Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1)

by Christina Lee

  Why deny myself that?

  I run the palm of my hand over the head of my dick before jerking it again. With each stroke I get harder, more eager to let go and jizz all over my shower walls.

  When we were kids, we’d talk about jerking off sometimes. Talk about boys and each other, because it was safe as hell behind that computer screen. But now he’s here and he kissed me and I’m wishing I would have pushed him against the wall and made the kiss last longer.

  The feel of his lips and the smile when he walked away flash in my mind. My body goes rigid. My left hand fists against the wall as I come in two long spurts that wash down the shower drain.

  When I’m done, I put on a pair of boxer-briefs and basketball shorts. I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  My eyes flutter open, and I realize it’s already the next morning. Ignoring the banging on my door, I roll over and bury my head in the pillow.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  My eyes jerk open again and for a second, I wonder if maybe it’s Gabe. I don’t really have a lot of people stopping by my place, but I know he works today, so it can’t be him.

  “Yo! Lucas. Open the fucking door.”

  I groan at the sound of Conner’s voice, but still force myself to climb out of bed. He’ll never leave if I don’t. After turning the lock, I pull the door open and then stumble toward my kitchen area and begin making coffee.

  “What’s up, man?” Conner asks, before closing the door behind him.

  “I was sleeping. Nothing really has a chance to be up yet unless you count my erection.”

  He doesn’t even flinch at my morning wood joke. “Shoulda taken care of that before I got here.”

  “Did you miss the part where I was still sleeping?” I ask him.

  “It’s eleven. Can’t sleep your day away, Lucas. Oh, look, it’s your secret book.”

  He grabs for my sketchbook, but I get it first, stuffing it in a drawer. “You’re like a kid sometimes.”

  “I just like giving you shit because it’s so easy. Stop the coffee and go get dressed. We’ll take a walk and I’ll buy you a latte.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him no, but what do I have to do all day? Scribble designs in my book that I’ll never really be able to create? “Only because I want caffeine.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself. You already have caffeine here.”

  Ignoring Conner, I grab a pair of blue jeans from one of the three drawers under my bed, then get socks and underwear before pulling a T-shirt from the small closet. Before I walk into the bathroom, I turn to him. “Don’t look at it. I don’t like people to look at it.”

  Conner squints his brown eyes, confusion making his forehead wrinkle. “I wouldn’t do that. I like to tease you, that’s all.”

  After giving him a short nod, I go into the bathroom and get dressed. Once I’m done, I brush my teeth, rub the scruff on my jaw and decide to leave it for now. I don’t bother to run a brush through my hair, and just grab my beanie when I’m out of the bathroom.

  Conner’s waiting by the door. He runs a hand through his messy black hair before we make our way out. Something’s up with him. I don’t know what, but it’s like this isn’t a typical visit. The question is there, waiting on my tongue but I swallow it. It’s not my business. It doesn’t matter one way or another. Conner’s business is Conner’s business.

  We walk down to one of the local WeHo coffeehouses. We both order a vanilla latte and once we have our drinks, we head outside to one of the tables.

  The second we sit down, Conner says, “I might leave the bar.”

  For reasons I don’t understand, my stomach drops. I can’t imagine working at the bar without Conner. Still, I take a drink of my latte, shrug and say, “Cool. Where will you go?”

  “I’m not sure. I just…I think it’s time, ya know? I want something different. I need a change. There’s no future at Pete’s. I just…hell, I feel like since I’m twenty-two years old, it’s time to start figuring out who in the fuck I am.”

  My stomach rolls, gets heavier and heavier. He’s right. Of course he is. I’ve always known that, but in this moment, I’m envious of him. Envious because he can just make the decision that it’s time to grow up, and then just do it…but there’s a little surprise in there too. Conner’s wild and never really serious, but I always thought he knew who he was. What he wanted.

  “I wanted to make sure I told you first. We’ve been working there a year. We’re friends. It would have felt strange to look for something else without telling you.”

