by Lisa Henry
Jason pulled away suddenly and groped for his jeans. Fumbled in the pocket and pulled out a glinting packet. Tore it open.
For a second Nate wasn’t sure how he felt about Jason coming here prepared to fuck him.
Jason put the condom on. Touched Nate’s shoulder. “I can’t move very well. It might not...be what you want. So, uh, if you want to—to get on top and ride me, then you can go as hard as you want.”
Nate looked at him uncertainly.
“Whatever you want,” Jason said. “Really.”
Nate pushed his nerves aside. Sat up and spat lightly in his palm.
“You’re gonna need more than that.” Jason grinned up at him.
Nate gave an exaggerated hawk and spat again. Rubbed it onto Jason’s dick.
“Nate?”
Nate looked down at Jason.
Jason was still grinning. He pulled a very old, very dirty tube from his jeans pocket and tossed it at Nate.
Nate caught it, even in the near dark. “This…how old is this?”
“Old. But you’re gonna want it.”
Nate squeezed the remnants of lube out of the container and onto his hand. He straddled Jason and reached behind him to grip Jason’s cock. It took him a couple of tries to get the position right. And when he sank back, Jason’s cock didn’t go in, just slid up his crack. This wasn’t going to work. He had no idea what he was doing. But he tried again, concentrated on breathing. Felt the weight of Jason’s hands on his hips, listened to the quickening of Jason’s breath. Sat back a little more and felt the head of Jason’s cock start to stretch his hole.
“Oh God.” Jason groaned.
“Pull me down,” Nate ordered.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Jason gripped him harder. Pulled down, his strength startling Nate. Nate gasped as Jason’s cock slid all the way inside him. For a second there was a sharp pain that seemed to bring the shadows down around him, made him forget about Jason and think, fleetingly, of Hell.
“You okay?” Jason sounded nervous.
Nate lifted a couple of inches then let gravity bring him down again. Rocked back and forth experimentally, feeling that thick cock shift inside him. His hand was sticky with lube, and he tried to wipe it on the blanket, but it ended up covered in dirt and fuzz. The next time he rose, Jason lifted his hips to meet him when he came down. They moved faster. Nate tipped his head back, trying to get the memory of this in his muscles so he could hold onto this night. Trying to get pleasure to push aside all of his fear, all of his anger. He wished he could have Marissa’s forgiveness. He wished he could have Jason’s love.
His dick left a small, sticky pool of pre-come on Jason’s belly, but he couldn’t come. Somehow, the sense that he was doing this to himself wasn’t satisfying. He wanted Jason fucking him.
“Hold on.” He placed his hands on Jason’s chest. “Hold on.”
Jason sank back on the blanket, panting, and Nate climbed off. Got on his knees beside Jason. Lowered himself until his front half was supported on his forearms and his ass was in the air. The rocky ground under the blanket hurt his elbows and knees, but he was glad of that. Maybe he was a coward for not wanting to see Jason. Maybe he was weak for wanting to feel more passive in all this. but he wanted Jason in control.
“Please?” He stared at the blanket and waited, his heart pounding. He must look like such an idiot.
I don’t care. I don’t.
He heard Jason kneel up slowly behind him. Felt Jason’s hands, one on his back, one on his ass. He flinched.
“You wanna get fucked, Nate?” Jason’s voice was low, not quite a whisper, and his words hung in the stillness of the woods.
Nate nodded. Clasped his hands in front of him and rested his forehead on them.
“How hard?”
“Hard.” The word burst out of Nate’s throat like a sob.
Jason ran his hands down the backs of Nate’s thighs. “Spread your legs. Wide as you can.”
Nate obeyed. He felt exposed and ashamed, but only for a moment. Maybe Jason liked him this way. Maybe Jason thought he was beautiful, and maybe that was enough.
He could feel Jason struggling. Hear the slight wheezes of pain clamped deep in Jason’s throat. But Jason never stopped touching him, and Nate’s questions remained unasked: Are you okay? Will this hurt you too much?
