Nobody's Hero

by Katey Hawthorne

  He pushed in. I closed my eyes and stretched my lips around him, my erection giving a thrill that defied my brain. His hips angled forward deliberately, then again in a shorter and more erratic movement. I let my throat relax, took him, grabbed his ass to align his soft, building rhythm with mine, his fingers combing through my hair gently. I wasn't sure what I was doing with myself; I focused on going down on him, wanting to make the most of the moment, reveling in that sweet, careful caress.

  His fingers tightened in my hair. He pushed forward into my mouth and shot off with a little, "Ah fffffffuck…" that was more a sigh than anything else.

  With him still filling my mouth up, the taste of his sex ruling my world, I reapplied attention to my now aching cock. I swallowed, and he moaned softly, his stomach curving over my head like a fucking cathedral ceiling, his hand brushing my cheek, then my chin, as the other continued to play with my hair.

  Just as the first almost-there wave hit me, he pulled out of my mouth and reached down to draw me up to standing.

  I let myself go with equal parts reluctance and gratefulness, meeting his mouth with a kiss still heavy with the taste of him. It was wide open and wet and a desperate mess, tongues and spit and everything else that made a blowjob good going into it on both ends. I pressed my dick into his thigh and rubbed it in, thrilling myself on him.

  He closed the kiss off and took my face in both hands, holding me just inches from him so our eyes were locked. "Oh, Jamie," he whispered like a little sigh, eyelids still heavy but eyes betraying something other than smoking-hot sex, of a sudden. "Did you miss me too?"

  "So much, baby." I leaned forward, and he allowed me another kiss, though he still held me with both hands. I angled my hips for another rush and clung to his waist with both hands, afraid he'd push me away at any moment, though I couldn't have said why. "I'm so sorry."

  "You don't have to be sorry." This time he kissed me and held me tight against him. For a few seconds it was almost delicate, his tongue darting into my mouth and out again, but then his lips crushed into mine bruisingly hard. When he finally closed it off, he said, "You're amazing."

  Before I could respond, he was on his knees, back still to the wall, going down on me with even more than his usual zeal and thoroughness. It was about ten seconds before the tight, skillful ecstasy of his hot mouth brought my orgasm on, whether I was ready for it or not. I came down his throat, wanting to swear and scream and tell every fucking person in the city that he was incredible.

  The electricity that had been crackling inside me all afternoon amped so hard, the light over the mirror flickered off, then back on, buzzing. For my field to reach all the way over there and come close to frying shit… Well, I'm sure I would've been more appalled at the uncharacteristic slipup if I hadn't been so goddamn dizzy with satisfaction.

  When he finished and stood, I leaned into him, breathing hard, and he did the same. We kissed, but briefly. We just stood, my arms around his neck, his around my waist, de-pantsed and crookedly undershirted and a little bit sticky.

  In the family bathroom at a faux-Irish pub. I smiled into his neck.

  "I shouldn't get so angry," he whispered after we'd caught our breath, the sweet sound sending a shiver down my spine. "I'm a fucking idiot."

  "No, you were right, baby." I kissed his neck, thinking we were a sappy mess and not really giving a shit. I pulled back to rest my forehead against his. "Can I see you tonight?"

  "Come over. Stay." His cock moved, pressed between us tight, swelling again.

  And then someone knocked on the door, naturally.

  *~*~*

  Mom called a few times during the week but was too busy to meet up—nothing new, but all things considered, it caused me some anxiety. Having Kellan at least partly in the know helped, though. He suggested that I allow him to amuse me until the weekend came and she had time for more than a rushed phone call.

  Twist my arm, huh?

  When Friday night rolled around and I got a demanding text from Derrick insisting that I introduce him to this wonder-cock that was keeping me from going out lately, Kellan grinned and said, "Why not?" So we got dressed up—which still meant jeans for Kellan but with the addition of a fitted button-down that inspired me to make us very late getting downtown.

