Finding North

by Carmen Jenner

  “So what?” he says, and leans over me to turn off the lamp. I take in a deep breath, inhaling his strong, masculine scent. “I just had my dick in your arse; somehow I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “True.” I unfasten my belt and jeans and tug them down my hips, kicking them off. I roll on my side, my back to his. All the blood rushes to my dick as I realise we’re both completely starkers.

  “North?”

  “What?” he groans, his voice husky. I love that he turns into a little kid when he’s tired. Big fucking sook.

  “Was it …” I pause, not sure I really want to know the answer, but forging ahead anyway. “Was it disgusting to you?”

  “Fucking you?”

  “Yeah. I thought maybe because you ran off—”

  “No, it wasn’t disgusting.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. His hot breath on the back of my neck sends a current of electricity down my spine. “It was a lot to wrap my head around, but it wasn’t disgusting.”

  “And kissing me?”

  “It was fine. It was just a mouth, Will.”

  My heart sinks. Because it wasn’t just anything for me. It was everything. And I suppose there’s my answer. “Right.”

  “Now shut up; I’m tired,” he says. I tuck my hands under the pillow we share. There’s no way I’ll get to sleep tonight, not after all the shit we did and the things he just said. North shifts closer to me on the bed, and his arm wraps around my side and under my own, resting on my bare chest.

  “When did you get your nipples pierced?” he asks.

  “The day after I turned eighteen—same day as my septum.”

  “Well I knew about the nose ring, but you never told me about these,” he says, flicking the silver barbell beneath his hand. My cock twitches, and I grab the base and squeeze, willing it to go down already.

  “I don’t tell you a lot of things.”

  “I’m hurt, Will,” he says. Always the sarcastic douche. “I tell you everything.”

  I scoff. “I know. Every goddamn detail about you fucking other women. You won’t shut up.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, but his sharp inhalations tell me there’s something on the tip of his tongue. I can practically hear the cogs turning in his brain. “When I tell you those stories,” he says finally, “do you imagine it’s you I’m fucking?”

  I shake my head, though I know he can’t see it in the dark. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” I admit. No point denying it any longer, I suppose, since he already knows how I feel about him.

  “How long have you known?”

  “That I was gay? I don’t know, maybe since the sixth grade. Though my dad swears he knew earlier.”

  North stiffens behind me, but not in any way that counts. “Wait, your dad knows? And he didn’t kill you?”

  “At about sixteen he came to give me the talk, only instead of giving me Playboy, he hands me this mag with some fucking twink on it. Sal had bought it for him, thought I’d appreciate looking at guys closer to my own age.”

  North laughs. “So let me get this straight—Sal the bogan waitress bought you twink porn, and your dad had the talk with you about fucking men?” He hoots, and I pull the pillow out from underneath us and attempt to suffocate him with it.

  “Shut up, or your dad’s gonna come in here and beat the shit outta the both of us.”

  That sobers him, and North removes the pillow and tucks it beneath his head. “He wouldn’t just beat me—he’d kill me. He’d kill us both.”

  “He wouldn’t kill you—you’re his kid.” I lay back and stare up at the ceiling, from shoulder to ankle my body is flush with his. “He wouldn’t—”

  “Yes, he would. I know he would. There’s a lot of shit my dad lets me get away with, but being a homo isn’t one of them.”

  I flinch.

  “Sorry. That’s not what I meant.” He pushes me on my side and wraps his arm around me again, though this time he draws me in closer. I lay my hand over his, my heart thuds against our joined fingers.

  “North?”

  “What?” he groans.

  “Would you ever, you know … let me do that to you?”

  There’s another long pause, and I really wish I hadn’t said that because what other option have I given him than to feel awkward for telling me no? “I don’t know. Go to sleep, Will.”

  Well, at least it wasn’t an outright no. He didn’t say never, or keep dreaming.

  I close my eyes and let sleep wash over me, but just before I drift off North whispers, “You need to get out of this town, Will, before it breaks you. Before everyone finds out.”

