Page 117 of String Boys
Well, first there was sex.
Kelly had needed Seth’s body all week. He’d started to dream about things—about the way his hip bones stood out and the super-pale shade of brown on his abdomen, below his belt line, or the almost purple color his cock turned when he was just about to nut.
They’d gotten good at sex in the past months since Seth had gotten his own room, and Kelly had him naked, on his hands and knees and begging, within five minutes of Guthrie’s awkward goodbye.
He wanted to fuck all thoughts of the pretty white country boy with the blond ponytail right out of Seth’s head—and to shoot all his worries about what his stupid asshole brother was up to out his balls. Sweat dripped into his eyes and his hips bounced off Seth’s backside with a resoundingthwackwhile Seth gasped beneath him. He clenched at Seth’s waist convulsively, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of his hip bones, his stomach, his thighs.
Seth gave a faint moan, and Kelly’s orgasm was just… just within fingertip’s reach. His hand moved on its own, cracking across Seth’s ass with a sound like a gunshot.
Seth convulsed, clamping tight around Kelly’s cock, and he fell facedown on the bed, twitching, probably shooting onto the sheets beneath him. Kelly fell with him, his face buried against Seth’s back, hips still rutting, trapped in the heaven of his rippling muscles, his slick entrance, the heat of his heart.
They were lying there, panting, when Seth shifted and moved his hand, rubbing the spot on his backside that Kelly had smacked.
“Ow….”
Kelly rolled to his side so quickly, he actually spattered come onto Seth’s thighs and examined the red mark he’d left on Seth’s ass.
The darkening red mark. The soon-to-be bruise that he’d left on Seth’s ass.
Theoh my God, bruise!that he’d left on his kind, patient lover who had spent a year of his childhood walking on eggshellsin fear of being hit.
Kelly buried his face against Seth’s arm. “Oh God. Oh God. I’m so sorry.”
“Little rough, Kel.”
As rebukes went, it was pretty gentle, but Kelly wasn’t being nearly so kind. “I didn’t mean to—oh God, Seth. I’m so sorry. That was too hard. I’m so sorry. You’re so patient with me, and oh my God, I didn’t mean to. I thought it was… you know, sexy smacking, and I didn’t mean for it to be so hard. It just got out of hand.” Oh God. He sounded like an abuser. Probably like Seth’s dad, that terrible drinking year that Craig couldn’t seem to let go of.
Now Kelly knew why.
Kelly tried to roll out of bed. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll go. I’ll just walk away. You don’t need me or my baggage—fucking Guthrie could probably manage not tobruise your fucking ass,and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Seth rolled to his side, wincing a little. That didn’t stop him from reaching up and grabbing Kelly’s hand. “What in the hell? No. You do not get to just fuck me and leave me. Get back in bed and cuddle, dammit. Jesus. It wasn’t intentional. I get it.”
Kelly allowed himself to be reluctantly cajoled back into bed, but once he got there, he pulled Seth up so his head was on Kelly’s chest and squeezed him so tight, it probably hurt to breathe.
Seth didn’t complain, just let it happen, and when Kelly finally relaxed his hold, he mumbled, “So, uh, anything you want to talk about?”
Kelly let out a strangled laugh. “Only everything. I’m so sorry, baby… I… God. I won’t do that again.”
“Just, you know. Control.” Seth shrugged. “I mean, it made me come. I must have thought it was sexy. It just… really stung afterward.” And he sounded so surprised, so befuddled and dear he was just so completely Kelly’s dreamy boy, that Kelly’s throat grew tight.
“I missed you,” he admitted. “Was a fuckin’ busy week. Matty was, like, lurking in the bushes as I left tonight. Saying shit, lying mostly, but saying shit. Some lady coughed up your picture this week—like, Isela’s dad and Castor Durant’s family have been stalking the neighborhood since that piece on TV. What’s it been, like almost four years later? All his gang buddies are either dead or in prison. Theyallfingered him as a predator, but no, he’s clean as God’s fingers.
“Anyway, after that thing on TV, some old lady admitted she saw you out—maybethat night. But maybe not that night, because she said it was the night of all the police at the gas station, which wasmynight in hell, not yours, and she lives by those apartments by that big vacant lot. Anyway, she could have seen you either one of those nights. She doesn’t remember which night, but she remembered the white curly hair and the brown skin and a white T-shirt falling off your neck, which is half the shit you own, so even if she was looking at some other blond-haired black kid, it’s not like the cops are going to be searching our neighborhood, which is too damned bad because you’re not the only one there who looks like that.”
He wasn’t. Kelly could think of two kids their age right at that moment who lived in their neighborhood that fit Seth’s description.
Seth grunted. “Shit. So much for coming home Thanksgiving.” He sighed. “But the good news is, we got the house in Monterey again, same two weeks, if you can get it off.”
Part of Kelly wanted to cry in relief, and the other part just wanted to cry because dammit, he was so… so nottherefor the bad shit. Was it just Kelly who knew how bad this could be?
“Seth, man, don’t you realize what this could mean?”
Seth turned his head. “It could mean I’m the first chair violinist in Folsom Prison. Do you think I don’t know that?”
Kelly had bruised his ass. He couldn’t even threaten violence, not even in jest or supreme frustration.
Dammit.