  Derrick was instantly smitten. If I'm kind of a stereotype, Derrick is a cartoon. He lavished affection on Kellan, who responded with a lot of throat-clearing and flushing but seemed to take it in the spirit it was meant. We met up with Mike at the next bar and by one had moved on to one of our favorite pickup places, the Cave, which had little tables semi-secluded by hanging curtains on circular chandelier-type racks. The four of us leaned our heads over our drinks and laughed it up until Mike saw someone he knew (read: a likely prospect) and ditched us. At which point Kellan announced a need to take a piss, and Derrick suddenly needed one too.

  So I sat guardian of the drinks, sinking into the plush pseudo-Persian surroundings and suggestive throbbing of cheesy euro-techno. Don't get me wrong—I consider electronic music my thing, but there was music meant to listen to, and there was music meant to dry hump to, and very few musicians had the skills of Massive Attack to provide a two-in-one. I was minding my own business, sipping my Jack and Coke, when a familiar face (and body) suddenly peeked around the curtain.

  "Jamie. Thought that was you."

  Oh shit. Tall, dark, and handsome, curly brown hair, and a faint something about the eyes that spoke of bad (read: good) intent.

  Dubious Provenance Guy.

  I was torn between laughing and feeling like a complete twat. "Hey. Long time, man. How you been?"

  He tucked into Mike's seat. "Good. So, don't panic. I'm not here to ask why you never called."

  His big grin relieved me somewhat. I said, "It's a long story, actually, but—"

  Derrick suddenly appeared and threw himself into his seat, and Kellan, with a sort of bemused/amused look on his face, wasn't far behind. Derrick, God bless him, never forgot a name that went with a hot face. He said, "Farley!" and sidled up to the new addition.

  Farley, right. I knew it was something, er, like that.

  "Hey, uh—"

  "Derrick. And this is Kellan."

  Farley eyed him across the table as Kellan slipped in next to me. There was no way for us to share the little bench without our arms touching, and the easy way Kellan leaned into my shoulder must've told him everything. Farley gave me a look. "Oh. I get it."

  "Yeah," I said. "That's the long story, short."

  Derrick, God bless him again, took Farley's arm. "Dance with me, big man."

  "Nice to see you," I said as he allowed himself to be dragged to his feet.

  Kellan waved, the look shifting decidedly more toward amusement now. When they were gone, he said, "Shit, that's the only one tonight? I expected four or five, at least."

  "You always make me feel like such a disappointment."

  "Right." He smirked and leaned back. "Hot shit, though. I'm feeling kinda proud of myself right now."

  "Speaking of, did Derrick check out your dick?"

  "Oh yeah. Didn't even pretend. Looked up in the mirror and the bastard was winking at me."

  I was on him in an instant, kissing and running my fingers through his hair. He smiled into it, but when I started moving one hand up his thigh toward his crotch, he stopped and laughed. "Jesus, what is it with you and public places?"

  "Baby, it's almost two a.m. Anyone here who is lonely or sober enough to notice will thank us."

  "You've got to be the dirtiest mind I've ever met, James."

  "Keep talking like that, and I'll get down under this table and prove you right."

  "I ever tell you you're fucking amazing?"

  I shut him up with another kiss, and we spent the last hour of the evening alternately making out, feeling each other up, and finishing off our drinks. Happy as could fucking be.

  Chapter Eight

  "You're not coming?"

  "No. I'm going d
own to Kellan's parents'."

  "Everyone will expect you to be there, honey," Mom explained in her best patient voice.

  I snorted. "Everyone who?"

  "Just…everyone. All the families."

  "They see me all the time. Kellan's mom invited me. The Fourth of July is their big family event."

  Now she paused. "I see."

  "Can I take you out to lunch or something?"

  "After the Fourth. Things are so busy—"

  "Dinner? Breakfast?"

  "It's okay, honey. You don't have to explain yourself to me. We'll meet at Tommy's the weekend after."

  "This is important."

  Silence, the longest three seconds of silence ever. Then, "Is it serious?"

  No, I'm just being invited to key family functions and electing to spend time with him instead of you on holidays. Not fucking serious at all, Mother. "Yes."

  Yet more silence. "It's okay. I dated too. We'll talk about it later."

  That odd sense of despair I'd felt in Little Italy returned, that same thought that it didn't matter. Whether I was dating a man or a woman, it would never matter. It was irrelevant.

