I don’t speak to James for the rest of the night. I don’t speak to him after the alarm clock goes off in the morning, or on the way to the showers. I don’t speak to him at PT, at any of the meals on Friday, or during World History, Freshman English, or LEP, all of which we have together. I don’t speak to him because I can’t speak to him.
How could he out me to everyone in our squad like that? What’s wrong with him?
I take refuge in the library after dinner to avoid him, but there’s only so much devotion I can give to my schoolwork. It’s the second day of school, and my second consecutive day of actually completing all of my homework. This just might be a new record for me. I jam everything back into my backpack and trudge up to my dorm alone. When I open the door, however, I can barely force my way inside because of how many people are there.
“What the hell’s going on?” I say. James barely glances up from the magazine he’s reading.
“Pre-gaming,” he says. Almost every guy in our squad is crowded around the infamous suitcase of bottles that I stuffed under my bed on the first day. “We’re just getting ready to head down to the party. There’s going to be one in the common room. Care to join?”
“Join the party or join the drinking?” I ask.
“They’re pretty much the same thing,” Andrew says, grinning at me. Fuck, he’s cute. I take the bottle of Patron he is holding out and watch, slightly dazed, as he pours a small pile of salt onto the space on the back of his hand between his index finger and thumb.
“What, no limes?” I say.
“Limes aren’t really necessary. Salt cuts the bite just fine. Plus, it’s too hard to get limes on campus,” James says.
“Could always use lemons,” Kevin Newark suggests.
“You’re not supposed to use lemons! It’s gotta be limes!” comes an obnoxious slur from the other side of the group. I lean around the guys to blink at Mike, who is curled up on James’ bed and completely gone.
“How much did you have?” I ask.
“Like, three shots. He’s a fucking lightweight. Come on. Lick it,” Andrew says. It takes me a minute to realize he’s holding his salted hand in front of my face. Obediently, I lick the salt from his skin and slam the shot. The rest of the guys seem to be waiting for me to cringe, but I’m more used to tequila and a better actor than they all seem to know. I pause, then nod slightly.
“Smoother than Cuervo,” I say.
“No shit,” James replies. “I’m filthy fucking rich, what’d you expect?”
“Moonshine in a Mason jar, and a rant about how the South will rise again.”
He gives me what must appear to be a manly shove, but only I seem to notice the way his hand curls around my shirt, tugging me back towards him after I’ve stumbled back a step. We all do some more shots, and I am nursing a pleasant buzz by the time we finally make it down to the party.
What’s happening in the common room is incredibly lame, especially compared to shots in the dorm room. There’s music, there’s food, there’s a bunch of cool people, but fuck. The parties in Ohio were better than this. Part of the problem is the complete inability to acknowledge the fact that I am drunk, but really, the problem is that alcohol and boredom are not a good combination, especially for me; I slump down on the couch between Kevin and Mike, and we roll our eyes and heckle our way through whatever stupid action movie is playing on the television. The lead actor is in his late forties, at least, so I don’t even have smooth muscles and glistening sweat to distract me from the plot – or lack thereof.
The movie is the only thing in the room that’s even moderately entertaining, and when it’s over, my choices are to either force my way through a conversation with someone, or return to the room. There is absolutely nothing in the world that’s harder than trying to pretend you’re not drunk when you really are, and I’m starting to sober up, anyway. I bid the guys goodnight, declare the party a waste of time, and retreat, stumbling and irritated, to my room.
The door is locked. Of course. Fishing the key out of my pocket is no problem, but actually getting it into the lock is another story entirely. It takes a good three minutes, and when I finally get the door open, I almost have to duck out again.
When James finally notices me out of the corner of his eye, he leans away from Andrew and raises his hand in a careless wave.
“Hey, Garen,” he says, the perfect picture of nonchalance. Andrew throws himself off the bed immediately, straightening his clothes and covering his kiss-swollen lips like that makes any difference.
“What the fucking shit is happening?” I groan. I am still too drunk for this shit.
“I should go,” Andrew says hoarsely, but James laughs.
“Don’t worry about it, Andy. Garen can join,” he says. Andrew shakes his head, looking more disturbed by the minute.
“N-No, that’s okay, I… I don’t know what I was thinking, alright? I’m straight, honestly. I don’t even like guys. I-I’m just really fuckin’ wasted, and I think I should go,” he says. He can barely meet my eyes long enough to add, “Bye,” before ducking out of the door I left open.
“What the fuck,” I moan again, burying my face in my hands.
“Good Lord, Garen. It’s not that big of a deal. We were just kissing,” James says irritably. “Come here, and I’ll prove it doesn’t mean anything.”
But it does mean something. At least, it does to me, and I seem to be the only one who feels that way.
Shaking my head as much as I can without making myself fall over, I stumble to my bed and bury myself under the blankets.
“Come on,” James says, but his voice is softer now. “I’m sorry you walked in on us, but it’s only awkward if you let it be.”
