It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  By the end of the evening, most of the men were drunk, and they left in groups of twos and threes, some with one of the girls caught beneath the span of their arms, some just holding onto each other to make it back to the barracks in one piece. Shitfaced, the whole unit—their CO would’ve been proud. Roxie walked between me and Dan, both of our arms around her shoulders just to feel each other’s touch. At her car, she gave me a kiss while Dan looked the other way. “You guys have fun,” she purred with a wink. When Dan didn’t reply, she poked his stomach playfully. “You hear me, G.I. Joe? Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  Truth be told, Dan was a little plastered himself, and as platonic as it was, I think that kiss bothered him. Still, he didn’t mention it. We walked back to his barracks in silence, so close together that our elbows brushed with every other step. I forget why we were stopping by his room—to pick up some clothes? Maybe, I don’t remember now. I followed him into the building, past the soldier on duty, up the stairs to his room, our footsteps echoing around us in the stairwell as if a whole battalion hurried to keep up. In the hall, I waited with my hands shoved my pockets as he opened the door to his room, already unlocked. Cautiously we entered the room, Dan one step ahead of me, my hand drifting to his waist as he clicked on the light…

  Jackson was already back, passed out on his bed fully clothed and snoring heartily. With a shaky laugh, Dan clicked off the light and whispered, “Close the door.” I did, plunging us into utter darkness, and I reached out to find Dan reaching back for me. Pulling me to him, he pressed his mouth against my cheek, his breath fire from the alcohol, and breathed, “Let me get my things and we’ll go.” I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I didn’t want to wake Jackson if I could help it.

  Dan led the way to his side of the room. Like a college dorm, two large wooden wardrobes bisected the room down the center—to the right was Jackson’s half and to the left, Dan’s. He clicked on his lamp, tilted the shade towards the wall to keep the light diffused and indistinct, and in its glow he looked golden, like the drinks I had at the party. Intoxicating, that’s what he is, no matter where or when or under what circumstances, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to touch his shoulder then, just to feel him. Another half hour and we’d be back at our house, in our bed. Another half hour and he’d be mine.

  But he misread my touch and turned to pin me with a smoldering look. “Michael,” he sighed, pressing against me. I stumbled back, surprised at his sudden ardor and half-aroused myself, but we were on an Army base, in the barracks—I had to keep that in mind. Dan wasn’t making it easy, either, with his eager hands, his alcoholic kisses. He backed me up against his wardrobe, leaned into me heavily, one knee parting my legs, his hips grinding his budding erection against my own.

  “We can’t,” I whispered, and somehow I got my hands between us, somehow I managed to push him away. He’s persistent, though, and when he’s been drinking, he gets horny as hell. It was so hard to resist him, his lips on my face, my neck, his hands on my chest, his knee working between my legs until I gasped in delight. It was so damn hard to push against him, to pull back from his kisses, his love. “Dan,” I breathed, then, “Daniel, no. Listen to me.” And finally, “Dan, please. This isn’t—we’ll get caught.”

  From the other side of the wardrobe, Jackson snorted in his sleep, and when Dan tried to kiss me, I turned away. I’m not sure which finally broke through to him, my reluctance or his roommate’s snores, but he turned angrily from me. Staring at his back, I felt cold and alone, and I wanted to touch him again, to tell him I loved him, but I couldn’t. For the first time, I felt distanced from him, closed off. I hated that. It’s for your own good, I thought, but I couldn’t find the words. If the Army finds out about me, you’re whole life in the service is in jeopardy. Please realize this, baby. Please know I could never push you away otherwise.

  The words wouldn’t come.

  He clung to his anger as we headed out of the room, one bag slung over his shoulder. I wanted to say something but the longer I waited, the harder it was to speak at all, and in the car we sat in silence that threatened to stifle what we had worked together to build over the past few months. All the way back to our house, my house, he didn’t say a word, didn’t touch me, didn’t even look my way. I could almost hear my heart break in what he didn’t do or say.

