white energy blazing along his spine, sending twin bolts into his balls and his brain, filling every cell with light. His scalp and the palms of his hands tingled madly. He felt his pores open and bead with sweat, heard himself moaning and Zach moaning muffled encouragement back at him. Does he really want me to come in his mouth? Trevor wondered. Can I do that? — can I- OMIGODThought deserted him again. He felt like a man made of television static, of a million roaring, hissing silver dots. Then the stream of energy filled him completely and husked him out clean. A year's pain seemed to leave his body as he came, ebbing from his balls, leaking out of his eyes, expelling from his lungs in short harsh gasps.

For several minutes Zach stayed where he was, his mouth and hands still working gently. Then he crawled up and rested his head next to Trevor's on the pillow. His lips were swollen, smudged with fresh blood and milky traces of semen. The light sheen of sweat on his face turned his pale skin nearly opalescent.

Zach took handfuls of Trevor's hair and pulled it over their faces. The effect was like being inside a sheer tent or a tawny ginger cocoon. Their foreheads and the tips of their noses touched. Trevor could taste his own come in Zach's mouth when they kissed, a fresh, faintly bitter organic flavor. Was that how Zach's would taste too? He realized he wanted to find out.

He pulled Zach close to him and rolled on top. The feeling of Zach's body beneath him was exhilarating, this complex, delicious bundle of blood and bones and thoughts and nerves and muscles captive in his arms, willingly so, gladly so. He laid his head on Zach's chest. The skin stretched tight over Zach's breastbone and ribs like a drum, milk-white, without hair or blemish. Tentatively, Trevor let the barest edges of his teeth graze one pale pink nipple.

“AAH-” Zach stretched like a cat. “MMMM. Do that some more. ”

“Can I bite? ”

“Hell, yes. ”

Trevor's teeth closed on the defenseless bud of flesh. He sucked at it, nipped harder and made Zach groan. He worried at it, gnawed on it. Surely Zach would yell at him to stop. But Zach only writhed beneath him and gasped appreciation laced with pain. If he wanted his nipples sore, Trevor didn't mind obliging him. They were pliant and tender between his teeth, flavored with the salt of Zach's sweat and the faintly spicy taste of Zach's skin.

“ARRR... ah... ” Zach groped for Trevor's fingers. “Put your hand on my dick. Please. ”

His dick? The term jarred Trevor for an instant, reminded him of the Boys' Home, snickers and whispers in health class, scrawled graffiti on toilet walls. It sounded like a word R. Crumb would use, Trevor thought irrelevantly-though Crumb drew penises rather more often than he mentioned them, with plenty of unsightly hairs, popping veins, and oozing come-drops. He realized he was terrified again, but now it was like being on a carnival ride that had started looping out of control: you couldn't stop, so you just had to hang on tight and lean with the curves.

Zach had grabbed his hand and was pushing it down, making a weird, urgent growling sound in his throat. He wore only a pair of skimpy black briefs made of some soft silken material. Trevor's fingertips skated over the cloth, and his hand closed on the warm pulsing shape beneath. He rubbed his face over Zach's ribs and the hollow of his stomach, pressed his lips against the silky cloth. He heard Zach's breath sobbing in and out.

Trevor hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the briefs and tugged, and Zach managed to squirm out of them without untangling his hands from their grip in Trevor's hair. Zach's penis-Trevor could not quite bring himself to think of it as his dick-bobbed up and brushed softly against Trevor's lips. Trevor cupped his hands around it, felt Zach's heartbeat throbbing between his palms. The skin of the shaft was textured, slightly rippled beneath the surface. The head was as smooth as satin, as rose petals. Trevor rubbed his thumb across it, squeezed gently, heard Zach suck air in through his teeth and moan as he let it out. He could see blood suffusing the tissue just beneath the translucent skin, a deep dusky rose delicately purpled at the edges, crowned with a single dewy pearl of come. It was as intimate, as raw as holding someone's heart in his hands.

Zach's body shifted beneath him. Zach's legs wrapped loosely around him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zach arching his back off the mattress, rubbing thick handfuls of Trevor's hair up across his belly and chest.

All at once it hit him: this was power too, just as surely as smashing your fist into someone's face, just as surely as putting a hammer through someone's skull. The power to make another person crazy with pleasure instead of fear and pain, to have every cell in another person's body at your thrall.

And this way, the person was still alive when it was over.

“Please suck my dick, ” Zach said faintly.

“I-” Trevor searched for the right thing to say. “I'd love to, ” he whispered at last, and slid his hands under Zach's butt, and very carefully took Zach's penis deep into his mouth. It seemed to nestle against his tongue and the walls of his throat as if it had been made to fit there. He slid one hand up between Zach's legs, cupped his balls and felt them draw tight, felt the skin shivering, seething. Zach was tossing his head and moaning, trying not to thrust too hard. Trevor grabbed his bucking hips and swallowed him deeper, willing his throat muscles to open, to liquefy. He almost gagged, but forced the reflex down. He wanted this in him, this taste, this chance.