  And then I’m wide awake, because the thought of having to leave my home because I’m gay has never occurred to me. Maybe people suspect about me, maybe they don’t, but since my dad found out I haven’t given much thought to the fact that it might be a problem for anyone else. I mean, I’ve heard all the homophobic bullshit the steel workers sling back and forth down at the pub, especially now that I’m old enough to serve them drinks, but I guess I never felt like I was a part of something anyway, so it made no difference to me.

  But North’s words give me pause, and when I finally pluck up the courage to ask him what he meant, I know the snore isn’t faked. He really is asleep and just like I predicted, I’m wide awake wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with myself. I should get up and walk home, but I won’t because I don’t know when I’ll have this again. North’s body is warm beside me, and despite the heat, I close my eyes and dream without sleep. I dream of a life where things are very different between us, and him wrapping his arms around me as we slept doesn’t have to be dirty or secret or shameful—it’s just love, comfort and companionship, and it’s beautiful.

  Around three a.m. North starts talking in his sleep. It’s indecipherable, but the moans are enough to let me know what’s what. His rigid length digs into the small of my back as he pushes against me, and my cock stiffens in response.

  I don’t think about it. My hands move involuntarily and grip his head, sliding my fist over his dick from base to tip. North pushes his hips into my hands and I turn on the bed. He’s still asleep, so I know I shouldn’t take this further, but he was lying earlier when he said this wasn’t his thing. Maybe it hadn’t been up until this point, but you don’t just fuck a guy because you’re bored, or it’s the nice thing to do for a friend whose options are limited in a small town. You do it because you want to.

  I lean up, ignoring the blood rushing to my cock making it feel like a lead weight between my legs. In the dark, I study his face and teeter on the edge of my decision. This could be the worst idea I’ve ever had, but it doesn’t feel like it, so I slide down the mattress, lower my head and take him in my mouth. He’s hot, and the taste of salt, sweat and man dances over my tongue. Losing all inhibition, I move my mouth vigorously up and down his shaft.

  North groans as his fingers slide into my hair. “Jesus.”

  If he wasn’t awake when I started, he is now.

  He grunts. His hand fists my hair as he pulls me off him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I wanted to know what you tasted like,” I whisper, afraid to move, afraid he might beat the shit out of me, but he releases me instead, recoiling as though he’d just been burned.

  “I can’t …” He tries to scramble back but I skim my hand over his shaft, and he releases a ragged breath. “I can’t do this.”

  “Why?” I demand.

  “Because I’m not like you. I fuck women, a lot of women, I don’t … What I did before, I was curious, but I—”

  “You fucked me and you were rock hard the whole time,” I whisper, shoving down my anger because I know it will lead me nowhere with him. “Lying with me afterward, holding me? What the fuck was that?”

  “That was me not being an arsehole. I didn’t …” He sighs. “I didn’t want you to think I was a total douche.”

  “You are a tota
l douche, but that’s okay because so am I.” I suck him again, taking his cock right to the very back of my throat. North gasps and rocks his hips towards me. I run my lips up and down his length, working him faster until his breath comes in harsh pants, and his fingers slide into my hair and tug.

  “Jesus Christ, Will. Fuck,” he groans.

  With one hand I reach between my legs and stroke myself, concentrating on the sensitive flesh of my head, matching my rhythm to the one I’m using on his shaft. When I think we’re both close I take him from my mouth and shift on the bed.

  “Fuck,” North hisses quietly. “I was almost there.”

  “I know.” I straddle his hips. North’s expression is somewhere between fearful and desperate, so when I rub my cock along his and use my pre-cum as lube to stroke us both in one fluid movement, he thrusts his hips forward in time with my hand.

  “Oh shit, that’s good.”

  “Fuck,” I say, slowing my pace to temper the sensations and fend off the orgasm that threatens to take me over. “Too good.”

  “God, don’t stop.” North pleads.

  “Have to. I’ll come otherwise.”