Jason’s injured leg ended up splayed out to the side, and he used his good leg for leverage as he positioned his cock near Nate’s hole.
Jason’s dick slid into his crack then dragged downward. A moment’s fumbling, then Jason pressed in slowly. Wrapped one arm around Nate’s middle as he began thrusting. His breath hit the small of Nate’s back in sharp gusts, cooling the sweat there.
He picked up the pace, ramming Nate harder. Jason owned him, filled him, went so deep that Nate’s groans felt torn from his center. He rolled his hips in time with Jason’s thrusts, that hunger back again. Every few seconds, Jason hit a place that sent a sharp, aching pleasure through Nate.
Jason reached down and grabbed Nate’s hair, pulling his Nate’s head back. Nate gave a gasp that was almost a sob. Jason slapped his other hand across Nate’s ribs, digging his fingertips into Nate’s side.
Nate clenched and heard Jason whimper. Nate was dizzy, his scalp throbbing, his ass burning.
“Come on, Nate.” Jason’s voice shook as his thighs smacked against Nate’s. He gave the back of Nate’s right thigh a stinging slap. “Let go.”
Nate squeezed his eyes shut and came. His cock emptied onto the blanket, and he clenched around Jason’s dick, the back of his thigh throbbing where Jason had smacked it. Jason gave two last quick thrusts and sprawled forward over his back. They breathed together, Jason stroking Nate’s side.
“Fuck yeah,” Jason whispered. “Fuck yeah.”
Nate laughed, his eyes prickling. He still felt the warm sting spreading across the skin of his thigh, felt his dick pulse as the last strings of fluid dribbled out. Jason slid off him and lowered back onto the blanket, unable to hold back several sharp gasps of pain.
“You okay?” Nate whispered.
“Fine.” Jason’s voice was tight.
He wasn’t fine.
Nate stretched out beside him, facedown. He wasn’t sure he wanted to look at him or talk to him.
He wanted to rest.
Wanted to just be here, in this moment, hidden by the woods and the night, with Jason lying next to him, and not have to think for a while.
Rose was still up when Jason got home. She was sitting in the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea, and a book of crosswords open in front of her. She peered at him over her glasses when he entered.
“You’re up late.”
He filled a cup of water from the sink. “So are you.”
“Mmm. But I don’t have half a forest’s worth of pine needles sticking to the back of my shirt.”
He drank. “I fell down.”
“Honey, if you fell down, you’d still be there.”
Jason set his glass in the sink. It was true, probably. He shrugged.
Rose shook her head and looked back at her crosswords. “I don’t mind, you know.” She sucked the end of her pen.
“You don’t mind what?”
“If you bring boys home.”
He thought of Nate. The way his back arched. The way his spine curved. The way sweat slid off him. The muscles cording in his neck. The way he still looked so fucking terrified of touching a guy and of being touched. The way he snatched his pleasures like a guilty child expecting to get his knuckles rapped. The way, when it was over, he’d rested there quietly, an occasional tremor causing his body to shudder. The afterglow of pleasure, or the remnants of fear, Jason didn’t know. He hadn’t asked. Just walked with Nate back up to their cars. Embraced him and asked when they could meet again.
“I’ll text you,” Nate had murmured, and then he was gone.
“You’d mind,” Jason said. He crossed the floor
, his leg aching after fucking Nate, and kissed Rose on the top of the head.
She twisted around to look up at him, frown on her face. “Why would I mind, Jason?”
“This guy,” Jason said, as close as he could ever come to a confession. “You’d mind with this guy.” He kissed her again. “I’m going to bed.”
“Jason,” she murmured, her frown softening into something else. Concern, maybe.
“Some guy from over past Fisher’s Crossing,” he lied. “He drinks too much. He’s got no job, he rides a motorcycle, and he’s on the rebound from his ex. You’d hate him.”
“Okay, honey.” She reached up and caught his hand. Squeezed it. Her smile was sympathetic, but it was knowing too. “You can do better.”
Jason wondered if she guessed.
Wondered if he’d ever confirm it for her.
“I know.” He kissed her again. “Goodnight.”
