chapter twenty-three

harris

Yet another week passes before Mom deigns to unground me. By this time, we're in mid-June, and the summer weather is here in full-swing. It's raining today, and hard at that; one of those warm summer rains that seems unprecedented, the kind where the sky goes from clear and blue to dark and grey, where the heavens seem to just open up and flood the streets, maybe peoples' basements if they're really unlucky.

Mom has a couple days off, so she's driving to Minneapolis to do some shopping. "You can be ungrounded," she says on her way out the door, rolling suitcase in tow, "but I really don't feel like sitting in a car with you for three hours. Don't wait up."

I'm sure her reasoning behind ungrounding me now is because she figures I'll use her being gone to misbehave anyways. She's always been like that—you don't have to put effort into delivering and enforcing punishments if you make it difficult for someone to commit a punishable offense. As a kid, I never wanted to stress her out, so it worked until about high school.

I do feel terrible about disappointing her, I really do. But I'm trying not to feel terrible about anything that happened that night. The only thing that I could have done better was drinking responsibly. So I've decided I'm just going to avoid parties, at least for a little while. Drinking, too. I haven't told her this, because she'll think I'm sucking up or something, but it's probably for the best. Instead, I'll be focusing on preparing for the next track season, and on Sebastian.

Things have been progressing between the two of us. We're ramping up to a place of intimacy I know he hasn't explored before, but I think I'm the only one who's nervous. It's not the Liam thing, I don't think. I just want him to have a good time, as good of a one as I have with him.

Seb: I'm so bummed, I really wanted to go to the quarry again :////

Me: I mean, forget the cliff, we could always go swimming...

Seb: Swimming in Wetspring Quarry sounds gross, no thanks

Seb: Remember the sign that says "There's dead things and poop in here"??????? No thanks.

Me: What you don't want to bathe in poop water with me while we risk being struck by lightning?

Me: I see how it is

Me: Hater

Seb: Yes, I hate you.

Me: It's because I'm gay, isn't it

It's been a while since we made out. The past week or so ended up crazy, what with the whole party thing, but just hanging out with him and stealing small moments of intimacy—small kisses goodbye; lacing our fingers together while watching movies on the couch or playing board games; etc.—have been more than enough.

We had planned to go get frisky on the cliff again, but this time by starlight—Grandma was going to vouch for me before the un-grounding, because she's just the freaking best. But this storm isn't supposed to stop for quite some time, so I don't think the cliff will be an option tonight, unfortunately. However, I do have a slightly better, less bug-ridden option.

I call Seb, and he picks up on the second ring. "What's up?" he asks. Even his voice soothes me somehow.

"What if I told you you could come over like, right now," I tell him, "and we could get up to whateeever you'd like, with the added bonus of being as loud as you'd like, because my mom is gone."

"Your mom is gone? Where is she?"

"Minneapolis. She had a couple days off so she's doing a little self-care trip. And hitting Costco."

"Oh, slay." He clears his throat. "I mean, I need to shower, but I could come over. I told my parents I was sleeping over at your place tonight, so I could be there for, like, I dunno, well over twenty-six hours."

"Wow, all mine for that long? Sounds too good to be true." I know he can't see it, but I'm smiling so wide that my cheeks hurt. Fuck, I'm excited. "And, don't worry about showering."

"But I stink. Like, bad. I smell like a nasty, sweaty bear with a glandular problem that fell in the Bog of Eternal Stench."

"Well if it's that bad, you might need an extra set of hands in that shower."

He's silent for a moment while he processes my suggestion. "Are you...."

"Come over," I tell him. "Just text me whenever you get here." And I hang up before he can say anything else, my heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings.

All this stuff with Seb is still relatively new, almost three weeks now. I haven't even seen him shirtless yet, aside from that time he decided jumping off a cliff was a quirky and different way to pass the time. I'm pretty sure he's not going to want to shower together—not yet, if ever, and that's fine. I don't want to rush him. But I think tonight, stuff is going to go down. And I'm more excited than anything else, which is seriously the best. The fucking bestest.

I've applied just enough cologne for it to smell natural. And I'm wearing warm clothes fresh out of the dryer, a plain white T-shirt and some khakis, because it feels like dressing up without dressing up too much. I want to look good for Sebastian, but also not like I'm trying too hard, y'know?

