The Speed of Slow Changes, page 13
“You’re so fucking hot,” he said.
I considered saying something. I wasn’t much of a talker, at least not in words. I opened my mouth to try, but he took that as a request for a kiss. I moaned into it, his tongue deep, his body caging me under him. Sandwiched between us, his dick rubbed against mine as he moved, pressing into me when he breathed. And that felt perfect.
“Dude, if you’re going to get on it, it better be soon,” I half moaned.
He laughed and sat back. “Dude?”
I didn’t answer. I watched him reach for his pants on the floor to get a condom, the light and shadow playing across his muscular back. He tore it and a pack of lube open. I figured he could see me pretty well, given the way the light fell into the room. I tried not to think too hard about what I must look like.
His eyes barely left mine as he rolled the condom on my dick and added lube, moving fast and dexterously. He straddled me but had to keep one foot on the floor, otherwise we wouldn’t fit on the couch thing. I also had to shift down a little, being slightly too tall.
I lost track of watching as I started to sink into him. Fucking hell. His movements were methodical, slow ins and outs to acclimate to my presence inside him. But I was about to fucking lose it.
“This feels great,” he said, his voice low and blissful. There were other words, but I couldn’t keep them in my head. I made some ridiculous sound in agreement.
It felt like forever and no time at all before he was fully seated on my lap. I expected him to lean over me, kiss me, and finish us both off in record time. Instead, he traced the lines of my body, my muscles. I could feel every time he flexed, and every shift felt like an electrical pulse.
“Who’s teasing now?” I said.
His grin was almost sinister. “I was just admiring the view.”
“Admire and fuck at the same time.”
He laughed. But finally came down for a kiss. I almost couldn’t kiss him back. The warmth and friction of him slowly starting to ride my dick was sending me toward orgasm at a distracting speed.
He said something against my lips and panted, but I understood nothing. No words at all could penetrate my laser focus on where his body took me. It wasn’t until he caressed my face and I opened my eyes in response that I heard anything he said.
Is this okay? That’s what he was asking. I was baffled by the question. This was so much more than okay. “Unbelievable,” I said.
I slid my arms around his back to bring him closer. I regretted not letting him lie down so I could trap him under me and make him feel as attractive and wanted as I felt. I suddenly didn’t care if I got off or not. I wanted to see him lose himself in this. I could see the pleasure on his face, but I wanted to make it powerful, meaningful for him, like it was for me. I slipped my hand down between us and covered his cock, pressing it against my lower stomach. He moaned, almost losing his footing. I steadied his hips with my free hand.
“Shit, I like that,” he said.
“Do you have any more lube?” I asked. It was surprising how clear my thinking was now that my goal was to watch him come apart on my dick.
“Um…” He struggled for a second to find the packet, but he handed it to me. I made him sit up slightly as I applied a strip of lube along his dick. Then I tossed the packet aside and covered his cock again.
“Fuck me,” I said.
His grin was carnal. He braced his hand against my chest and began to fuck me again, regaining speed. The space around his dick became atmospheric as the lube warmed between my hand and stomach. I felt like I could watch him do that for hours.
“Fuck, that’s crazy good,” he said.
He leaned over me again, his huge hands on either side of my face. I couldn’t hold back my smile as I watched him disappear, the concern and focus on his face drifting behind a haze of pure pleasure. His pace started to accelerate, and it started to draw my focus back south. The drag of his dick on my stomach was a perfect match to the pull of his hole on my cock.
“I…God, I’m so close,” he said, and I think he meant it as a warning.
I could tell. His muscles tightened, the hand next to my head became a fist, and the veins in his arms raised. His body flexed around my dick, pulling my orgasm closer. And his eyes were shut tight.
I wanted to feel as much of him as I could when it happened, so I pulled him down with my free hand and kissed him, invasively and freely. And that sent him over the edge, body clenching, cum warming my stomach, a stifled scream of pleasure vibrating in my chest. Because I wasn’t focused on it, my orgasm exploded from me, surprising and hot like a flash grenade. There were a few moments of silence. Well, relative silence with nothing except breathing. Then he sat back and made a face at me.
“What?” I asked, worried.
His smile broke through. He said, “That was so good. Like, so good I’m low-key mad about it. I kind of want to fight you. You ever feel like that, like when someone gets you such a good gift you wanna tackle ’em?”
“You want to arm wrestle or something?” I said, not knowing what else to do but laugh. I understood the feeling, though. It was a flex, being able to make someone come harder, better than they expected.
“Yeah, I do.” Instead of trying, he leaned over and kissed me. That kiss was a problem. It felt different than his other kisses. It felt like that damned L-word that kept popping up for me.
“How about pizza instead?” I said, sounding vulnerable to myself.
“Wait, are you good? Did you come? You’re so fuckin’ quiet, I can’t really tell.”
I giggled. “Yeah, I did—I’m good.”