“Then I guess I’m letting it be,” I say. I hear the twang of bedsprings as he stands, and then his hand is on my shoulder, shaking me lightly.
“Don’t get all mad at me, honey. You’ve been mad at me all day, and you only just forgave me a few hours ago. Don’t go getting mad for no reason,” he says. I shrug away from his shoulder.
“Don’t call me ‘honey.’ And don’t fucking touch me.”
After too long of a minute, he turns off the lights and retreats to his bed. We both lie there for hours, knowing the other is still awake but not daring to say a word.
By the time I wake up, head pounding, and stagger to the common room just before noon on Saturday, everyone knows about James and Andrew. Andrew, apparently, is incapable of lying while drunk, and when Colin questioned his disappearance after the party, he couldn’t help but reveal everything that had happened. His involvement, everyone seems to be reasoning, was excusable; he was wasted and James convinced him to do it, and once I came into the room, he snapped out of it. However, when James makes his way to the common room, the air is full of whispers and coughs that sound suspiciously similar to “faggot” and “whore.”
The problem with this scenario is that James is not the type of guy who gives a shit what people call him. He doesn’t even seem to hear it as he heads towards me and asks, “Want to go for a walk?”
I don’t. Going for a walk with him is pretty much the last thing I want to do. But people will talk either way, and I’d rather be outside pretending it’s not happening than in here listening to it all.
“Sure,” I say. He waits while I pack up my guitar, and we head out to the quad. Apparently, that’s enough to cure his desire to go for a walk. He sprawls out on the grass, and after a moment, I sit down next to him and take my guitar back out of its case.
“You still owe me a song.”
I glance at James, who is squinting up at me, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sunlight.
“I don’t owe you shit,” I say before I can stop myself. Neither of us speaks for a while, and eventually I sigh. “What do you want to hear?”
“Well, an explanation might be nice,” he says. I can’t help myself; I start to strum “I Want You To Want Me.” He doesn’t seem to recognize the music, and after a minute, I stop playing.
“An explanation for what, exactly?” I ask.
“Why you’re being a cock. It’s not like I did anything wrong. I made out with a cute guy, and I think I was damn considerate about it. I locked the door and everything,” he protests.
“I know. The problem is…”
The problem is you weren’t making out with me. The problem is that you gave me the green light, and then you hooked up with some other guy. And it doesn’t matter that I said no. It doesn’t matter that you pushed me away. I still wish it had been me.
But I can’t say any of that. Instead, I shrug it off and start to play random chords.
“I guess there isn’t really a problem. It just seemed inconsiderate to be hooking up in our room on the third night at school,” I say. James sits up and drapes one of his long, muscled arms across my shoulders in a single, fluid motion.
“So, let’s come up with a system,” he says. “If you’re in the room and you’re with someone, lock the door. If I knock, just say anything, and I’ll go away. If you’re alone or don’t mind if I come in, just leave the door unlocked. Sound fair?”
“I guess so, yeah,” I say.
“Great,” he replies, and he brushes my hair back to plant a kiss on my temple. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
I nod, and he jumps to his feet. A few steps away, he stops, and turns back to face me. I glance up. “What?”
“Just so you know, Cheap Trick is kind of overrated,” he says. Fuck. Of course he’d recognize the song. He doesn’t look disturbed, though. Just a little wryly amused. I laugh sheepishly.
“Yeah. I guess so,” I say. That’s the end of it. I avoid the room, especially if the door is locked, and James and I don’t talk about it. Actually, James and I don’t talk about much of anything; he’s usually too busy making new friends.
“Can you get that?” James asks, gesturing towards our door with his Italian notebook. I toss my algebra textbook onto the floor and roll off my bed. Another tentative knock.
“Coming,” I say loudly, and then, under my breath, “Calm the fuck down.”
The guy standing in the doorway when I open the door is unfamiliar, and too tall to be a freshman. He blinks at me, not speaking, and slowly looks me up and down. What the fuck?
“Can I help you?” I say. His eyes snap back up to mine.
“Are you James Gold?” he asks.
“Uh, no. James Goldwyn is over there,” I say, stepping to the side and pointing to James. He twists around in his desk chair.
“Yeah?” he says. The guy in the door steps forward uncertainly.
“My name’s Mac,” he says. “I was told I could find you here. You know, in this room.”
“And so you have,” James says slowly. “Is that all?”
Mac turns to me and nods expectantly towards the door. I raise my eyebrows, and he raises his right back. Fuck that. I sprawl back across my bed.
“I heard…” Mac trails off, making a half-hearted gesture, like he expects James to understand everything from two pointless words. James just stares at him. “I heard you’re this complete whore, okay? And I heard that you’ll do pretty much anything with anybody.”