  Thank you echoes softly through my brain. “Look at you, being all sentimental and shit. Who said we’re friends?” I tease him, but Conner just rolls his eyes.

  “You like me. I know you like me. I heard through the grapevine that Pete might sell. Not sure I want to be around for the bar to change hands. What about you? I know you’re not happy there.”

  No, no, I’m not. It’s not like I can do much else. What do I know? How to wait tables? Bag groceries? Those are the only kinds of things I’ve done. Shrugging, I say, “I’ll probably just stick it out. One bar is the same as the next.”

  Conner frowns, but it doesn’t stick around very long. I watch it transform, his lips turning up as he smiles. “Speaking of the bar, Lisa said some guy showed up for you last night. It sounds like he looks a whole hell of a lot like the guy you were talking to a couple weeks back. You cheating on me?”

  I can’t help but laugh at that. Conner is such a fucking nut. “Yeah, well, you don’t put out.”

  “I might be willing to give it a go for you, though.” He winks and I know he’s kidding… at least about me. Conner’s favorite pastime is trying to get me riled up, but sometimes I do wonder if he’s bisexual and never told me. “But seriously, are you interested in him? You should date someone. Hang out with someone. Do something. I’m getting a little tired of you wanting to spend every waking moment with me.”

  “Who wants to spend all their time with whom?” I ask, but I know what he’s saying. He thinks I don’t get close to anyone, but I don’t know how to be any other way.

  16

  Lucas

  I spend the rest of the afternoon sketching building after building, plane after plane.

  It’s unfair of me, but I think there’s a part of me that’s angry at Conner for wanting to look for another job. For wanting to move on, for having the balls to try for more.

  Gabe’s doing the same thing, by taking his classes. I’m not sure why I’m not mad at him. Maybe because as a kid, I thought Gabe could do anything. Could have anything. Even through a computer screen he felt invincible to me. He felt like he was someone.

  Now, I know he’s really human. He’s bipolar, but in a way he’s still invincible, because he’s living with it. He’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing. That’s another reason it didn’t make sense for me to ask him if he should be drinking last night. He doesn’t need me for shit like that.

  My phone buzzes beside my sketchpad. I drop my pencil on my pillow and pick it up. It’s Gabe.

  Hey. You working tonight?

  No. I text him back. Wanna come over?

  Because I’m angry with Conner and for some reason, being around Gabe makes me feel good. I need to feel good right now.

  There’s a long pause, so long that I think he might say no. When my phone buzzes, I’m able to breathe again.

  Sorry. Jumped in the shower real quick. I’ll be there soon.

  What the hell we’re going to do when he gets here, I don’t know. Still, I’m glad I asked. Like I told him, he knows more about me than anyone else. Having someone know me almost feels like it gives me some kind of power I never had before. Maybe power isn’t the right word, but it gives me something that I didn’t know I needed.

  When we were kids I knew I needed it. That’s what made me join the message boards in the first place. There I could be Skyscraper69, which was my user na
me, until I met FlyMeToTheMoon and we started emailing. Then, I became Lucas to someone who knew Lucas’s secrets. And FlyMeToTheMoon became Gabriel. We laid the groundwork then, when it was easier, and now the frame has already been built for us.

  I get up and order a pizza from an Italian spot that’s a minute and a half walk from me. After cleaning up real quick, I go grab our food. I figure he probably didn’t eat after work, and if he did, I’m still starving. I can always save the leftovers for breakfast.

  Less than five minutes from when I’m back inside my apartment, there’s a knock on the door. I open it to see Gabe standing there, his blond bangs pushed out of his face. His hair still looks partially wet from his shower. He’s wearing skinny jeans, Converse sneakers, and a black T-shirt, with his black hoodie over his arm. Seeing how he’s dressed reminds me how much I love the Southern California weather. It may be January, but there are still a lot of T-shirt days and the heaviest you’ll need is a sweatshirt.

  “You and that fucking hoodie.” I smile, and Gabe walks in.