I wanted to tell him I came in a way I never had before. I wanted to tell him I had fallen in love with Ky during sex too, only with her I felt like crying, like I was home. But this was different. With him, I wanted to fall over laughing, I felt like a kid on a roller coaster coming back toward the loading zone, wondering when I would be able to get to go again. I didn’t say any of that. Relieved, we stared at each other for a heartbeat.
“I thought you were going to get the pizza,” I said, feeling like if he stared at me any longer, I might actually say it.
“Oh, I have to—okay, got it, Pillow Prince. I guess I can feed you too.”
“Good, bring ranch.”
That actually did make him fight me. Laughing, he wrestled me to the floor, pinning me with my arm behind my back. Not that it was hard with my pants around my thighs. I cried uncle. And he let me go. We cleaned up first, then sat at the dining room table and ate cool but not quite cold pizza.
I reminisced about the way he kissed.
“Hey,” I said, as I was thinking about his tongue in my mouth, “did you use to have a tongue piercing?”
He stuck his tongue out as if he could see it. “Yeah, I did. How’d you know?”
“I can feel the scar. Ky has one like it.”
He rubbed his tongue with his finger. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, she took it out after about two years. She kept swallowing—”
“Swallowing the gear, same. I used to get stressed about never really seeing it come out the other end, you know what I mean.”
I snorted. “So, ground and steel type, then?”
He smiled. “I guess. Are Ky and I that similar?”
“No, not really. I feel like I like different things about you, despite the similarities. I don’t know if that makes sense, like it’s not even masc or fem things but for some reason it’s different.”
“I think I get it.”
“What’s different about it for you? You identify as bi, right?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess, but it was never a guy-girl thing or an in-between or neither thing. I think I like attitude, I guess, that and anyone who thinks lifting weights is a good way to spend a few hours. Bi is just the label that made the most sense.”
“What if I stop working out, though?”
He flashed me a peace sign without hesitation. “Deuces, bro.”
I flipped him off. We ate and cleaned up the boxes. Al made sure to leave behind no evidence of our having fucked in the guest room. His voice got very Southern when he said something about having done things in the home of people he had yet to meet in person. I tried not to think about introducing him to my moms. That sounded like real relationship stuff. And the more I thought about this as a real relationship, the more lost to him I felt.
Chapter Nine
Alexander
I got out of the van and joined the rest of the parents milling on the sidewalk, the Thursday afternoon crowd a little thinner than most other days. Teach and Coach followed, mixing in. I scanned the people looking for a parent or staff member I might know. When I caught sight of Lucas, my heart jumped. Even though he was never hard to spot, I was surprised to see him.
“Lou,” I shouted, putting a hand up.
He grinned and trotted over when he spotted me. That grin went straight to my guts. His messages since Saturday had been terse, and maybe it was making me nervous. But that smile made me wonder if it was all in my head. It was starting to get hard not seeing him or hearing him on a daily basis. I knew our nontraditional situation would have to remain nontraditional. But learning love in a monogamous setting made it hard to interpret the feeling any other way. I wanted him every day. We met a few strides away from Coach and Teach. My first instinct was to hug him, but I knew any touch between us would automatically be less than platonic looking. I didn’t do anything but smile like a fool. The Gunner needs to find some chill or else mistakes will get made.
“Hey, Al. What’s up, Jeffersons,” he said, waving around. “Mr. Jefferson.”
Coach just harrumphed and flapped his coat a little. Teach waved.
“What’re ya doing here?” I asked. “I thought Lila was still in preschool.”
“She is.” He held up the folder in his hands. “I have an interview.”
“Oh yeah? As what?” I asked.
He grinned. “Cheer coach, obviously.”
Teach laughed and even Dad smiled.
“Ha. That’s great. Good luck. Would love to see you do a high kick.” I rolled my eyes.
He nudged me and whispered, “I know at least one of us is flexible enough.”
I felt that one in a not-safe-for-work place.
“What’re you really here for?” I asked, trying not to give away how much I liked his teasing.
“Really, though, school nurse. Mrs. Brunswick is retiring. They need someone at least through the end of the year. And since my patients keep improving…”
“Damn, that’s good. She’s older than the South,” I said.
“She was the nurse when I was in middle school,” Coach said.
“That’s good for you, though.” I smiled at Lucas. I remembered him saying he was bored. This school must have been on a fault line considering how much damage these kids took on the regular. Then again, maybe that’s just how elementary and middle schools were. The bell rang and children started to pour out of the building.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question was out before I realized I’d said it.
He looked genuinely confused. “I don’t know. I guess I forgot about it until the hospital coordinator called me this morning.”
“I really do mean congratulations. Sorry, that was weird—”
He waved me off, but his expression shifted slightly. “I should probably—”
“Wait.” I pulled him a step or two away from Coach and Teach. To catch up the folks just tuning in, our guy Al “the Gunner” Jefferson and his latest match Lucas “the Tank” Laverty gave us one hell of a show last week. Word on the street is negotiations for the next one have taken a turn. While this wouldn’t be the first time the Gunner has been shot down, this was definitely out of left field. Will we get to see these two ever play again?
“What is it?” he asked.
