by Anne Tenino
Toby didn’t let his eyes linger on Jock’s, because he’d said yes now, and Lewis had said yes back then, and those memories led directly to the one about Lewis Maldonado being the first guy to touch Toby’s penis that afternoon. Chill. Jock’s touched your penis.
Wait, had he? Toby couldn’t specifically recall it, although he remembered a lot of what happened that night and he’d definitely touched—oh, Jock was standing up. Maybe he should be getting ready to go too, instead of sitting here thinking about various dicks. He turned and told Danny (“Sorta Reliable” was Toby’s current nickname for him) he’d come by with the van to pick them up in ten minutes and to make sure all the bros were out front waiting for him (repeated twice, for insurance), left money for his part of the bill, and steered his semi-somnambulant hunka hunka out the door with a hand between the dude’s shoulder blades. Toby ignored the heated exchange between his palm and Jock’s skin (under two layers of clothing), letting his touch fall away as soon as they were outside.
Jock stopped and took a couple of deep breaths. It was just cool enough that Toby could see his wispy exhalations in the streetlight. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket and tilted his head a few seconds later, indicating he was ready to go. They made it around the corner and into the narrow street that would take them back through the old village to the municipal lot before Jock spoke. “Good idea taking us to that place. The guys liked it.”
“Yeah? What about you?” God, did that sound like he needed reassurance? Hopefully not, but the reality was he wanted to hear Jock’s praise. You’re twenty-four. Get ahold of yourself.
Jock smiled, but kept watching their path. “It was cool. Every other time I’ve been to France it’s been with my family, and Mom doesn’t go to places like that.”
“Too lowbrow?” Toby joked, then was attacked by more uncertainty. Was that insulting? Insulting the mother of a guy he’d like to sleep with again seemed in very bad form. Shit.
But Jock chuckled. “Totally.” He stepped around a barricade in the roadway that protected the new stones that had just been laid in this street, and Toby was forced to walk on the other side of it, separating them. As soon as they were past it, he overcompensated, drifting back to Jock’s side too quickly—almost careening—and bumping elbows with him.
What was this, his second puberty? “So, are you glad you came?” Toby blurted.
Jock shrugged, and Toby thought he was about to revert to his strong, silent, defensive wall, but then he answered. “Yeah. I needed to get away from all that shit, you know?” He stopped walking and turned to Toby, half his face in shadow with just a hint of dimple flickering in his visible cheek.
“I know,” Toby agreed, trying to console, then caught himself when Jock’s mouth turned down. “That’s not what I meant.” He was never saying what he intended to Jock, was he? “I meant that I can imagine.”
Jock’s nostril flared and his lips flattened out. “You can, huh?”
“No.” Toby shook his head, holding Jock’s gaze and his own breath a second. “Not on the scale you’re dealing with. If a picture of me blowing some guy surfaced, no one would care. Not even my mother, probably. Not to mention it wouldn’t end up on someone’s Tumblr because I’m just not as hot as you.” Oh God. He’d said that.
“Um, thanks?” Jock’s dimple reappeared, stronger and more solid this time.
Toby had to laugh at that, and at his own stupid nerves, and then he started walking again when Jock did.
“I’d put you on my Tumblr,” Jock said after a few seconds of silence.
“Um, thanks.” I’d love to be on your Tumblr. Tumble me, baby.
“Especially if you were on your knees and had your shirt off.”
Heat blasted through his chest on a tendril of mistral, but Toby did his best to ignore it. He swallowed. “The knees thing is important?”
“Yeah.”
He might be reliving his teenaged angst over whether this boy liked him, but his somewhat more adult self had been around the block a time or two, and it knew an opportunity when it saw one. Before Toby’s pimply, pubescent slice of psyche could stop it, that part of him reached out to take Jock’s arm, stopping them both, and even bringing them a few inches closer together. “We could work that out. The shirt off and me on my knees. Your dick in my mouth.” He took a shuddery breath, because between what he was saying and how Jock’s shadowed eyes seemed to pin him down, he needed more air. “I’m not as into the camera part, but we could possibly negotiate that as well.”