Chapter Twelve
The next day, Jason was antsy. He checked some job postings online and looked up treatment options for chronic lymphocytic leukemia, hoping to gain new information to arm himself with. If he could just prove to Rose that chemo was worthwhile, that she could still live a quality life… But what he found was disheartening. People with advanced CLL rarely survived long, even with chemo. The treatment was extensive and painful.
She’d suffer.
When he’d gotten the gig in Afghanistan, he’d had visions of himself on the frontlines with his camera. Facing down explosions and gunfire to get that perfect shot. He’d imagined the soldiers, wary of him at first, gradually warming until they talked to him like an old friend. He’d imagining action, he’d imagined learning the reality of war.
Instead, he’d learned suffering.
Not always big, like he’d imagined. Not always dramatic. But he’d seen the way it wore people down. Hardened them first, and then hollowed them out until they were nothing but shells. He’d seen it in soldiers and civilians. He’d seen it in the dead-eyed kids who stood on the side of the dusty road and stared at the passing parade of tanks and trucks. He didn’t want Rose to suffer. Didn’t want her spirit to die while her body lingered on.
What he wanted was childish and stupid and impossible: he wanted her to get better. He wanted her to live forever, or at least as long as he did. And it wasn’t fucking fair that it wouldn’t happen.
He sat on his bed, clutching his phone in his hand. He tried to ignore the tears that welled up, but they spilled down his cheeks anyway. Stupid fucking tears. Stupid fucking cancer.
He wanted to text Nate, wanted to tell him how upset he was. He wanted Nate to make it better somehow, but they weren’t there yet. He didn’t know if they’d ever be there. Fuck. Nate was the guy Jason had dragged out of the closet once, and, just when he’d managed to burrow back in there, was doing it again.
He liked Nate, more than he should. He cared for Nate. But he was pretty sure he had no right to demand Nate do the same for him.
He wiped his face on his shirt, and texted Rob instead.
6 pm. Broken Record. I need to climb into a bottle of tequila.
And he figured he’d go whether Rob showed up or not.
Rob did show, and they got to talking. Jason told Rob about Rose. “That sucks, man,” and, somehow, got to talking about Nate.
“I’ve been seeing him.” Jason shrugged, trying to sound casual. The bartender passed them their shots. Jason couldn’t actually remember what number they were on now. He knocked his back.
“Seeing him?” Rob slammed his. “Like, what. Dating him?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, fuck. I thought he was straight now.”
Jason was too drunk to know whether Rob was kidding. “He’s been lying to himself. Just like every kid who goes through that camp and thinks they’re cured. Buncha...lies.” He stared at his shot glass.
“His dad know?”
“No.” Jason looked up. “And don’t say anything. To anybody.”
“Right, man. I know.”
Jason sighed and leaned back. Forgot for a second that he was on a stool not a chair, and almost toppled. Rob steadied him with a hand on his back. “This just sucks. You know? I’ve got no idea where I’m doing.”
“Where you’re doing?”
“What I’m doing. Where I’m going. Whatever. My leg’s fucked, my life’s fucked, the world is fucked…”
Rob was silent for a few minutes. “Maybe you ought to quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
Jason looked at him sharply. “What?”
“I think you’re a good guy. But you’ve gotta to give up this ‘the world won’t work like it should’ thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jason tried to signal the bartender, who ignored him.
“I think you do. It can’t be you against the world forever. Look, you did a shitty thing, fucking Nate Tull to fuck with his dad. That’s bad form. But telling the truth about that camp, hey, that’s a good cause.”
The alcohol was making it hard to focus on anything but the vague sting Rob’s words brought on.
“Maybe if you tried working with other people—”
“I do work with other people. Hey, man, I came out here tonight to try to have fun. Lighten the fuck up.”
“No. Listen.” Rob gazed at him steadily. “You could do it. You could bring down the camp.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do. Not anymore.”
“What, then? You think everything’s fucked. You think you’ve got nothing going for you. You like issues. You want to change the world. That’s what I remember about you.”
Jason opened his mouth. That’s not who I am anymore. Closed it.