  I pulled into the parking lot of our complex and turned off the car. For a moment we sat there, the clicking engine the only sound between us. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Dan—” I started, and at the same exact moment, he said, “Mike—”

  We looked at each other and laughed, the tension gone. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking my hand. I had waited for his touch all night, and with his hand in mine, everything was right between us again. “I’m—you’re right. I was an ass, okay? If Jackson heard us getting it on, I’d be in deep shit. I’m sorry.”

  I nodded. “It’s okay,” I sighed. I just wanted him, I didn’t care who had to say sorry first. I was ready to apologize if I had to, anything to have him back. Rubbing his hand between both of mine, I asked, “So we’re cool?”

  “Come here,” he said with a grin, pulling me to him for a tender kiss, then another. The third held a bit of the night’s previous hunger, and we took the rest inside before we went any further than that.

  Now, in the back room of Aunt Evie’s house, I knead Dan’s shoulders and blow along the back of his neck to make him laugh again. “You want some loving now?” I ask, trying to sound incredulous. When he shrugs, I rub into him harder and feel the muscles loosen beneath my touch. “Aren’t you too tired from all that driving?”

  He reaches behind me, grabs my buttocks and pulls me to him. “Not for you,” he says.

  Kissing the nape of his neck, I ease my hands down his back to his waist, then tug his shirt free from his pants. My hands trace the curve of his spine, his skin warm beneath my fingers. I work around to his belly, thumb his navel, move up his chest to circle his nipples, first one, then the other. He leans his head back, moans as I kiss his neck and hug him to me, his hands clenching my ass. “Michael,” he sighs. “Why do you do me like this?”

  I have to laugh. “Me?” I ask, the hint of a tease in my voice. I love that I can bring out the lover hidden inside the soldier. With expert hands, I pull his shirt off over his head and toss it aside. Then my hands trail down his chest again, over his stomach, to find the belt buckled at his waist. A few quick movements and I have it undone, his jeans unzipped, his erection already pressing through the open fly. I slide the jeans down, kneeling to push them to his knees, and he half-turns, his hands in my hair, to see what I’m doing. “Step up,” I say, holding one leg.

  He obeys, leaning on my head to steady himself while I pull his jeans off one leg, then the next. They catch on his shoes, which he kicks off, almost losing his balance while he does so, but I hold onto him and he doesn’t fall. “What do you have in mind?” he wants to know.

  “You’ll see.” Standing, I run my hands up his bare legs, over his green Army issue briefs, across his stomach again as I hug him to me. “Thank you for getting us here safely,” I whisper, kissing his shoulder. His hands rub at my thighs and I cup his erection in both hands, squeeze until he gasps my name. “You’re so good to me,” I murmur. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  “Get out of these pants and I’ll show you,” Dan replies.

  With a breathy laugh, he tries to turn in my embrace but I won’t let him. Instead I lead him to the bed and pull back the covers. “Lie down,” I tell him. There’s a part of me that secretly likes the way he jumps to do my command, like a true soldier. When he sits on the edge of the bed, I run a hand over the top of his short hair, my skin rasping against his scalp. “On your stomach.”

  He complies, stretching out on the mattress, his legs beneath the covers and his arms crossed beneath his cheek. He watches me as I strip down to my boxers, grins when I climb into the bed and straddle his ba
ck. My buttocks rest against his, my cock hard in the small of his back—he wiggles beneath me in an attempt to get me interested in fooling around. “Don’t,” I warn, gripping his shoulders as I lean down over him. “Just relax.”

  I start massaging his neck, picking up where I left off. The heels of my hands knead between his shoulder blades, my fingers press into his muscles, working free the exhaustion buried there. He moans beneath me, raises his hips slightly to reposition his erection that pushes into the bed, reaches back from time to time to touch my bare knee, my leg. I rub into him, his shoulders, his neck, down his arms to his elbows and up again to his biceps. On one upper arm is a tattoo, the stylized face of a growling snow leopard and the words, 57 QM—Never Say Die. Below that are my initials in Kanji script. I have his on my chest, just under my collarbone on the left above my heart. That hurt like a bitch. It was a whim, a show of love that we talked ourselves into when we were in Ocean City this past summer, the week I should have come up here to Sugar Creek. I wonder what Caitlin will have to say when she finds out her straight-laced preppy brother has his boyfriend’s initials tattooed on his body in Oriental characters. She’ll probably try to talk me into taking her to get a heart on her ankle, or something. She’s running out of things to pierce—she’ll want to start inking herself next.