Jock’s face went blank. Worse than blank. All the muscles in his cheeks went rigid, and one in his jaw kept flickering into prominence and then smoothing out. Fast enough to remind Toby of a strobe light.
The “experienced adult” part of himself was a fucking moron. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the camera, huh?” he asked in a whisper.
“I don’t want to see you like that,” Jock announced, then wrenched himself backward, grazing the wall of a building before turning to walk along the road again.
“What?” Toby asked the air where Jock had been. It didn’t reply, so he forced himself into movement, heart speeding up and tripping over itself, moving him forward until he was right behind Jock. “What was that about Tumblr, then?” He could pick up the thready note of anger in his voice, and it was such a relief to not be the fawning idiot he’d been since they’d left the bar. Or the hopeful guy who’d internalized every positive interaction they’d had, no matter how minor. “That was suggestive of someone who would like a blowjob, in case you’re unaware.” Jock halted, and Toby bounced off his back, faltering to catch his balance. “And you could simply say you aren’t interested, you don’t have to respond to me as if I’ve got a communicable disease.” He’d had to say it, because he knew it would matter to Jock that he’d wounded Toby.
He could hear Jock swallowing before he turned around. They stood couple feet apart, looking at each other. “I’m sorry.”
Toby couldn’t respond with something like It’s okay or Thanks, because it wasn’t okay and he wasn’t thankful. So he kept silent.
“Okay,” Jock said, shifting suddenly, glancing away. “That picture, it’s like I don’t . . . respect myself for what happened, and I don’t want someone I do respect in that position. It’s not that I wouldn’t want that. You to do that for me, it’s just . . . Shit,” he muttered, nudging the pavers with his toe.
“What do you want?” Toby asked after what had to be a full minute of silence. Which was a very long time when one was staring at someone who could crush one’s ego with a word, waiting for him to utter said word. “I’m pretty much laying it on the line, Jock. I’d like to get with you again.” And if he was going to lay it all on the line . . . “I’d really like it if you stayed in my bed next to me all night, and maybe even planned to come back other nights.” Yeah, he’d said that. “What you do or don’t want is the barrier here, and you’re giving me some pretty mixed signals. I’ll step off if you tell me to—”
“No.” Jock swallowed again, watching his foot with brow-wrinkling focus. “I need to think about it. This is, I don’t know, important.”
Toby was tempted to cross his arms and tap his foot while he waited, but they could stand here all night, or a couple of days. Because something in the way the muscle in Jock’s cheek bunched up suggested a whole load of indecision that wouldn’t be easily resolved. So instead Toby backed up, and added in a much softer voice. “Take what time you need, but if you decide you don’t want to be with me?” He waited until Jock’s gaze met his before finishing. “I’d like you to let me know. Don’t just . . . forget about me.”
“Sure,” Jock nodded quickly, with all the fervor of someone who’d avoided having to answer an impossible question. Then he frowned. “Is that what I did before?”
“It’s okay.” Toby waved off his question. “You had stuff to work out. It’s not like you knew if you stayed I’d offer you more.” Another thing he shouldn’t have said
. Implying that they could have created something relationship-like that night if Jock had given them the opportunity. Way to scare him off.
He could literally see Jock chewing on some thought, jaw working. “Okay,” he said finally. “But, like, help me out here and tell me what you are offering or whatever, ’cause I’m not really sure what’s going on.”
“I guess . . .” Huh. He hadn’t actually thought about specifics, because it had seemed too dangerous to let himself go there. “I like you. When I stand near you?” He stepped closer, partly to illustrate. “I want to touch you. Physically attracted to you, like we’re magnets or something. When I talk to you, I feel like we connect.” Jock nodded, but didn’t interrupt, so Toby finished his half-formed thoughts. “I’d like a chance to find out how deep that connection goes. That’s all I want.” For now.
A smile flashed across Jock’s face, then died down. “That doesn’t sound too scary or anything.” He took a breath and came closer, so they were inches apart. Then, so fast Toby didn’t see it coming, he leaned in and kissed him. Just lips touching, and by the time Toby’d registered the shock of Jock’s touch, regrouped and reacted to it with his own lips, Jock was pulling away. “I’ll try and figure my shit out and let you know ASAP.”