Chance? he thought, what do I mean by chance? But before he had time to ponder it, Zach screamed “OHHHH, TREV! ” and snarled his fingers in Trevor's hair so hard the strands felt as if they would rip out of his scalp, and his whole thrumming body surged forward and seemed to pour its energy into Trevor. He felt it spilling hot over his tongue and down the back of his throat, crackling from Zach's fingertips into Trevor's temples and straight through his brain, even emanating from Zach's solar plexus in steady waves. His body was like some kind of big nervous battery.

Trevor kept sucking until Zach's penis was soft and slippery in his mouth, until his lips were buried in the crisp, glossy thicket of hair that stood out so black against the juncture of Zach's pale thighs. The taste in Trevor's mouth was much like his own, but had its distinct notes: slightly herbal, slightly peppery. He wondered if his own come would poison Zach's bloodstream with caffeine.

But Zach's body was slowly relaxing into him, twining round him. Trevor slid up on the mattress so that Zach could lie comfortably against him. His fingers traced patterns in the sweat trickling along Zach's spine. He kissed Zach's eyelids and the faint dark smudges beneath his eyes, savoring the tender crepey texture of the skin against his lips, the feathery brush of the lashes, the small secret motions of the eyeball. He kissed the graceful arcs of Zach's eyebrows, the slope of his narrow elegant nose. Then their mouths joined again in a long, lush, sated kiss. It seemed that even with sore lips Zach could not get enough of kissing him. Trevor had never known it was possible to feel this close to someone, had never dreamed he would want to.

“So what do you think? ” Zach asked after a while.

“I think it was worth about a million drawings. ” Trevor felt a guilty pang as he said this. But if the Bird story hadn't been destroyed, this might not have happened. He knew he had more drawings in his hand, in his brain. Zach was right; he didn't need the house to dole them out to him.

Zach shook his head. “If it was enough of an asshole to tear up your story, maybe it'll be sorry. Maybe it'll put the pieces back together. ”

Trevor snorted. “And Scotch-tape them. ”

“Yeah, with the Magic Tape. ”

“Yeah, with nine hundred thousand yards of it. ”

Zach settled into the curve of Trevor's arm. Trevor felt the sweat cooling on their bodies, the damp morning chill that pervaded the room, and pulled the blanket over them. Beneath it, Zach moved yet closer to him. It was like being in a warm pocket of space reserved exclusively for them, like a safe haven, like a womb.

“I'm sorry I hit you, ” Trevor said. It was way past the time for an apology, but he had to say it anyway.

“I'm not. It got us this far. ” Zach yawned, pushed his face into Trevor's chest. “I was scared to try anything with you before. ”

“Why? ”

“Well-” Zach shifted position, draped an arm across Trevor's stomach, stroked the small sharp hill of Trevor's hipbone. “I don't usually have sex with people I respect. ”

“Why not? ”

“Because I'm a dumbfuck, I guess. I don't know. ”

Trevor just looked at him.

Zach began to talk much as Trevor had done yesterday, spilling his sordid history, detailing more damage than he probably even realized: the condoms he masturbated with, the empty French Quarter trysts, the obsessive need to feel other flesh against his own but not to have to think about it. By the end he was crying again, just a few slow shameful tears.

Trevor cupped Zach's face in both hands and licked the tears away. His tongue darted into the salty corner of Zach's eye, rounded the curve of Zach's cheekbone, slipped back into Zach's mouth. Zach pressed gratefully against him, and Trevor felt himself wanting it all to happen again. He didn't know if it was possible so soon. But Zach seemed to be showing him that anything was possible.

It lasted much longer this time. Zach's hands worked him expertly, stroking, squeezing, fingering and probing, building up a rhythm so exquisite that Trevor thought he would spend his seed between Zach's warm slick palms. That would have been fine, but Zach began to make his way back down, kissing him everywhere, tracing a wet glistening maze of spit along his body, then sucking him deep and slow, excruciatingly, maddeningly slow. It was almost painful, yet Trevor wanted it to go on for hours.

Zach was sprawled between Trevor's legs, his left arm wrapped loosely around Trevor's waist, his right hand doing something ingenious. Trevor felt Zach's penis growing insistently hard against his thigh. He moved his leg against it, reached down and barely managed to graze it with his fingertips. He wanted to do something to make Zach feel good too.

“Can I-how do we both—”

Without breaking rhythm, Zach shifted so that his hips were beside Trevor's head, his boner within easy reach of Trevor's mouth. This position seemed a marvel of physics, but Trevor grasped its advantages immediately; it leaned their weight into each other, pressed the flat planes of their bodies tightly together, and stretched their throats wide open. It seemed as if they could go on for hours this way. And so they did, until their exhausted bodies were all but bound together by a moist web of spit and sweat and semen.

Then they slept again, easy sated sleep that lasted into the afternoon. The house was silent around them. Their dreams were set only to the soft patter of rain on the roof, to the slow even rhythm of one another's breathing.