  “Isn’t that the fucking point? Come already,” he snaps, rocking his hips forward. His cock bumps against my own and I grasp our dicks with both hands and jerk us off. My orgasm slams into me, and with hard, shuddering breaths I come all over North’s stomach. A second later North’s soft cry fills the room. I squeeze the head of his dick as he shoots a wad of creamy ejaculate onto both of us.

  “Holy shit,” he says, when he recovers. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

  “Playguy.”

  “Jesus, that was fucking amazing.”

  “Yeah,” I pant, as I collapse on the bed beside him. I wipe sweat from my brow. The scent of sex is heavy around us. A smug smile of satisfaction turns my lips up in the corners, I hope he doesn’t see, because it’s only meant for the darkness. Satiated, I rest my head on North’s shoulder and feel sleep finally start to pull me under.

  “Will?” North says.

  “What?” I groan, mimicking his sleepy annoyance to a tee.

  “I’m gonna need to borrow that magazine.”

  Will pours us both another round of Bundy rum and doesn’t bother watering it down with Coke. The pub is dark, save for the neon signs behind the liquor shelf. It’s been closed for an hour, and the two of us sit at the bar like old times. It isn’t old times though, and I need to remember that, because I’m the one who fucked us seven ways from Sunday.

  “You know what’s funny?” he asks, shifting on the stool beside me. His knee rests against my own. He makes no attempt to rectify it, and I’m sure as hell not going to. Apart from that awkward-as-fuck kiss the other night, this is the closest I’ve been to Will in twelve years.

  “What?”

  “The fact that we’re thirty years old, sitting in a bar with nothing but liquor at our disposal, and we’re still drinking this shit.” He raises his glass in the air.

  “What’s wrong with Bundy rum?” I ask, feigning offense. Bogan rum-swilling meatheads who get shitfaced and then get into it at the bar have given it a bad name over the years, but for me, that burnt sweet molasses flavour holds a lot of good memories.

  “Come on,” Will says, smiling at me over the rim of the glass. “Nobody actually likes the taste of this shit.”

  “I do.” I chug the remainder of the amber liquid. “If you don’t like Bundy, why are we drinking it?”

  He shrugs. “Old time’s sake?”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, we had some pretty good memories of this shit. Or at least, I think we did; I never remembered a whole lot the morning after one of our benders.”

  Will’s lips turn up in one of his crooked smiles. God, I’ve missed that mouth. “You know all the pot we smoked might have had something to do with that, too.”

  “True,” I say, and push my glass towards him for another refill, downing the shot of liquid courage. “You ever think about what might have been?”

  Will scoffs and sets his glass down. “You’re seriously asking me this?”

  “What?” I say, getting pissy now, because he acts as though he’s the only one who lost something. “I can’t ask a question?”

  He takes another sip, avoiding my gaze. The humour has left his face; his mouth forms a tight line as he stares down into his drink. “You can’t ask that question.”

  “Okay then,” I say, agitated that he’s calling the shots. I ask a question I’ve been wanting the answer to for a very long time. “Why didn’t you leave?”

  “Jesus, not you too.” Will shakes his head. “You sound like Josh.”

  “Who the hell is Josh?”

  He slams back the rest of his drink and beats his fist against his chest. “Fuck buddy.”

  “You have a fuck buddy?” I clench my jaw. I’m starting to see why Bundy has a bad name. Right now, I’d like to find Josh and beat his fucking head in.

  Will laughs. “Look at you getting all jealous.”

  Is he fucking kidding me?

  “How long?” I say through my teeth.

  “How long have I been fucking him? Or how long is his cock? It’s about five for both.”

  “Five what?” I snap. “Days? Weeks?”

  “Months.” He rests his elbow on the bar, dangling his glass from his long fingers. “And inches.”

  “You been fucking this Josh for five months, and you didn’t think to mention it?”

  “I’ve fucked a lot of men in the last twelve years, North. Why would I mention any of them to you?”

  “I kissed you.”

  “Yeah, and I didn’t ask for it,” he says, swirling the liquor in his glass. “How many women have you slept with in the past twelve years?”