Not the most romantic thing he’d ever heard, but it’d do. Toby shrugged his eyebrows. “Sounds good to me.”
It took Jock about thirty seconds of reflection before he figured out the reasons pursuing Toby scared the hell out of him.
The first thing was the whole bottoming issue, but that wasn’t any surprise—he’d already been thinking about it, and knew there was a work-around. At this point, he had just enough experience to be sure he could tell Toby he wasn’t ready for that, and buy himself some time to figure out how to get over his squeamishness or whatever. Until now, he hadn’t been putting any energy into working it out, because it hadn’t come up. He didn’t know if he just looked or acted like a total top, but no guy he’d been with had ever even hinted they wanted to fuck him.
But Toby was versatile, and if they got involved he’d for sure bring it up. Maybe Jock’d get lucky and it wouldn’t come up until he’d successfully psychoanalyzed himself, but if it came up before then, he at least had a plan.
The second scary thing was kind of a surprise, even though it probably shouldn’t have been.
He had to tell Toby about the picture and how he’d come out, because if he didn’t it would be like lying to the dude. Not that he’d really be lying, but it would feel like a lie to Jock. When he’d admitted to Tank that he’d set himself up to be outed, he’d unloaded a ton of shame. So much that even under siege by the news media, he’d felt more at peace with the whole thing. Not okay with it, but no longer hating at himself as much. His brother was the one person he’d really owed the truth to.
Until Toby’d said that thing about the camera, and Jock realized he couldn’t not tell him how it went down. Not if he actually wanted to try having some kind of relationship, and he thought he did. ’Cause thinking about the guy most of his waking hours had to be some kind of sign, right?
Did he have to tell Toby before they hooked up again, though? Like, could he maybe take this thing between them—relationship or whatever it was—for a test run first? Make sure it was really what he wanted?
Questions like that kept him from talking to Toby for days, even about little things, until he realized the reason the dude was in such a shitty mood all the time was his fault.
Toby had become too fucking reserved. Jock hated it. The guy wasn’t like that normally, never had been, but now he didn’t smile as much and he mostly only spoke after being spoken too, at least around Jock. The other guys were starting to notice, too.
On Friday, Toby found out their history prof didn’t think they needed to see some protohuman site in Nice, and insisted he would take them to see it instead. “When are you going to be in this part of the world again—while taking a topical history class at the same time, no less—to see this? These are some of our nearest human ancestors, and that hack doesn’t think it’s important for you guys to explore it? Who is this douche, anyway?”
“That’s Professor Douche to us,” Danny said. Toby scowled. No one else tried to jolly him out of his annoyance, they just all agreed to go on the trip on Sunday.
It was exhausting, raining and so windy that Toby had to fight with the steering wheel to keep the van on the road. For once Jock didn’t feel guilty not talking to him in spite of riding shotgun, because Toby needed to concentrate on driving. All two-plus hours of it each way. The weather got a little better as they went east, but Toby’s mood didn’t. By the time they got to the site, everyone was pissy, and as far as Jock could tell it was mostly dirt and some formations that people with letters after their name insisted were the remains of 350,000-year-old huts.
When they got back to EuroTAG, Noah followed Jock up to their room. Jock had figured it was so he could change out of his damp clothes, too, but judging by the way the dude firmly shut the door and then crossed his arms over his chest and glared, there was more going on.
“What?” Jock asked, dropping onto the edge of his bed and starting to strip off his soaked footwear.
“How long are you going to keep him hanging?”
He stared at the foot he’d just bared—it looked pale and wrinkly with the veins all standing out, the way feet did when they were too damp too long. Unattractive, kinda how he felt right now. “So, like, all you guys know?”
“That you and Toby are going to get together sooner or later? No. I think Danny has it figured out, but the other guys haven’t noticed. Not yet, but they will.”
“Fuck me,” Jock said to himself, finally attacking his other shoe.
“Why is that so bad?” Noah asked. “That everyone knows?”