I nearly whispered. “Nothin’. I just like lookin’ at ya. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“It’s been five days,” Lucas said patiently, scanning the crowd before he said, “I missed you too.”
“You never answered about next week.”
“Okay, yeah, I know. I will. I just had a lot on my mind.”
The gravity of his words made the whole world tilt a little to the left. The pickup area of my kids’ school suddenly felt like the exact wrong place to talk about this. Maybe my read on the tone of his messages wasn’t so far off. Did he not want this? He did just say he missed me. When his eyes met mine, I sensed a question. Right now was not the time.
“Fair enough. Can I—” I was drowned out by the high-pitched screaming of a herd of girls.
“Grandpa, Teach, hi, Daddy, hi, Uncle Al!” All of them had bundles of papers, thrusting them at Coach all at once.
“What’s all this?” Coach asked.
“Art for Turkey Day,” someone answered.
“Well, let’s see some of it.” It was always alarming to see my dad with kids. He was weirdly good with them; he always had been. Even when being a total ass, he was still something else.
“What were you going to say?” Lucas asked.
“Right, uh…I’ll call you?”
I said this half listening to the girls explain their drawings. Apparently, for the holiday they had to draw someone they were thankful for. Most drew pictures of their parents, and they very diplomatically took turns handing them to Coach for evaluation. Teach got one, and Zara passed over a picture of me and Dani.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll be done with this in an hour or so,” Lucas continued.
“Okay, I’ll—”
I never finished the sentence. It was Margret’s turn to show Coach her drawing.
“And who is this?” Coach asked.
“That’s Uncle Al’s boyfriend.”
Lucas and I both turned. Teach, standing behind my dad, was shocked enough to almost drop his phone. I hadn’t come that close to shitting myself in years. I wasn’t much of a religious man, but God had a hand in that moment because Teach, Lucas, and I were all looking stupefied, but Coach didn’t look at all impacted by her announcement.
“Oh yeah? Why’d ya draw him?” Coach asked. Since Margret was the last to show her grandfather her picture, most of the other kids had moved on, swinging from the doors of the van or chatting with their classmates. They probably hadn’t even heard her.
“He cured us when we were sick, and he cured you. And I like that,” Margret said. She was trying to get a candy bar out of her coat pocket, but it was jammed in sideways. That beautiful child had effectively thrown me and Lucas to the wolves, and she was worried about a Milky Way.
“Here,” Coach said, helping her get it out.
“I won it in the Turkey Chase,” she screamed, wielding it like a sword.
“Attagirl, but no eating it till after dinner,” Coach said. He was standing again. And was still holding the drawing. We could see it now, the brown and blue crayon scribbles representing Lucas in his scrubs.
“I need it back,” Margret said.
“Oh sure.” Coach handed it back to her. There was nothing in his voice—no tone, no judgment, no rage. “Maggie, who told you he was Uncle Al’s boyfriend?”
That was a question we all had.
“Mommy told Daddy,” she said with a shrug, marching over to Lucas.
“Here, you want it?” she said, handing it to him. “It’s you.”
His eyes were on Coach, but he snapped out of it and took the picture from her. Next to me he made a to-do about the picture and thanked her. I watched Coach, who was watching Margret. She hugged Lucas and ran off.
I waited, my heart in my shoes. I remembered when Fin had come out to the soccer team—well, it was some guys who just played soccer, not an official team yet. That was right before high school, long before I put two and two together and figured out what being gay really meant. My parents knew, though. Wynona was always sending him home early with some excuse, like we had to go to the store or pick up takeout or something. Coach then would give me hour-long lectures about how gay was behavior for other people, lesser people. Betsy Ross had confirmed all of it, so it made some strange sense Margret had been the one to rat us out. Like mother like daughter.
I couldn’t even begin to guess at what Coach would do. With all the kids back at the van, we all had no reason to stand around. I couldn’t get my legs to move. Coach put his hands back in his pockets. His expression was back to that of a reserved, strategic coach.
“If the girls know, Gage is gonna know sooner or later,” Coach said. It sounded like he meant it as a warning. Then he turned and walked away.
I was about to say something to Lucas, but he looked stunned. He spoke before I could.
“I have to get to the interview.”
“Okay, I’ll call,” I said.
He walked away, looking at the drawing Margret had done.
“The fuck just happened?” I breathed.
Teach looked as confused as the rest of us.
“Bro, you looked like you were gonna shit your pants,” his roommate Arturo said through the phone. Teach must have been on FaceTime with him. I walked closer to Teach and watched Coach help the kids into the van.
“I considered it,” I said, looking at the phone.
“Aye, I meant him,” Arturo teased, pointing at Teach.
Teach flipped him off. “Eighty-five-percent sure I did.”
I laughed and started for the van.
The mood among the adults should have warranted a silent, awkward ride home, but the girls kept it from being that. They screamed and laughed and cried, and it was as it always was. My eyes kept drifting toward my phone. I don’t know what I expected it to do. I think I was waiting for Lucas. I didn’t want to believe things were rocky or whatever. Things had barely started with us. Hadn’t he had fun on our date?