  After I close the door, I see him eyeing the pizza box on the coffee table. “Isn’t pizza bread?” he asks.

  “You have so much to learn about my bread issues. First of all, thin crust is always an option. It’s actually my favorite, but I didn’t know if you liked it.” I nod toward the couch and he sits down.

  “I’m listening. Keep going.”

  I sit beside him. He smells like soap and wet hair, the scent mixing with the smell of pizza sauce and cheese. “It takes very careful knowledge of the establishment you’re ordering from. I mean, in some ways the texture is completely different, but if the dough is incredibly thick, it can still provoke the gag reflex. I’m very particular about where I order. The Pizza Guys is my favorite and lucky for me, they’re close. It’s not too thin, not too thick.”

  Gabe cocks a brow, and I see he wants to say something silly. “It’s just right? Are you the Goldilocks of pizza?”

  “Maybe I am.” I wink at him, and I realize how glad I am that I invited him over. That talking to him, even if it is just about food, makes me feel like we’re reinforcing our frame. “Taste it.” I lift my chin toward the box. Gabe opens it before picking up one of the paper plates beside it.

  He grabs a piece, the cheese stretching as he puts a slice of pepperoni on his plate. I watch him as he licks his lips, as he takes a bite, chews and then looks at me. “Just right.”

  This whole conversation feels cheesier than our pizza, but it still makes me smile. “Told you I’m good.”

  “Never doubted it,” he replies.

  I grab a piece myself and we finish the whole box, while drinking soda and watching a horror flick on TV. With each minute that passes, Gabe gets closer to me. It’s not one of those lame-ass things you see in movies, where the distance keeps shrinking while they get the balls to make a move. I just think Gabe craves contact—skin and flesh and warmth. And even though I’m not typically like that, I suddenly want to give it to him. Or maybe I’m just a selfish bastard and I’m fooling myself because I really just crave him.

  So I do it, blatantly just move closer. Our legs touch, jeans against jeans. Our arms though? That’s skin against skin and I think maybe I really do crave skin and flesh and warmth the same way he does. At least when it’s him, I do.

  The movie ends, and out of the corner of my eye, I see his head turn. Feel his gaze on me.

  I want to taste him.

  Me taste him. I’ve felt his lips twice and both times were both Gabe’s doing. This time it’ll be mine. I turn to him, touch his cheek with my left hand, let his hair slide through my fingers and then grab on.

  Then I’m leaning forward, my tongue at the seam of his lips. Gabe opens up for me and I thrust my tongue inside. The feel of him, the taste of him goes straight to my head—both my dick and the one on my shoulders.

  He moans into my mouth as I push closer to him. Reading my body language, Gabe turns, lies down so that he’s on his back and I’m between his legs, leaning over him.

  My dick aches. I feel his, hard and thick against my stomach as I kiss him deeper.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” I say as my lips slide down his neck. I can’t believe I just said that either.

  Gabe’s hand tightens in my hair and his hips move, as he rubs his erection against me.

  “I can’t believe it either.” He’s breathless, his voice hoarse with lust. It rocks through me and I suddenly want nothing more than to see what he looks like when he comes.

  Leaning up, I rub my hand over the bulge beneath his zipper. Gabe hisses. Our eyes lock and he reads my question in them. He nods and then I’m scrambling, trying to get his pants unbuttoned and unzipped. He’s doing the same with me. Neither of us get our jeans all the way down, just under our asses while we both wrap a hand around each other.

  He’s hot, so fucking hot. The heat radiates from him. I look down at him, his erection sticking out of his pants. The dark-blond hair at his crotch that’s coarse against my hand. “I used to wonder what your dick looked like.”

  I start at the tip and run my finger down to the base. Gabe shivers.

