Izzy tilted his head. “You got tutored in Spanish?”
“Yeah.” Wyatt shrugged. “Dad and Justin thought it’d be good if I learned some of my cultural heritage and stuff, you know? So I learned Spanish all the way through school, and I used to go to the events at the community center. I mean, I liked learning all that stuff, but…”
“But?”
“But when I was with all those other kids, I wasn’t Mexican,” Wyatt said. “I was a white kid who could barely speak any Spanish and didn’t know a thing about anything. Too white to be a Mexican kid, and too brown to be a white kid. I’m always stuck in the middle, trying to figure out where I fit in.”
Izzy cupped his cheek with his hand. “I like you the way you are.”
Wyatt flooded with warmth.
Izzy tilted his hips forward, his erection pressing against Wyatt. “I like you a lot.”
And just like that the warmth transformed into a raging heat that burned through Wyatt’s veins. He kissed Izzy fiercely, grinding against him, and then he felt Izzy’s fingers on the button of his jeans, tugging them open. The rasp of his zip was soloud. And then Izzy’s hand, his palm dry and callused, was wrapping around Wyatt’s dick, and Wyatt let out a sound like a yelp.
Izzy laughed, his breath hot against Wyatt’s throat. “Help me out here.”
Wyatt looked down at the narrow space between them. Izzy was holding Wyatt’s dick—the sight of it caused him to throb as much as the touch—and Izzy’s dick was free now. It was cut, the head gleaming with precum, and it was dark with blood.
“Help me out here,” Izzy said again.
Wyatt licked his palm, and got his hand between them. Curled his fingers around Izzy’s dick, and felt a rush of dizziness when Izzy squeezed him in return. His knuckles bumped against Izzy’s, and Izzy groaned.
“Take your shirt off,” Izzy said. “Please.”
Wyatt pulled back for a moment to obey, and then he was standing in front of Izzy again, their bodies straining against each other. It must have looked ridiculous. Wyatt thought suddenly, two guys crowded up against a door with their jeans around their knees and their dicks in each other’s hands, their heads bowed as they both watched. But holy shit, it felt amazing. And then they were linking fingers, and everything was hot and slippery as they jerked off together, their breaths coming short and fast.
“Fuck!” Izzy exclaimed, dropping his head back so it knocked against the door. And suddenly he was coming, his body shaking, his cum fountaining over Wyatt’s hand and landing in spurts on both of them. That sudden heat was almost enough to push Wyatt over the edge too—almostbut not quite—but then Izzy swiped his thumb roughly over the head of Wyatt’s dick, and Wyatt’s brain short-circuited, and then every muscle in his body did, and then he was coming too, gripping Izzy’s shoulder tightly with his free hand and shuddering against him.
For a moment everything was quiet while they stood there catching their breath.
“Holy fuck,” Izzy said at last, and it sounded like his mind had been blown.
“Yeah,” Wyatt agreed, and leaned against him and laughed softly into the curve of his throat.
* * * *
They watched TV after that, back in the small living room. It was Sam’s TV, Izzy told him, and it took him a while to find the remote control. Then they sat on the couch together, fingers tangled and bodies leaning comfortably against one another, and watched some movie. They talked a little too, about nothing much at all, and Wyatt wondered what Izzy would say if he asked him why he’d been in prison. Except he knew a lot of people didn’t like to talk about that, and just because he and Izzy were, well, whatever the hell they were now, it didn’t mean Wyatt had a right to anything that Izzy didn’t want to tell him yet.
Except he couldn’t help wondering. Was it drugs? If it was, was he off them now? Weed didn’t count, not for most people, but what if he still did other drugs too? Or what if it wasn’t drugs at all? What if it was somethingviolent? Wyatt didn’t feel scared around Izzy, but what if he should have?
He noticed, part way through the movie, that Izzy was tapping the fingers of his free hand against his knee.
“You okay?” he asked, nodding at his fingers.
Izzy looked almost surprised to find he was doing it. He splayed his hand out and then curled his fingers into a loose fist. “Yeah, I just get a little jittery sometimes, you know?”
“Jittery?” Wyatt asked.
“Yeah,” Izzy said, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows tugged together. “It’s hard to explain.”
Wyatt snorted. “Izzy, I’m on so much Ativan right now!”
Izzy looked surprised again “You are?”
“Yeah.” Wyatt tensed a little, and then found himself looking into Izzy’s eyes. He saw nothing judgmental there. “I used to get really bad anxiety, and it’s never totally gone away, I guess. And I’ve got a lot going on right now, with like Dad’s show and stuff.”
A flicker of understanding crossed through Izzy’s eyes. “You don’t want to go to Paris.”