I am on my feet immediately, clenching my fist around the first thing it touches on my nightstand – my French-English dictionary – and stepping forward with it. James raises his hand and shoots me a warning look, and I freeze. Mac looks startled, like he hadn’t expected any negative reaction to calling somebody ‘a complete whore.’ What a fucking idiot.
“I’m not a whore,” James says with unnerving calmness. “Whores get paid for their services.”
“I could pay you,” Mac says immediately. I tighten my grip on the French-English dictionary and grit my teeth. God, he’s asking for it. James, however, stands very slowly and takes a step forward. He pauses, head cocked to the side, and then closes the distance between him and Mac. He reaches up, winding one long arm around Mac’s neck, and pulls him forward so they’re nearly nose to nose.
“You couldn’t afford me. Now, get out of my room.”
Mac staggers back a step, squinting at James as though he can’t figure out if he’s serious or not. I clear my throat, and they both glance at me. Seeing the book still clenched in my hands, Mac seems to decide better of his situation.
“Fine. If I’d known you were such an asshole, I wouldn’t have bothered. I can get it somewhere else. And I can probably get better. I figured it’d just be easier to go after someone who I already know puts out,” he says. Without waiting for a retort, he stalks out, slamming the door behind himself.
“Well,” James says. “That was fucking interesting, that was.”
Mac is the first guy to come calling, but he’s not the last. Not by a long shot. Guys don’t show up every day, but more often than not, I knock on the locked door to hear James call out, “Hey, Garen. Mind coming back a bit later?” James says some of the guys he’s with are gay or bisexual, and have been praying to find someone like him at Patton. He also says a lot of them are straight, but have been convinced by James’ honey-sweet voice that they might want to try a walk on the gay side. Still, most of them don’t seem to know or care what they are; James is gorgeous by anyone’s standards, and skin is skin, no matter what gender it belongs to. Consequently, James has a lot of suitors, and I spend as much time out of the room as possible. After the mandatory study hours every evening before dinner, I finish my homework in the library, which – as my parents express their delight over in various emails – brings my grades higher than they’ve ever been. After dinner, James has usually finished entertaining whatever guests he has, and I’m allowed back in the room without disrupting anything.
Following dinner on the first day of my third week, I try the room doorknob, as always, and find it unlocked. The door swings open, and I find James lying shirtless in bed with a guy I vaguely recognize as a sophomore leaning over him. The sophomore doesn’t seem to notice me, but James does. He keeps his dark eyes on mine as the sophomore licks and bites at his neck, and eventually, he raises a hand and crooks a finger at me, inviting me in. I shake my head and mouth, Fuck no. He grins – a gorgeous, wicked grin – and mouths back, I want you in my bed. I back out of the room and shut the door with a click.
After that, I am desperate to find even more ways to avoid the dorm. With my assignments all done and my grades about as high as they can be, I find myself retreating to the gym every single day.
The gym is the newest addition to the campus, courtesy of a generous donation that everyone says came in a few years ago to guarantee the donor’s son had a place in that year’s incoming class. All of the equipment – the treadmills, the ellipticals, the bench presses – is state of the art and polished to perfection. The back wall of the room, the one the treadmills face, is made entirely of one long mirror; presumably, this is so we can all check out the guys running next to us and not be accused of being queer. There is a full-sized refrigerator as well, fully stocked each day with bottles of imported water, and a large rack of fluffy white towels near the door to the pool, which is located in the room just next door.
I throw myself into working out with a vigor I would’ve previously thought impossible. I have never been a terribly active person, nor have I ever had the desire to change that. However, if my options are to either run a few miles each day or sit at my desk and try to pretend that I don’t realize my roommate is swallowing some junior’s cum a few feet away, I’m willing to make some changes in life.
The first benefit I notice from my new gym obsession is that my daily physical training comes much easier. I don’t collapse after running anymore, and I slowly build up my upper body strength until I’m able to do the designated number of push-ups every day. Sergeant Smitth, who still makes it no secret that he hates me from the deepest part of his soul, is even forced to grudgingly accept that I’m becoming the best in my squad.
The next – and much more pleasing – benefit is that I’m finally starting to fill out. I have never been fat, but I’m not particularly scrawny, either. Because of this, when my muscles finally start toning up, I don’t end up with the lean, smooth look that James seems to have effortlessly. My muscles are thicker, harder, and more noticeable. The sleeves of my shirts are tighter, and I can actually manage to look pretty fucking impressive if I flex in just the right way. It takes a while, but my abs start to harden, and I slowly but surely make my way towards something resembling a six-pack.
I’m not self-conscious about my body. I never have been, and probably never will be. It has never been something I’ve worried about, or even noticed. However, the changes in my physique seem to be of interest to quite a few of James’ bright and shiny new friends. Whenever I happen to be coming back to the room as one of James’ conquests leaves, I can practically feel the fire in his gaze. Sometimes, a guy will grab my wrist and look at me with some kind of question or offer in his eyes, but every time it happens, I shake the hand off and duck into my room. The last thing I need right now is to be indulging in James’ sloppy seconds.