  So I swallowed hard and said, "I'll see you at Tommy's, then."

  "I'm sorry, honey. Next week I'll cancel my—"

  "I'm busy next week."

  Another pause, but shorter. "I love you, Jamie."

  "Yeah. Love you too."

  Part of me was sort of relieved. At least she wasn't rejecting me for being queer. It should be irrelevant. It shouldn't matter who I was fucking, not to my mother.

  But most of me was gutted. Because in this case, it did matter and was unquestionably relevant. Her pretending it didn't and wasn't hurt like hell.

  I wondered how long she'd known and never said anything.

  I wondered how long I'd have let us go on with this convenient lie, if not for Kellan.

  And I was glad she didn't have time to let me take her to lunch, after all. Though I guess it could've been worse.

  She could've asked me about Mae.

  *~*~*

  Kellan had compiled a playlist that was half electronic dancey stuff, half paddy rock, and his ancient Chevy pickup blared it on the way down to Medina that Fourth of July. The windows were open, my feet were up on the dash, and I was singing Gorillaz to the flat Ohio countryside. Kellan alternately winced and laughed at my off-key efforts but enjoyed the performance all the same.

  About halfway through, I turned it down and asked, "So, how'd you tell your parents?"

  Partly because I wanted to be prepared, partly just because I was curious, considering the spectacular failure I was experiencing with my own tiny family just then.

  "I'm probably not the best example."

  "Okay, now I really want to know."

  "Well, my dad asked me if I'd met any new girls, and, I mean, everyone knew; he was just being a douche. Like he could guilt me into being straight." He shrugged. "So I said, 'You know damn well I'm gay.'"

  "Only you, Kellan."

  He grinned.

  "Like, where? When?"

  "Freshman year in college. About three days before Christmas."

  "Ouch."

  "At least I waited until after dinner. Tara and Ryan thanked me for that later."

  "They were still living at home?"

  "Yeah, this is Ryan's first year out. Tara was a senior in high school."

  "So what happened?"

  "Mom cried." He looked a little uncomfortable there. "Dad told me to get my sorry sodomite ass out of his house. Erin was in for Christmas, and she said if he kicked me out, he was kicking her out, and he said all right, fuck all y'all, as it were. Tara tried to come with us; Ryan kind of went into a coma. Maura and Finn both called me the next day freaking out. Ken was the only one who didn't have anything to say, but he doesn't give a shit."

  I consider myself pretty good with names, but without faces to match, the Sheas were mind-boggling. "Wait, so what's the order again?"

  "Maura, Kennedy, Finn, Erin, me, Tara, Ryan."

  "Is this going to be on the quiz?"

  "You haven't seen anything yet, man."

  But I still couldn't get over it. "So he seriously kicked you out?"

  He shrugged. "I was already out anyhow, and he wasn't paying for school. But he didn't speak to me for a few years."

  I stared. "Years?"

  "Two. I kind of expected it, just felt bad for my mom. The whole thing really embarrassed her." Another quick glance. "Not me, but Dad being a dick. She dragged him to Father Tom to get it sorted out in the end, she got so pissed off."

  "Heavy, man." A little pause for contemplation. Then I asked, "So, what would you have done differently?"

  "I would've said it sooner." No hesitation in his reply, and he said it with a smile. "Okay, I'm going to tell you something serious, so don't be a cock."

  "Wouldn't think of it."

  He chewed on his bottom lip, but the smile didn't quite fade. "I cried that night. Wasn't sad—it was just such a fucking relief."

  If he hadn't been driving, I would've been on him so fast. Holy shit.

  "But don't worry; we're cool now. It won't be—well, it'll be weird, but not that weird."

  "He just said he was sorry, and you forgave him? Just like that?"

  "Fuck no, he never said he was sorry." He laughed. "And I definitely never said I forgave him. No, my mother begged me to come home for Thanksgiving, he acknowledged my presence, and after a few hours, I acknowledged his. A few hours after that, he offered me a drink. We sat up all night knocking back a bottle of Powers and singing old songs; we got sloppy and sentimental about the old days—mine and his. And now here we are, father and son."

  "You just…moved on?"

  "Pretty much. He's a mean old cunt, but that just shows I got it honestly."