  I don’t have an answer for him. I don’t even remember half of their names, only that I was fumbling around in a drunken stupor, trying to grab onto just a little bit of happiness. On the outside I have all my shit together, but inwardly I’m hollow. I’m the worthless piece of shit my father always told me I was, and I’d bury my dick in anyone in an attempt to find something that made me feel even half of what Will had that summer.

  “Let me ask you something. Why are you so fucking pissed right now? You walked out of my life, remember?”

  I rake my hand through my hair. “Yeah, I fucking remember.”

  “Then why are we even having this conversation?”

  “We’re not.” I slide off the stool and head to the bathroom.

  “Last drinks,” Will calls, but when I turn to glare, he’s not looking at me. Instead, he shoves the Bundy bottle and our glasses across the bar and rests his forehead in his hands.

  I push into the bathroom and take a piss, and then I stare down into the sink for a long time. Too fucking long.

  I have no right to tell him who can and can’t be in his bed. I lost that privilege the second I screwed it all up, but Christ, knowing that he’s fucking someone else kills me.

  Why am I such a fucking pussy?

  I want him. I’ve always wanted him. That’s all that should matter, and yet it’s the last thing that does. I don’t know how to do this. I’m not brave like he is. I can’t shut out what everyone else would say. My father, my workmates, Tam—the whole goddamn town. What would they think? While my happiness isn’t dependent upon any of those people, Will’s safety might be.

  At least it was once.

  This is bullshit. I need to go home. I need to stay the hell away from him. I shove off the sink and walk out into the bar and run smack-bang into Will. He shoves me up against the wall. “You know, you’ve got some nerve getting all twisted up about who I’m fucking.”

  “Bullshit. It should be me, and you know it.”

  “And it would have been once,” Will says. “But you ripped my fucking heart out, and I can’t forgive you—”

  “Then don’t, don’t forgive me, but stop fucking punishing the both of us.” I reach out and grab his neck, pulling
him into me. He struggles, jerking out of my grasp.

  “No,” Will seethes. I wet my lips and his gaze follows my tongue. “Goddamn you.” His mouth covers mine with hard, fevered kisses that bruise and soothe all at once. I open to him, allowing him farther access to my mouth. He grinds his hips, and his thick cock brushes against mine beneath our jeans. My hands lift his shirt and yank it up over his head as he backs us toward the hall.

  He misses his footing, or I miss mine—either way, we go down in a heap and land hard on the stairs. “Ah fuck,” Will says, taking the brunt of my weight. I push up on my forearms, but my hips stay where they are, thrust up against his hardness. Will doesn’t seem to mind.

  My hands are greedy, pawing and kneading, toying with his nipple piercings, devouring as much flesh as my calloused fingers can touch. I trace the ridges between his abs. His hard body feels so good beneath my hands that I lose my shit completely when he brings his mouth back to mine and nips at my bottom lip. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair mussed, cock straining against his jeans, and it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever goddamned seen.

  I slide his zip down and shove my hand inside, massaging his head with a drop of pre-cum I’ve collected. Will groans into my mouth. I kiss him harder, grip his thick shaft and tug faster.

  His hand reaches out and grips my wrist. “No.”

  “Don’t tell me no, Will. Not now,” I snap, and quicken my pace.

  “Fuck,” he says, his voice thick, heavy with longing. “No, not here.”

  “Why not here?” I ask, catching his earlobe with my teeth.

  “Because my dad is upstairs,” he says.

  “Shit.” My courage falters. I know that Trevor knows about his son’s sexual preferences, and I’m sure he’s aware of our past, but knowing that he’s just a few feet away and could have walked in on us practically fucking on the staircase sobers me.

  “You know he doesn’t give a shit,” Will says, reading the hesitancy on my face. He shakes his head and his lip curls in a sneer. “You gonna puss out on me now?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that’s the whole fucking point,” I say, and get to my feet, stepping back onto the stair below in order to give Will room to move, but he doesn’t. Instead, he glares up at me with eyes filled with hate and lust, and perhaps even a little bit of admiration. His gaze lowers to the massive erection I’m sporting. I grin and offer a hand up, but he knocks it away and uses the railing to haul himself to his feet.