As September ends, and October comes and goes, James loses even more of his inhibitions. A week after Halloween, we are both in the room for once; he is sitting at his desk, as he usually is, and I’m lying in bed with my iPod, blocking out the scratching of his pencil with Something Corporate cranked high, but with one earbud dangling out. We both look up at the sound of the knock on the door, and I immediately stand up. I don’t have any homework to do, and the gym’s closed by now, but I can always just sit in the common room and listen to my music. James knows to get me when he’s done. This time, however, he bolts towards me, gripping my hips and pushing me gently back towards my bed.
“You don’t have to leave. That’s Danny. He’s a junior I met in the library, and trust me, he won’t care. You can stay,” he says. I blink at him and pluck the other earbud out of my ear, dropping back down onto my bed.
“Isn’t that going to be incredibly awkward, though?” I say. Yes. The very, very obvious answer is yes. James, however, shakes his head.
“No, no. It’ll be fine. Stay,” he says, and then he steps a little closer, stooping so his face is nearer to mine, his fingers laced together at the back of my neck. “I want you to stay.”
No. This is too much, too creepy. But even as I think it, I find myself slowly lying back down and crawling back beneath the blankets. James keeps his eyes locked on mine as he walks backwards to the door and opens it, turning around only once Danny, a black boy with an innocent face, is fully visible in the doorway.
“Hi,” James says brightly, hooking an arm around Danny’s waist and tugging him into the room. I close my eyes and roll onto my side, tucking an arm under my head as a pillow.
“Oh, shit. I didn’t realize your roommate was still in,” I hear Danny murmur. James laughs very softly.
“He’s a deep sleeper. You don’t need to worry about it,” he whispers. That seems to be all the encouragement that Danny needs, because I hear the flick of the lightswitch, the click of the door lock. When I open my eyes again, they are stumbling back towards James’ bed, illuminated by the glow of the streetlamps lighting the path outside our dorm. James wastes no time in stripping off his shirt, and Danny fumbles for the buttons of his own while James ducks to press his mouth to his throat.
I don’t know how long I watch them. It must be a while, because my body is cramping up from being so still and the playlist on my iPod comes to an end. James sneaks looks at me periodically, whenever Danny’s head drops back or his eyes flutter shut. Eventually, James flicks open the button of Danny’s jeans and slips his hand inside, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s too much to watch this. There is a line, and watching this would be completely crossing that. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
Danny lets out a tiny groan, and my eyes snap open again. James is jerking him off, hard and fast, and while Danny’s eyes are rolled back in his head, James’ are locked on mine. It’s too much, and I’m painfully hard. And he knows. He has to know, because his eyes flicker downwards, and he mouths, Touch yourself. It’s not an order; it’s more like a prediction, a statement of what he knows I’m going to do. Unwilling to disappoint, I slip a hand under the sheets and open my jeans, grateful that Danny can’t seem to hear the scratch of the zipper over his own heavy breathing. I pause, just to make sure I’m not going to get caught, then tug my jeans and boxers down over my hips and wrap my hand around my cock.
Having James watch while I jerk myself off is probably the sexiest thing I have ever experienced. Part of me feels a little bit guilty, a little bit sick, knowing that Danny has no idea I’m watching, but for the most part, I’m just too turned on by the way James is watching me with his lip between his teeth and his eyes halfway shut, like he’s getting off on this, too. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, so I try to focus on listening, just in case Danny happens to glance over. He doesn’t. He is too busy coming all over James’ hand with a sharp grunt and more heavy breathing. When I sneak my last glance, James doesn’t seem to give a shit about his cum-covered hand, his sated bed partner, anything except watching me. His lips are parted now, and his tongue darts out just once to wet his lips. I squeeze my eyes shut and come. Even though I’m trying not to move, trying not to make any noise at all, it’s still one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had in my life. I wipe my hand on my sheets and lie there, boneless and shaking, as James sits up and reaches for his shirt.
“It’s almost curfew. You should probably head back to your room,” he says.
“What about you?” Danny asks, brushing his fingers across James’ shoulder. James shrugs him off.
“I have a lot of homework left, actually. Rain check?” he suggests. I try not to breathe as they kiss goodbye at the door, and then as the door shuts once more. I look over at James, who is watching me with predatory eyes.
“Well, that was interesting,” he says softly.
“Shut up,” I say, and his eyes darken further.
“So it’s like that again?” he says. “You’re so deeply in denial that you can even convince yourself that didn’t happen?”
“I’m not in denial,” I snap. “Look, I know I’m gay, alright? I’ve known for ages. But I can’t do anything with you. It’d be too weird, especially since you’ve always got guys parading in and out of here. Do you even realize how awkward it would be for the rest of the year?”