Jock threw his second sock at the dude, not really mad, just frustrated. Noah ducked but kept looking at him steadily until Jock answered. “Excuse the fuck out of me for thinking most of the world knows enough about my sex life already.”
“So . . . what? You’re going to never, like, date, because you don’t want anyone noticing? Nothing but hookups the rest of your life.”
“No. Just.” Fuck. “I’ll work it out.”
Figuring out how much he cared or didn’t about how much the guys knew took him another couple of days of not talking to Toby. So he left them both hanging for a week and a half, until Tuesday morning when he woke up and it hit him: I’m never going to not be scared about this. Which meant he had two choices: let his nerves stop him, or talk to Toby despite his nerves. It was totally against his nature to let nerves stop him, or at least it used to be, but without hockey—
Okay, fuck hockey, dude. Stop whining. He shoved himself out of bed, throwing off his blankets. They landed on Noah’s head.
“Hey!”
“I’m gonna go work out. Breakfast is in an hour.”
Noah rolled over and started snoring. Somehow he always made it to breakfast in time, in spite of never getting up until the last second. When Jock had gone through his routine, taken a shower and dressed, then arrived at the table, Noah was already there. Everyone was already there. The only seat left for Jock was next to his roommate, and two over from Toby.
Wasn’t like Jock could try talking to him at breakfast. Wasn’t like he had a clue what to say anyway, other than, “I’m dying to touch you.” He’d like to find out if Toby’s hoodie hugged his torso as tightly as it looked like it did, and he wanted to abrade his lips with the scruff on Toby’s jaw and down his neck. He wanted a chance to see the fur on his chest and belly again, and—
Clink-clink-clink. Jock jerked his eyes off of Toby and saw Danny, tapping his fork against his coffee mug. Leave it to him to ruin a good memory. As soon as he had everyone’s attention, he nodded and said, “As you all know, Jules had ulterior motives when he came along on this term abroad.”
“I didn’t know that,” Toby said. He didn’t sound happy about it.
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br /> “He came not only to soak up the culture,” Danny continued blithely, “and to eat the excellent offerings from Madame Bovinary’s table.” He turned in his chair and took Madame’s hand, kissing it gallantly and smiling at her. She giggled, but thank fuck she wasn’t the type to blush. Danny turned back to the table, lifting both palms in the style of the great orators. “He also came to soak up some education in the language of loooove.”
“Oh Jesus,” Toby muttered.
Noah nudged Jock with his elbow, giving him a sly sideways look. “Told you,” he mouthed.
“I thought he came for the same reason as the rest of us,” Ricky objected.
“To go to school?” Toby sniped.
“For anti–beer terrorist training.”
“Oh, yeah, totally, dude.” Danny nodded. “But see, that’s the thing—the antiterrorism agent is like a Renaissance man, isn’t he? He’s gotta be good at lots of shit, including being able to charm the babes. ’Cause he never knows when his life of cloak-and-dagger will demand it.”
“Oh my God,” Toby groaned.
It was drowned out by the sound of Jules gulping. “You didn’t tell me that,” he said to Danny in a strangled whisper.
“You’ll be fine.” Danny patted him on the shoulder reassuringly, then addressed the table as a whole again. “On Friday, I gave him a little ‘homework.’” He air-quoted with panache. He had to have practiced that in front of a mirror. “And now he’s ready to give a presentation of what he’s worked up for his assignment.” Danny nodded across Turbo to Jules, grinning with all his teeth. “Don’t be shy, dude. No one’ll laugh. We’re all here to support you.”
Jock had his doubts about that.
Julian stood unsteadily, picking up a stack of note cards lying next to his plate, shuffling them and then tapping them against the table to align them perfectly. Then again. “Um, you guys can keep eating, this isn’t a big deal,” he said, voice wobbling a little.
Jock took another of Madame’s croissants from the basket, but more to help Jules pretend that not everyone was dying to hear what he had to say. He’d already had four this morning, but he’d have another for the cause. Some of the other guys started eating again, too, but no one seemed to take it seriously except Turbo, who rolled his eyes at his food and then started shoveling it in.