It's about half an hour before my phone buzzes with Seb's arrival text message. He arrives at my doorway soaking wet—his hair, still undried from his shower, and his clothes run through by the rain.

I'm actually a little surprised by his chest. Yeah, I saw him at Lake Franz the night that this whole crazy thing began, but that was different. I wasn't paying attention then. Now, I can see a tantalizing amount of his torso. His long grey shirt is soaked and sticks to every inch of his skin. His pecs are mostly flat, and I can see the outline of those slim abs that skinny stick boys tend to have. I ... I like it. It's good. It's great.

I'm not going to tell him that I think he's incredibly hot, though. Not right now, at least. I'll save it for later. I hate feeling like a broken record, after all.

"Why on earth are you wearing jeans?" I ask him. "It's summer."

"What, they go with the shirt." He takes a step in from the rain. I close the wooden door behind him. He's so fucking close, close enough that I can smell the rain on his clothes and the lavender of his body wash.

I can also see the goosebumps running up his forearms. "Are you cold? Let me get you a change of clothes."

Seb snorts. "I'm surprised you didn't straight up suggest I take all my clothes off."

"Would you like me to?"

"Maybe."

A response I wasn't expecting for sure. "I mean ... we can do that. If you want."

"I'm not cold," Seb says. It's like our gazes are locked directly on each other.

"Then you're good in just your wet, soggy jeans and wet, soggy T-shirt?"

This time, he doesn't say anything. Just reaches down, eyes still on me, and pulls off his shirt. I try not to suck in a breath, but fuck. His skin is lily-white, covered in moles and freckles, with some acne reaching across the tops and sides of his shoulders. He really is a skinny thing, so much so that I can see where his rib cage stops and his pelvis begins. But more so than anything else, to put it simply: he's beautiful.

"What do you think?" he whispers. "Should the wet, soggy jeans come off?"

Fuuuuuck. Seriously. Fuck.

"Yeah, we're going down to the basement, right now." I grab his hand and all but drag him along behind me. He laughs.

Our feet thud in syncopated steps as we race down the stairs. I turn around as soon as I'm at the bottom, and he's there with me, grabbing the sides of my torso and pulling me against him while simultaneously pushing the both of us back towards my bed. Our kissing is feverish, and it's as if I can't get enough of him. More, more, more, I need more, godammit.

He pushes me onto the edge of my bed and I arch my back so we can remove my shirt together. He's barely tossed it to the side when our lips are together once more, and he's suddenly there between my thighs, standing before my bed, pinning my hips down with strong hands. I wrap my hands around his shoulders, feeling soft skin and acne bumps. He bites my bottom lip, and I moan.

He pulls away. "What do you want?" he asks me, panting. And okay, fuck, I think I love everything about his face. The mole on his cheek and the freckles everywhere else, the ridge on his silly little Roman nose, how his Cupid's bow is more pointed than curved. The wildness of his eyebrows, the length of his lashes, the tiny golden flecks mixed in with the honey brown of his eyes. Love it.

"You," I whisper. "I want you, Sebastian. Do whatever you want."

He's still breathing hard. I am, too. "Are you sure? I'm not going to do anything to you if you aren't sure."

"I'm sure. Are you sure?"

"Yes." He kisses me deeply. "Yes," he murmurs again, against my lips this time. My lips part, and his tongue finds its way between them, circling around the tip of my own. We deepen the kiss. He presses into me more, pulling my hips into him. I can feel his hardness digging against me. I don't stop my moan.

"I've never done this before," he whispers.

"It's okay," I assure him. "Just do what feels right. We don't have to go all the way."

He ponders this, then nods. "Okay. We won't go all the way."

I'm too excited to feel disappointment. Just being here with him, that's more than enough. "Perfect."

"But...." He smiles. I push his hair away from his face. He turns and presses a kiss to my palm, while I feel his delicate fingers work their way under the waistband of my khakis. "I'm still gonna need these pants to come off."

With deft fingers, he unbuttons them, and I lay there, watching him take me in his mouth, my hands wrapping themselves in his thick curls, but not pushing his head down. It feels amazing. I'm a moaning, trembling mess the whole time, guiding him where necessary. In the end, even I'm taken aback by the finish, laughing while I grab a towel for shocked, shirtless Seb.

This boy. This beautiful boy. The things he does to me, I swear.

A/N - I miss matcha lattes with a shot of raspberry. Like, baaaaad.