James steps forward and threads his fingers through my hair. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“James, stop it,” I say flatly, shoving his hand away. He sighs in frustration, and stalks across the room to his bed. I bury my head under my pillows and beg for morning.
Previous Chapter
How could he out me to everyone in our squad like that? What’s wrong with him?
I take refuge in the library after dinner to avoid him, but there’s only so much devotion I can give to my schoolwork. It’s the second day of school, and my second consecutive day of actually completing all of my homework. This just might be a new record for me. I jam everything back into my backpack and trudge up to my dorm alone. When I open the door, however, I can barely force my way inside because of how many people are there.
“What the hell’s going on?” I say. James barely glances up from the magazine he’s reading.
“Pre-gaming,” he says. Almost every guy in our squad is crowded around the infamous suitcase of bottles that I stuffed under my bed on the first day. “We’re just getting ready to head down to the party. There’s going to be one in the common room. Care to join?”
“Join the party or join the drinking?” I ask.
“They’re pretty much the same thing,” Andrew says, grinning at me. Fuck, he’s cute. I take the bottle of Patron he is holding out and watch, slightly dazed, as he pours a small pile of salt onto the space on the back of his hand between his index finger and thumb.
“What, no limes?” I say.
“Limes aren’t really necessary. Salt cuts the bite just fine. Plus, it’s too hard to get limes on campus,” James says.
“Could always use lemons,” Kevin Newark suggests.
“You’re not supposed to use lemons! It’s gotta be limes!” comes an obnoxious slur from the other side of the group. I lean around the guys to blink at Mike, who is curled up on James’ bed and completely gone.
“How much did you have?” I ask.
“Like, three shots. He’s a fucking lightweight. Come on. Lick it,” Andrew says. It takes me a minute to realize he’s holding his salted hand in front of my face. Obediently, I lick the salt from his skin and slam the shot. The rest of the guys seem to be waiting for me to cringe, but I’m more used to tequila and a better actor than they all seem to know. I pause, then nod slightly.
“Smoother than Cuervo,” I say.
“No shit,” James replies. “I’m filthy fucking rich, what’d you expect?”
“Moonshine in a Mason jar, and a rant about how the South will rise again.”
He gives me what must appear to be a manly shove, but only I seem to notice the way his hand curls around my shirt, tugging me back towards him after I’ve stumbled back a step. We all do some more shots, and I am nursing a pleasant buzz by the time we finally make it down to the party.
What’s happening in the common room is incredibly lame, especially compared to shots in the dorm room. There’s music, there’s food, there’s a bunch of cool people, but fuck. The parties in Ohio were better than this. Part of the problem is the complete inability to acknowledge the fact that I am drunk, but really, the problem is that alcohol and boredom are not a good combination, especially for me; I slump down on the couch between Kevin and Mike, and we roll our eyes and heckle our way through whatever stupid action movie is playing on the television. The lead actor is in his late forties, at least, so I don’t even have smooth muscles and glistening sweat to distract me from the plot – or lack thereof.
The movie is the only thing in the room that’s even moderately entertaining, and when it’s over, my choices are to either force my way through a conversation with someone, or return to the room. There is absolutely nothing in the world that’s harder than trying to pretend you’re not drunk when you really are, and I’m starting to sober up, anyway. I bid the guys goodnight, declare the party a waste of time, and retreat, stumbling and irritated, to my room.
The door is locked. Of course. Fishing the key out of my pocket is no problem, but actually getting it into the lock is another story entirely. It takes a good three minutes, and when I finally get the door open, I almost have to duck out again.
When James finally notices me out of the corner of his eye, he leans away from Andrew and raises his hand in a careless wave.
“Hey, Garen,” he says, the perfect picture of nonchalance. Andrew throws himself off the bed immediately, straightening his clothes and covering his kiss-swollen lips like that makes any difference.
“What the fucking shit is happening?” I groan. I am still too drunk for this shit.
“I should go,” Andrew says hoarsely, but James laughs.
“Don’t worry about it, Andy. Garen can join,” he says. Andrew shakes his head, looking more disturbed by the minute.
“N-No, that’s okay, I… I don’t know what I was thinking, alright? I’m straight, honestly. I don’t even like guys. I-I’m just really fuckin’ wasted, and I think I should go,” he says. He can barely meet my eyes long enough to add, “Bye,” before ducking out of the door I left open.
“What the fuck,” I moan again, burying my face in my hands.
“Good Lord, Garen. It’s not that big of a deal. We were just kissing,” James says irritably. “Come here, and I’ll prove it doesn’t mean anything.”
But it does mean something. At least, it does to me, and I seem to be the only one who feels that way.
Shaking my head as much as I can without making myself fall over, I stumble to my bed and bury myself under the blankets.
“Come on,” James says, but his voice is softer now. “I’m sorry you walked in on us, but it’s only awkward if you let it be.”
“Then I guess I’m letting it be,” I say. I hear the twang of bedsprings as he stands, and then his hand is on my shoulder, shaking me lightly.