  I sat back in my seat, eyebrows up to my hair. "This is gonna be educational."

  "Still time to back out."

  "Not enough money in the world to buy me off, Kellan."

  A pause, and then he asked, "What do you think your dad would've done?"

  "I wonder about it sometimes," I admitted. "I like to think he would've shrugged and kept eating his steak or whatever. My grandma always said he was really laidback. Everyone does. He must've been, to deal with Mom."

  "Uh, and to be a fucking neurosurgeon."

  "That too. But mostly Mom."

  *~*~*

  He rolled the truck up a dirt-and-grass drive and parked it beside an old farmhouse, the kind that's obviously been standing there for a few hundred years and had a lot of work done to keep it upright in the meantime. A giant barn sat at the end of the drive, and in the distance behind it, a few acres of open field. The nearest house was about three hundred yards to the left, and a huge pond, complete with a ramshackle-looking boathouse and a well-repaired mini-dock, sat on what looked like the property line, half on the Shea side, half on the other side.

  I was about to comment about it being badass, but a chorus of small, piercing voices started announcing. "Uncle Kelly!"

  I raised my eyebrows.

  "Shut up." He laughed and waved at the kids, who raced toward us in an amoeboid mass.

  "So, how many nieces and nephews?"

  "Eight. So far." The smallest of his admirers—a beautiful dark-haired girl of about three—reached us. He swept her up and spun her around, and she wrapped her little arms and legs around him. "How's my girl?"

  "Good!"

  He turned toward me. "Jamie, this is Maggie."

  I held out my hand. "And who does she belong to?"

  "Erin. Mags, meet Jamie."

  She took two of my fingers in a chubby little hand and approximated a grownup shake. "Hi, Jamie."

  By that time, the older children had reached us, and Kellan put down the little kid and began distributing hugs and hellos, starting with a blond preteen girl who seemed to be the leader of the adorable rabble.

  "Guys, listen up," he said. "This is Jamie. Fe
el free to introduce yourselves. He doesn't bite." He turned back to me, where I leaned against the car to watch this fascinating ritual. "But they do. Especially Gerry." He ruffled the hair of the one kid he hadn't hugged yet, one of three boys sporting bare, muddy knees.

  The kid laughed and hugged him, and his two buddies marched up to me, announced themselves as Matt and Delany, and took turns shaking my hand.

  We were accosted by two stragglers, a pair of little girls, one shy, one decked out in designer wear, but eventually our path was clear to the grown-up types. They lounged around a smoking brick barbecue, everyone with a beer in hand or very nearby.

  There were…a lot of them.

  "You about to turn back yet?" he asked.

  "Oh hell no."

  "Good, because we hit the point of no return the second my mother laid eyes on you." Dimple in full force, he took the last few strides toward a small, round woman with the exact same dimple in her left cheek. He wrapped her up and kissed her. "Hey, Ma. This is Jamie."

  Mrs. Shea let her son go and pulled me into her arms, going up on her toes to lay a quick peck on my cheek. "Jamie, so glad you could come."

  There were about twenty pairs of eyes on me right then, and it was nice to know at least one of them was friendly. "Thanks for having me, Mrs. Shea."

  "Our pleasure." She pulled back and did that patting-the-side-of-my-face thing. "Make yourself at home; the Lord knows we don't stand on ceremony."

  Kellan had been shaking the hand of a lanky middle-aged man with dark, familiar eyes and a perpetual downturn to his mouth. When Mrs. Shea released me, Kellan said, "Dad, Jamie."

  I hoped my deep breath didn't show. The man had a personality a mile wide; I felt it in that first look—not confrontational, not even judgmental, just in charge. Kellan's tale of facing his father over a dinner table and saying something as audacious as "You know damn well I'm gay" reached a new level of coolness.

  He took my hand and shook it firmly, and I said, "Mr. Shea," like I was about to try to sell him software.

  I was glad I wasn't, that was for damn sure. Though fucking his son wasn't a whole lot better, now I thought about it.

  "What, Mags?" Kellan turned to the little girl pulling at his pant leg.

  Mr. Shea released my hand and said, "Good to meet you, son. Where is it you're from?"