“But you’re not gonna do it by fucking some kid and then pointing fingers. You’re gonna do it by joining forces with other people who want to see that camp disappear.”
“Who’s that?”
“Look around!” Rob slapped his shoulder. “Look on the fucking internet, dude. You stirred shit up. You seen that chick out by the highway? With the signs?”
Jason tensed. “Yeah. Saw her the other day.”
“Man, you get enough people to protest this thing...then you’ve got a story.”
For a moment, Jason saw it: he was leading a crusade against Moving Forward. This time he wasn’t some lone, arrogant sleaze bag who’d taken advantage of a kid to make a name for himself. This time, he was the real deal. A leader. A truth-seeker. He had support, he had friends, he had a better future within sight.
But the image faded fast. He didn’t care about that now. He cared about Nate. And Nate wanted a quiet life. If that meant Jason had to keep quiet too, he’d do that.
“Sorry,” he told Rob. “But I’m fuckin’ sick of stories.”
Rob signaled for another drink, and the bartender responded immediately. “All right, man. Whatever you say. But that woman out on the highway, she’s gonna be disappointed.”
Then I guess she’ll learn eventually—whether you’re holding a sign or screaming at the top of your goddamn lungs, nothing really changes.
Nate walked into the kitchen in a trance. He’d felt like this all day: like his brain was somewhere else, and the ache in his ass was the only thing grounding him in reality. He wished he was with Jason. Wished Jason was touching him. Wished they could have a life that was just the two of them, and Nate could be free of all other obligations to please anybody.
Especially God.
He could hear voices in the dining nook, but they stopped suddenly. Nate glanced in and was shocked to see Marissa sitting at the table with his parents. She met his gaze for only a moment before looking down.
“Hey.” His throat was dry.
She started to rise. “I was just leaving.”
“No, no.” Nate’s dad motioned her down. “I said you’re welcome to stay for dinner, and I meant it.”
There was a tightness in his father’s voice that made Nate cringe inwardly.
“Let her go,
Tim,” Kristin said. “If she needs to get home.”
“I do.” Marissa moved a plate of cookies to the center of the table. “Thanks for the snacks.”
“Now hold on.” Nate could hear how hard his dad was trying to speak calmly. “Nathan.”
Nate flinched again at his full first name.
“Yes?” He wanted to look at his father. He just...couldn’t.
“I understand you and Marissa had a miscommunication.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Tim.” Kristin put her forehead in her hand.
Nate gaped helplessly.
“It wasn’t a miscommunication,” Marissa said firmly. “Nate and I have decided we’re not the best match, and that we’re both going to move on.”
“Now, listen.” Nate’s dad stood. “Every couple goes through rough patches. One of the most important parts of a relationship is learning forgiveness. Nate. Surely you don’t want to lose a girl like this?”
Nate still couldn’t speak.
Marissa caught Nate’s gaze. Her eyes flashed. “Don’t be such a coward.” She turned to the reverend, and Nate saw, in a panicked flash, what would happen. She’d out him. She’d tell his dad Nate’s phantoms had taken over, and his dad would have to struggle not to show his frustration, his disappointment. And Nate would be forced to have a conversation about what a weak man he was, right here in front of Marissa and his mother.
“No—”
“Reverend Tull.” Marissa spoke calmly but with an underlying sharpness. “With all due respect, that’s a very condescending thing to say. Nate and I are both adults, and we can tell the difference between a rough patch and a relationship that’s not working. Our decision to break up was mutual, and we’d appreciate if you would respect it.”
“There’s counseling,” Reverend Tull said. “I know some very good people. Discreet, warm hearted, faith-driven. Kristin and I tried it ourselves in the early years of our marriage.”
Nate’s stomach clenched. He hadn’t known that. He felt himself dragged backward, away from the man he’d become around Jason and back to the scared kid he always would be. Maybe there was hope for him and Marissa. Maybe he’d given up too soon. Maybe this was a test from God, a big test, like the end of a video game level when everything swooped in on you all at once. Maybe if he tried couples’ counseling…