“Don’t get all mad at me, honey. You’ve been mad at me all day, and you only just forgave me a few hours ago. Don’t go getting mad for no reason,” he says. I shrug away from his shoulder.
“Don’t call me ‘honey.’ And don’t fucking touch me.”
After too long of a minute, he turns off the lights and retreats to his bed. We both lie there for hours, knowing the other is still awake but not daring to say a word.
By the time I wake up, head pounding, and stagger to the common room just before noon on Saturday, everyone knows about James and Andrew. Andrew, apparently, is incapable of lying while drunk, and when Colin questioned his disappearance after the party, he couldn’t help but reveal everything that had happened. His involvement, everyone seems to be reasoning, was excusable; he was wasted and James convinced him to do it, and once I came into the room, he snapped out of it. However, when James makes his way to the common room, the air is full of whispers and coughs that sound suspiciously similar to “faggot” and “whore.”
The problem with this scenario is that James is not the type of guy who gives a shit what people call him. He doesn’t even seem to hear it as he heads towards me and asks, “Want to go for a walk?”
I don’t. Going for a walk with him is pretty much the last thing I want to do. But people will talk either way, and I’d rather be outside pretending it’s not happening than in here listening to it all.
“Sure,” I say. He waits while I pack up my guitar, and we head out to the quad. Apparently, that’s enough to cure his desire to go for a walk. He sprawls out on the grass, and after a moment, I sit down next to him and take my guitar back out of its case.
“You still owe me a song.”
I glance at James, who is squinting up at me, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sunlight.
“I don’t owe you shit,” I say before I can stop myself. Neither of us speaks for a while, and eventually I sigh. “What do you want to hear?”
“Well, an explanation might be nice,” he says. I can’t help myself; I start to strum “I Want You To Want Me.” He doesn’t seem to recognize the music, and after a minute, I stop playing.
“An explanation for what, exactly?” I ask.
“Why you’re being a cock. It’s not like I did anything wrong. I made out with a cute guy, and I think I was damn considerate about it. I locked the door and everything,” he protests.
“I know. The problem is…”
The problem is you weren’t making out with me. The problem is that you gave me the green light, and then you hooked up with some other guy. And it doesn’t matter that I said no. It doesn’t matter that you pushed me away. I still wish it had been me.
But I can’t say any of that. Instead, I shrug it off and start to play random chords.
“I guess there isn’t really a problem. It just seemed inconsiderate to be hooking up in our room on the third night at school,” I say. James sits up and drapes one of his long, muscled arms across my shoulders in a single, fluid motion.
“So, let’s come up with a system,” he says. “If you’re in the room and you’re with someone, lock the door. If I knock, just say anything, and I’ll go away. If you’re alone or don’t mind if I come in, just leave the door unlocked. Sound fair?”
“I guess so, yeah,” I say.
“Great,” he replies, and he brushes my hair back to plant a kiss on my temple. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
I nod, and he jumps to his feet. A few steps away, he stops, and turns back to face me. I glance up. “What?”
“Just so you know, Cheap Trick is kind of overrated,” he says. Fuck. Of course he’d recognize the song. He doesn’t look disturbed, though. Just a little wryly amused. I laugh sheepishly.
“Yeah. I guess so,” I say. That’s the end of it. I avoid the room, especially if the door is locked, and James and I don’t talk about it. Actually, James and I don’t talk about much of anything; he’s usually too busy making new friends.
“Can you get that?” James asks, gesturing towards our door with his Italian notebook. I toss my algebra textbook onto the floor and roll off my bed. Another tentative knock.
“Coming,” I say loudly, and then, under my breath, “Calm the fuck down.”
The guy standing in the doorway when I open the door is unfamiliar, and too tall to be a freshman. He blinks at me, not speaking, and slowly looks me up and down. What the fuck?
“Can I help you?” I say. His eyes snap back up to mine.
“Are you James Gold?” he asks.
“Uh, no. James Goldwyn is over there,” I say, stepping to the side and pointing to James. He twists around in his desk chair.
“Yeah?” he says. The guy in the door steps forward uncertainly.
“My name’s Mac,” he says. “I was told I could find you here. You know, in this room.”
“And so you have,” James says slowly. “Is that all?”
Mac turns to me and nods expectantly towards the door. I raise my eyebrows, and he raises his right back. Fuck that. I sprawl back across my bed.
“I heard…” Mac trails off, making a half-hearted gesture, like he expects James to understand everything from two pointless words. James just stares at him. “I heard you’re this complete whore, okay? And I heard that you’ll do pretty much anything with anybody.”
I am on my feet immediately, clenching my fist around the first thing it touches on my nightstand – my French-English dictionary – and stepping forward with it. James raises his hand and shoots me a warning look, and I freeze. Mac looks startled, like he hadn’t expected any negative reaction to calling somebody ‘a complete whore.’ What a fucking idiot.