  I shake my head to push the thought away. I’m not going to think of anyone on the other side of that door—just Dan, he’s the only thing that exists right now. “You’re tired,” I tell him, and he nods as I rub his shoulders, his back. “You’re so good to me, driving all that way.” My hands caress along the sensitive skin beneath his arms, making him giggle a bit beneath me. “Giving up your leave for me. What would I do without you?”

  “I don’t want to know,” he admits. His voice is muffled where his head rests in his arms. “I won’t let you find out.”

  Continuing my massage, I move down his back, along his spine, easing the tension out of his body until he’s completely relaxed beneath me. Then I work up to his shoulders again, down his arms—this time I stretch out over him, scooting back until I’m sitting on his thighs and my dick is hard between the cleft of his buttocks. I press my face between his shoulder blades and feel him rise beneath me with each breath he takes. His skin is warm on mine and smells faintly of soap from his shower this morning. So long ago now, another past, another lifetime it seems. When he speaks, his voice rumbles through me like thunder. “Michael—”

  “Shh,” I murmur, smoothing my hands along his arms, the hair standing up under my palms. I just want to lie here and feel his body against mine, each breath he takes matching my own. We fit together perfectly, my arms along his, my chest against his back, my head in the hollow where angels have wings.

  Chapter 15: Interruptions

  We fall asleep that way but when I wake up, I’m curled beside him with his arms and legs wrapped protectively around me. My body still feels the hum of the car, the road rolling away, and I hold my breath to listen to the sounds of the house around me. Evie’s house. I almost can’t believe we’re here. But the room we’re in is dark with early evening, the bed is musty from disuse, and beyond the closed door I can hear children laughing, the low murmur of adults talking together in the kitchen, a cool breeze rustling leaves outside. No traffic—this is Sugar Creek, not D.C., and I swear that I can hear the gurgle of the creek at the edge of the property, the water splashing away like a messenger of the gods. To tell of Aunt Evie’s passing, perhaps, or to speed her soul on its way to the next life.

  A chill passes through me at the thought and I cuddle closer to Dan, until his steady breath drowns out all other sound. I’m still cold, though. Sitting up, I tug at the quilt at the end of the bed, pull it up over our tangled bodies, and snuggle up to him again. His arms come up around me, holding me close. I rest my head against his chest and sigh, content. I don’t want to leave this room, this bed. I don’t want to let reality into this comfort zone—I don’t want to have to play the adult here, I don’t want to have to sit with my parents and my aunts and listen to emotionless talk of the coming funeral, arrangements to be made, people to be called, insurance policies to be cashed in…I want none of that. I want to be a child again, ignorant of the proceedings behind the curtain. I’m not even sure at this point that I’ll be able to look at Evie’s body during the viewing, and my mind short-circuits when I try to picture myself at her graveside—the image just isn’t there. I can’t do it, any of this. I don’t want to do it.

  At least I have Dan to see me through.

  My lover’s hand smoothes down my hair and I look up to find him staring at me. He kisses my forehead and, his lips damp on my skin, murmurs, “How are you doing, babe?”

  “Fine,” I lie. If Penny can do it, it can’t be that hard—I’ll keep telling myself that I’m fine and sooner or later.

  I don’t know if Dan believes me or not, but he kisses me again and doesn’t press the issue. His lips are soft on my face, his breath a whisper as he kisses the tender flesh under my eyes, below my nose. “Love me,” he sighs, one hand straying between us to rub at the front of my boxers.

  I don’t need further prompting. My mouth finds his and I ease him back against the pillow, crawling on top of him beneath the quilt until I’m straddling him again, but this time we’re facing each other and my hands are on his chest, not his back. I caress his neck, his chin, trail kisses around his jaw and down his throat. He gasps my name when my lips close over one nipple, and as I tongue the hard bud, he fists his hands in my hair, holds me against him. When he sobs and arches up against me, his erection straining at his briefs, I move to the other nipple, swirl my tongue around it until it’s as hard and sore as the first. Dan practically cries with want of me. I do this to him, bring this soldier to his knees with lust. Me. It’s a heady thought, and it turns me on more than I like to admit.

