“I wasn’t out in West Virginia…” Mac started. Those gates were rusty. They weren’t just going to fly open, not after being shut all these years. “In high school, I went on the computer in the school library to research this gay-straight alliance I’d heard about for kids in my region. This asshole Justin Weeks was looking over my shoulder and saw. He’s the pastor’s son, and he thinks that entitles him to be a dick to everyone because his dad’s tight with Jesus. Word spread like wildfire. A few days later, I’m walking home from school, and I got jumped by Justin and his pals. They said they were doing the Lord’s work.” He could still hear their laughter. Mac raised his shirt to show Gideon the scar on his back. “I tried telling the school, but since it didn’t happen on school property, there was nothing they could, or would, do. And my parents…”
He shoved the flood gates open with all the strength he had. “After two weeks of walking through school with bruises and getting looked at, I finally told my parents. It was the most awkward coming out. They went to have a talk with the pastor, who said Justin and I were just roughhousing. And my parents believed him! They went to church on Sunday like nothing had happened. They said I was being too sensitive.” Mac’s hands started shaking.
“Those fucking assholes,” Gideon muttered. Mac had never seen him angry.
“I hated living with them. They didn’t try to do anything to stand up for me. Justin didn’t get into any trouble. My parents cared more about what others at church would think. We got in a huge argument. I ran away to my Aunt Rita’s in Pittsburgh.” Mac clenched his jaw. Here came the hardest part. “My parents told me to stay. They didn’t want me back.”
He picked up his keys from the coffee table. “On my first night there, Aunt Rita bought a pair of four-leaf clover keychains. One for me, one for her. She promised things were going to work out. We had luck on our side. ‘May we always be each other’s good luck charms,’ she said to me.”
Mac’s keys jiggled against each other. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. They were in shock. He was in shock. He put down the keys and shook out his hands, but they continued trembling. Giving Gideon all this personal info was like dry heaving.
“How long has it been since you’ve spoken to them?”
“Four years.”
“Fuck.”
“Life in Pittsburgh was fine. I had some friends, but kept to myself mostly. I stayed in the closet and told myself I wasn’t coming out until college, where it wouldn’t be such a big deal.” Even if he had to take out a crapload of loans to make it happen, he was determined to attend an accepting school like Browerton. Fortunately, he won some local scholarship money to make tuition slightly less burdensome.
Mac rubbed his hands together. Stop shaking. He felt raw, exposed. If he didn’t talk about it, then he never had to think about it. That’s how he got through life. Now, he didn’t know what to do with all these damn emotions he had stirred up.
Gideon looked at him with kind eyes, with a sincerity that made Mac’s hands shake even more.
And then stopped shaking.
Gideon held them steady with his own. His large hands maintained a firm grip. Mac was soothed by their warmth. Gideon bent down and kissed the tip of his fingers.
They locked eyes in the silence of the room, and Mac was shaking all over again. The same nerves he felt the first time they met, up in his dorm room, came rattling back.
This time, though, it was Gideon who kissed him.
CHAPTER ten
Gideon
Gideon refused to listen to his brain. He didn’t want to hear what it would say. A deeper part of him, one he had shoved down long enough, refused to stay silent any longer. Passion burned through him like that wall of fire inIndependence Day.
His tongue licked up the salty taste of Mac’s lips. He inhaled his hot breath. Mac kissed him back with equal fervor. Gideon cupped the sides of his head, and felt a man’s stubble under his palms.
Gideon pulled away.
“Shit,” he said. “Shit.”
“Should we stop?” Mac asked.
Gideon leaned in for another kiss. Mac pecked his lips, then opened his mouth for Gideon’s tongue. His felt a cage inside him get yanked open. He didn’t know what flew out, but it was awfully similar to what he felt in his shower back home. Mac’s story reminded him of the unrestrained glee of his Internet searches in middle school and part of high school. Before he made himself stop. Before he told himself that he was just acting out because his dad died. Before he made himself believe that looking at gay porn wasn’t what good, responsible sons did.
He didn’t want to be responsible. Not now. He wanted to live this moment with absolute abandon.
Gideon pulled away. This time, nobody spoke. His erection strained against his jeans. He stopped thinking. He just wanted to let things fucking happen.
Every nerve on every inch of skin was more alert than a syringe full of Red Bull.
Still, nobody spoke. Talking would ruin it. Talking would involve his brain and thought functions. He wanted the night and the alcohol to have full control.
He kissed Mac again, slower this time, savoring each flick of the tongue, each gasp of breath. Mac slid backward on the chaise part of the sofa, and Gideon laid on top on him. His hands traveled across Mac’s muscular chest. There was nothing delicate about his body. It was hardy and full. Stew, not salad.
Gideon ran his hands up and down his chest and stomach, while he pressed his aching crotch into Mac’s legs. Mac moaned at each thrust. He’d never heard that sound during sex. It was deep and husky. He wanted more of it. It was his new drug.