“I’m not a whore,” James says with unnerving calmness. “Whores get paid for their services.”
“I could pay you,” Mac says immediately. I tighten my grip on the French-English dictionary and grit my teeth. God, he’s asking for it. James, however, stands very slowly and takes a step forward. He pauses, head cocked to the side, and then closes the distance between him and Mac. He reaches up, winding one long arm around Mac’s neck, and pulls him forward so they’re nearly nose to nose.
“You couldn’t afford me. Now, get out of my room.”
Mac staggers back a step, squinting at James as though he can’t figure out if he’s serious or not. I clear my throat, and they both glance at me. Seeing the book still clenched in my hands, Mac seems to decide better of his situation.
“Fine. If I’d known you were such an asshole, I wouldn’t have bothered. I can get it somewhere else. And I can probably get better. I figured it’d just be easier to go after someone who I already know puts out,” he says. Without waiting for a retort, he stalks out, slamming the door behind himself.
“Well,” James says. “That was fucking interesting, that was.”
Mac is the first guy to come calling, but he’s not the last. Not by a long shot. Guys don’t show up every day, but more often than not, I knock on the locked door to hear James call out, “Hey, Garen. Mind coming back a bit later?” James says some of the guys he’s with are gay or bisexual, and have been praying to find someone like him at Patton. He also says a lot of them are straight, but have been convinced by James’ honey-sweet voice that they might want to try a walk on the gay side. Still, most of them don’t seem to know or care what they are; James is gorgeous by anyone’s standards, and skin is skin, no matter what gender it belongs to. Consequently, James has a lot of suitors, and I spend as much time out of the room as possible. After the mandatory study hours every evening before dinner, I finish my homework in the library, which – as my parents express their delight over in various emails – brings my grades higher than they’ve ever been. After dinner, James has usually finished entertaining whatever guests he has, and I’m allowed back in the room without disrupting anything.
Following dinner on the first day of my third week, I try the room doorknob, as always, and find it unlocked. The door swings open, and I find James lying shirtless in bed with a guy I vaguely recognize as a sophomore leaning over him. The sophomore doesn’t seem to notice me, but James does. He keeps his dark eyes on mine as the sophomore licks and bites at his neck, and eventually, he raises a hand and crooks a finger at me, inviting me in. I shake my head and mouth, Fuck no. He grins – a gorgeous, wicked grin – and mouths back, I want you in my bed. I back out of the room and shut the door with a click.
After that, I am desperate to find even more ways to avoid the dorm. With my assignments all done and my grades about as high as they can be, I find myself retreating to the gym every single day.
The gym is the newest addition to the campus, courtesy of a generous donation that everyone says came in a few years ago to guarantee the donor’s son had a place in that year’s incoming class. All of the equipment – the treadmills, the ellipticals, the bench presses – is state of the art and polished to perfection. The back wall of the room, the one the treadmills face, is made entirely of one long mirror; presumably, this is so we can all check out the guys running next to us and not be accused of being queer. There is a full-sized refrigerator as well, fully stocked each day with bottles of imported water, and a large rack of fluffy white towels near the door to the pool, which is located in the room just next door.
I throw myself into working out with a vigor I would’ve previously thought impossible. I have never been a terribly active person, nor have I ever had the desire to change that. However, if my options are to either run a few miles each day or sit at my desk and try to pretend that I don’t realize my roommate is swallowing some junior’s cum a few feet away, I’m willing to make some changes in life.
The first benefit I notice from my new gym obsession is that my daily physical training comes much easier. I don’t collapse after running anymore, and I slowly build up my upper body strength until I’m able to do the designated number of push-ups every day. Sergeant Smitth, who still makes it no secret that he hates me from the deepest part of his soul, is even forced to grudgingly accept that I’m becoming the best in my squad.
The next – and much more pleasing – benefit is that I’m finally starting to fill out. I have never been fat, but I’m not particularly scrawny, either. Because of this, when my muscles finally start toning up, I don’t end up with the lean, smooth look that James seems to have effortlessly. My muscles are thicker, harder, and more noticeable. The sleeves of my shirts are tighter, and I can actually manage to look pretty fucking impressive if I flex in just the right way. It takes a while, but my abs start to harden, and I slowly but surely make my way towards something resembling a six-pack.
I’m not self-conscious about my body. I never have been, and probably never will be. It has never been something I’ve worried about, or even noticed. However, the changes in my physique seem to be of interest to quite a few of James’ bright and shiny new friends. Whenever I happen to be coming back to the room as one of James’ conquests leaves, I can practically feel the fire in his gaze. Sometimes, a guy will grab my wrist and look at me with some kind of question or offer in his eyes, but every time it happens, I shake the hand off and duck into my room. The last thing I need right now is to be indulging in James’ sloppy seconds.