  “It sounds so fucking stupid, but I used to try and picture it. I thought about it when I’d jerk off into a sock, because I felt less creepy thinking about someone I knew. I wanted to know how long it was, how thick. How it would feel in my hand.” In reality, there’d been other dicks before Gabe’s, and the truth was, there would likely be dicks after his, too. That old saying, there’s always quiet after the storm, has always been backward for me. There’s always a storm after the quiet. When I was a kid, we’d have periods of time where things were calm and steady—Mom would work a decent waitressing job where she got good tips, or she’d be sober, but they never lasted. That storm always hits, and as much as I don’t want it to happen with Gabe, I know it will.

  Still, as I played with him, as I test the weight of his balls, and stroke him, it’s almost like I’m that kid again, seeing the first cock that isn’t my own, and having it belong to my best friend. My only friend.

  “Shit. That’s a lot to live up to. What’s the verdict?” he laughs nervously and I can’t help but laugh too.

  Winking at him, I say, “I like what I see so far. I can’t reach a conclusion until I see you come. Wrap your hand around both of us.”

  He doesn’t hesitate. Gabe spits in his hands and wraps them around our dicks. I thrust against him, lean forward and slip my tongue into his mouth again as he jerks us off together.

  It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time later that we’re both breathing heavy. My balls are full, tight and I can’t hold it off anymore. The urgent sounds Gabe makes tell me he’s right there with me. Leaning up just far enough that I can see him, I watch his face, watch him close his eyes, wrinkles forming around the edges. His mouth open as he breathes in short panting breaths.

  He comes first. He cries out as I feel him tense, feel his sticky fluid running down our cocks as he keeps working them, and I keep thrusting. He’s fucking gorgeous this way, lost in passion, and then I’m coming too, white ropes spilling all over his T-shirt. Gabe won’t be wearing that home. “Good thing you brought that hoodie,” I tell him, before collapsing on top of him. Our laughter blurs together, our chests and stomachs vibrating against each other.

  This moment is one of the coolest I’ve ever lived.

  17

  Gabriel

  Lucas,

  At least when you used your fist against your mom’s boyfriend you were protecting a person you love. When my dad uses his fists, it’s because he wants to intimidate me or teach me a lesson. He hasn’t used them much, but it doesn’t even matter, the damage is already done.

  I swear if I ever have a kid, I won’t raise my hands as a fear tactic. I won’t catch him off guard, like my dad did with me yesterday, because Mom told him I was moping around in my room. I won’t slam my child into the wall, place my forearm against his throat, cut off his airway, and
tell him to stop acting like a moody girl. I’ll talk to my kid for fuck’s sake, try to get inside his head, help him cope better with life. Make him feel like he has somebody who’s in his corner.

  Sometimes I just want to get the hell away from this house, this life. To go up in the sky, where there are only birds and clouds, and fly. Did I ever tell you how it felt the first time my Uncle Dorian took me up in his plane? He’s a commercial pilot and really cool. He made me feel like dreams were possible. He told me to contact him when I graduate high school and he’ll help me figure it all out. Sometimes I wish he were my dad.

  Glad you got a new computer, because I have you to talk to again. I missed you. I can’t even imagine what my dad would do if he found out I was jerking off to gay porn. Is that what you meant about being scared? Or did you mean about the actual sex part? I hope my first time is with somebody who knows what they’re doing and who will help me figure it out. Or at least somebody who cares. Sometimes I dream that my first time is with somebody like you. Don’t freak out or take that the wrong way—I just mean somebody who gets me. I almost didn’t write that sentence but I figure you’d understand.

  You and me? We got this.

  Gabriel

  I’ve been walking for hours. It’s the only thing I can think to do to exhaust myself, rid myself all this negative nervous energy since I got an email from my mom. She told me that my Uncle Dorian died suddenly from a heart attack. It was like a punch to my gut.

  It’s not like he and I were that close—we probably only spoke by email twice a year since graduation. He was my father’s brother and he knew his boundaries when it came to involving himself in our family business. My dad made it clear that I was enrolling in SDU and to stop encouraging me with talk of flying. But even then, Uncle Dorian had remained a kind of lifeline for me, somebody who I still aspired to be. And now it feels like one more piece of the landscape of my life has shifted and changed.