  Down his chest, further, down to the waistband of his briefs and the thickness that swells in his underwear. I lick the material, tasting fabric and a hint of cum because he’s already that hard. My mouth closes over his dick, tracing its outline through his briefs, and his legs open for me, his knees rise on either side of my head and his hands touch my face, my hair as I go lower. With my nose, I rub over his balls, then lick them through the material, my tongue flicking beneath the elastic band to lick heated flesh. All I hear is my lover’s fevered breath, my name in his hitched sighs. I spread one hand out over his crotch, lick my own fingers, my palm, and then ease into the leg band of his briefs to rub my saliva over his skin, down below his balls, down to where he aches for me.

  My other hand follows, sliding between him and the mattress to part his buttocks. I sit up as I rim around his secret flesh—the front of my boxers tents obscenely, and as one finger slips into him, he reaches for my erection, unsnapping my fly to stroke at my thick shaft. I push into him further, spreading him wide, and he rises to meet my hand, his breath in short gasps that tell me he’s ready, he wants me, he’s almost there and I’m close to coming myself—

  A knock on the door interrupts us.

  We freeze, locked in position, and stare at each other in the darkness. “Who…?” I start, but Dan is beyond words right now. When the knock isn’t repeated, he tugs at my dick, pulling me to him, driving my fingers deeper into him as he bucks into the thrust—

  On the other side of the door, Caitlin calls out my name. “Dinner time, kids,” she says, knocking again.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, but I don’t extract myself from my lover’s body. Instead, I push into him slowly, my hand hot inside him, and his eyes close in pleasure with my ministrations, his hands grasp at me, working me towards release. “Go away, Cat,” I call out, even as I thrust into Dan’s palms. “We’ll be right out.”

  She doesn’t answer. Maybe she’s left, a few minutes, that’s all we need. Dan’s briefs are stained a dark color where he’s begun to weep pre-cum and I want to feel his tight ass around my erection before either of us lose this moment. Moving
his underwear aside, I guide my dick to the heat in my hand and lean down over him. “I love you,” I sigh. Whatever he says in return is lost when I thrust and he pulls me in.

  Another knock, this one hard enough to rattle the door. “Are you guys doing it in there or something?” Caitlin cries. “Your damn hoagies are getting cold.”

  Dan laughs as he holds me to him, his arms tight around my waist because he’s not letting me go until we’ve finished what we started. “Tell her to go away,” he whispers as we find a steady rhythm.

  “You tell her,” I laugh, breathless. I move in him, above him, and fortunately this bed is a little sturdier than the one I have back at my parents’ house because it doesn’t hit the wall with each thrust.

  Dan’s fingers dig into my buttocks. “Cat, go away,” he calls out, surprising me into giggles. “What?” he asks with a grin.

  “Shh,” I say, kissing him quiet.

  Against my mouth, he murmurs, “I don’t want to rush through this.”

  As if to prove his point, he slows the pace, squeezing me when I’m deep inside of him so I don’t want to pull out, and when I do draw back, the elastic in his underwear bites into my balls and shaft. I’m close, damn close, another couple of minutes and this will all be over, no matter how much he wants to make it last…

  The door knob rattles. “Caitlin!” I cry out, pissed. Of all the people in this family, I would’ve thought she’d be the first to leave us the hell alone at a time like this.

  But it isn’t her voice that answers me, it’s Ray. Of course. “Mike, we got dinner—”

  “We’ll be right out!” I am not carrying on a conversation with my brother while I’m making love to Dan, it’s just not happening. Much as I don’t want to rush through it, either, I find myself thrusting harder, deeper, pouring my anger out into my lover. He takes me in completely, pulls me closer, lets me drive into him until I come. And then it’s over, finished, but I feel unsatisfied and bitter. I’m not letting Ray get away with ruining the first moment I’ve had alone with my boy all goddamn day.