Page 14 of Lost Boy
I yank the toothbrush out of my mouth and spit. “Wait. We can share. Here.” I flip the light on and scoot over, allowing him space in front of the sink. “Room for two.” I wave my toothbrush around like some sort of magician.
He walks in and sets his little bathroom caddy on the counter. Cute. Definitely don’t say that out loud, though.
I stare at him in the mirror as we brush, unable to stop myself. I’m still wearing the gray sweats from earlier but took off the white hoodie and my tee. I like to sleep without a shirt, sometimes even without pants. But that wouldn’t be appropriate considering I have to sleep on the couch when we stay over now that Fallon is here and living in the second guest room.
We alternate who spits like we’re already in sync with each other. I get an itch on my chest and scratch it, accidentally brushing over my nipple.
I make an involuntary noise. Not exactly a groan. Definitely not a moan. But maybe a little. . .
I skim my nippleagain, humming and causing Fallon’s eyes to dart up and lock on mine in the mirror.
We both freeze. Cease the cleaning of teeth. Pause.
His intense stare, the blue hair, the touch of make-up, the lip ring.Everythinghits me. It hits me harder than it’s been hitting all day. And all at once too.
My dick twitches in my sweats. Involuntarily, of course.
Fuck.
Traitorous bastardo.
The fleeting hope that Fallon doesn’t notice dies quickly when those deeply serious eyes jump down to my crotch and widen a fraction.
He noticed. There’s no way he didn’t notice. I’m not small.Anywhere.
I have no clue if he’s gay or what. I don’t assume anything just because of the eyeliner and black nail polish. But I definitely know he’s not emotionally available. That’s a given.
I decide to play it off. Here goes nothing.
“Sorry. Just an automatic response to stimuli. I’ve always been into nipple play.”
There’s a pause, like at dinner. But it’s a lot longer this time, and no one else laughs or breaks the awkward silence.
Fuck.
I ruined it.
Scared him off.
Frightened him!
There’s a snort next to me. A sardonic, you’re-an-idiot-but-a-lovable-one kind of snort. I think.
I turn away from the mirror and peer down at him, in awe that he just sort of, maybe somewhat, laughed. Whatever. I’m definitely counting it.
Fallon is at least half a foot shorter than me as I gaze at his vibrant, electric blue hair. It’s so freshly dyed that I can’t tell his natural color.
He spits, rinses his toothbrush, and grabs his caddy, turning away from the mirror. He darts his eyes to mine and stares for a beat before quickly flicking my other nipple roughly.
“Unhh!” I sound like a bad porn star with that terrible, high-pitched moan. It’s obscene, over the top, and not quite appropriate for the situation. But I wasn’t lying, exaggerating, or even joking when I said I enjoy nipple play.
I thought it would be funny, so I made a joke out of it instead. And it worked because I think I see a twitch of a smile on his pouty lips before he strolls out of the bathroom, completely unbothered by our exchange while I’m about to bust a fucking nut.
My cock fills up after Fallon leaves, hardening all the way from the tiniest flick of his finger against my nipple.
It’s sick. It’s twisted. I know it is. But I lock the door, turn the sink on full-blast, and aggressively rub one out to really, really inappropriate thoughts of Joel’s nephew and my new, intriguing friend.
God. Who jerks off to a sad, lost boy?