As September ends, and October comes and goes, James loses even more of his inhibitions. A week after Halloween, we are both in the room for once; he is sitting at his desk, as he usually is, and I’m lying in bed with my iPod, blocking out the scratching of his pencil with Something Corporate cranked high, but with one earbud dangling out. We both look up at the sound of the knock on the door, and I immediately stand up. I don’t have any homework to do, and the gym’s closed by now, but I can always just sit in the common room and listen to my music. James knows to get me when he’s done. This time, however, he bolts towards me, gripping my hips and pushing me gently back towards my bed.
“You don’t have to leave. That’s Danny. He’s a junior I met in the library, and trust me, he won’t care. You can stay,” he says. I blink at him and pluck the other earbud out of my ear, dropping back down onto my bed.
“Isn’t that going to be incredibly awkward, though?” I say. Yes. The very, very obvious answer is yes. James, however, shakes his head.
“No, no. It’ll be fine. Stay,” he says, and then he steps a little closer, stooping so his face is nearer to mine, his fingers laced together at the back of my neck. “I want you to stay.”
No. This is too much, too creepy. But even as I think it, I find myself slowly lying back down and crawling back beneath the blankets. James keeps his eyes locked on mine as he walks backwards to the door and opens it, turning around only once Danny, a black boy with an innocent face, is fully visible in the doorway.
“Hi,” James says brightly, hooking an arm around Danny’s waist and tugging him into the room. I close my eyes and roll onto my side, tucking an arm under my head as a pillow.
“Oh, shit. I didn’t realize your roommate was still in,” I hear Danny murmur. James laughs very softly.
“He’s a deep sleeper. You don’t need to worry about it,” he whispers. That seems to be all the encouragement that Danny needs, because I hear the flick of the lightswitch, the click of the door lock. When I open my eyes again, they are stumbling back towards James’ bed, illuminated by the glow of the streetlamps lighting the path outside our dorm. James wastes no time in stripping off his shirt, and Danny fumbles for the buttons of his own while James ducks to press his mouth to his throat.
I don’t know how long I watch them. It must be a while, because my body is cramping up from being so still and the playlist on my iPod comes to an end. James sneaks looks at me periodically, whenever Danny’s head drops back or his eyes flutter shut. Eventually, James flicks open the button of Danny’s jeans and slips his hand inside, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s too much to watch this. There is a line, and watching this would be completely crossing that. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
Danny lets out a tiny groan, and my eyes snap open again. James is jerking him off, hard and fast, and while Danny’s eyes are rolled back in his head, James’ are locked on mine. It’s too much, and I’m painfully hard. And he knows. He has to know, because his eyes flicker downwards, and he mouths, Touch yourself. It’s not an order; it’s more like a prediction, a statement of what he knows I’m going to do. Unwilling to disappoint, I slip a hand under the sheets and open my jeans, grateful that Danny can’t seem to hear the scratch of the zipper over his own heavy breathing. I pause, just to make sure I’m not going to get caught, then tug my jeans and boxers down over my hips and wrap my hand around my cock.
Having James watch while I jerk myself off is probably the sexiest thing I have ever experienced. Part of me feels a little bit guilty, a little bit sick, knowing that Danny has no idea I’m watching, but for the most part, I’m just too turned on by the way James is watching me with his lip between his teeth and his eyes halfway shut, like he’s getting off on this, too. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, so I try to focus on listening, just in case Danny happens to glance over. He doesn’t. He is too busy coming all over James’ hand with a sharp grunt and more heavy breathing. When I sneak my last glance, James doesn’t seem to give a shit about his cum-covered hand, his sated bed partner, anything except watching me. His lips are parted now, and his tongue darts out just once to wet his lips. I squeeze my eyes shut and come. Even though I’m trying not to move, trying not to make any noise at all, it’s still one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had in my life. I wipe my hand on my sheets and lie there, boneless and shaking, as James sits up and reaches for his shirt.
“It’s almost curfew. You should probably head back to your room,” he says.
“What about you?” Danny asks, brushing his fingers across James’ shoulder. James shrugs him off.
“I have a lot of homework left, actually. Rain check?” he suggests. I try not to breathe as they kiss goodbye at the door, and then as the door shuts once more. I look over at James, who is watching me with predatory eyes.
“Well, that was interesting,” he says softly.
“Shut up,” I say, and his eyes darken further.
“So it’s like that again?” he says. “You’re so deeply in denial that you can even convince yourself that didn’t happen?”
“I’m not in denial,” I snap. “Look, I know I’m gay, alright? I’ve known for ages. But I can’t do anything with you. It’d be too weird, especially since you’ve always got guys parading in and out of here. Do you even realize how awkward it would be for the rest of the year?”
James steps forward and threads his fingers through my hair. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“James, stop it,” I say flatly, shoving his hand away. He sighs in frustration, and stalks across the room to his bed. I bury my head under my pillows and beg for morning.
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