Page 7 of Beneath the Stain
Mackey moaned breathily. Oh… oh, he wanted….
“Yeah,” he whispered through dry lips. He suddenly could not stop staring. Grant did what he’d said, unbuttoned his fly and peeled the jeans off his ass and down to his thighs.
Mackey’s cock flopped forward, bigger than Mackey had ever seen it.
Grant made a “nungh” sound, so close to it that Mackey could feel his breath across the moist tip. Sensation fluttered across his abdomen, and Grant swept the razor a width below the line of the pants before he dropped it into the glass of water he’d been using to rinse it off.
And stayed right there, on his knees, in front of Mackey.
He sighed and then met Mackey’s miserable stare. He held his fingers up to his lips and Mackey nodded, and then with his other hand, he grasped Mackey’s cock.
Mackey had to bite his hand to keep from screaming.
Grant stroked, back and forth and back and forth, and his other hand made delicate dancing movements at Mackey’s balls.
“Grant,” Mackey whispered, “I’m gonna….”
Grant did the unthinkable. He opened his mouth and took Mackey inside, sucking his way halfway down, which was when Mackey moaned into his cupped hands and came.
His knees started to shake as he pumped jizz into that sweet-lipped mouth, and he grabbed hold of Grant’s shoulders. Grant kept swallowing until finally Mackey was done. He and Grant locked gazes, and he saw satisfaction and fear. Then, when Mackey’s hands were still shaking and he wanted a kiss in the worst way, Grant raised a towel he’d brought in and started wiping Mackey down.
“There,” he said, and the word was crisp, but his voice was husky, his throat probably rough with Mackey’s come. He cleaned Mackey’s groin with efficient movements and was standing up, pulling Mackey’s pants up, when the knock came at the door.
“Jesus, you guys—Cheever damned near fucked up Jeff’s new suit—what the hell are you doing in there?”
“Grooming!” Grant called back. He took a step away and looked down from his six-foot height. “You ready,” he asked quietly, and Mackey touched Grant’s cheek. Grant turned his head and kissed Mackey’s palm, then let him go and stepped away.
“Come in!” he called, and Mackey hauled at the pants again. His hard-on was gone, so they fit now, and his stomach was smooth.
Kell took him in with a scowl. “Jesus, Mackey, button your shirt. You look like a slutty girl or something.”
“I didn’t want him to shave the damned thing!” Mackey retorted, fumbling with the buttons—and fumbling for the lie Grant was bent on telling as well. “It’s a good shirt!”
“It is,” Grant said, his voice gruff. Mackey finished the top button, and Grantunbuttoned it. “Leave it.” He stepped back and nodded. “Yeah. Here, straighten your coat, Mackey. What do you think, Kell?”
Kell grinned. “He looks like Mick Jagger, only, you know, fourteen and better looking!”
Mackey grinned.Thatwas the sort of compliment a boy wanted to hear before he went on stage. “So, you think people will like the music?” he asked, suddenly worried. What helookedlike didn’t really matter to him. But the music? That was everything.
“If we rehearse more than we play dress up.” Kell grunted in disgust. “Now take that shit off before Cheever sees it and goes afteryouwith a Sharpie too!”
Mackey nodded and started unbuttoning his shirt while Kell turned to leave. He left the door open a little, because hey—six boys in the house, who gave a shit, right?
Grant turned his shoulders to leave, too, and Mackey made a sound as he was sliding off the coat and the shirt as one piece.
Grant turned back around, and Mackey could see the shudder taking over his body. He looked down in time to see Grant adjust himself in his pants.
“What you do to me,” Grant whispered. “We can’t do this, Mackey, but God. The things you do to me.”
And then he turned and walked out the door.
Dancing in the Dark
THESCHOOLhad a mirror ball and some basic spotlights that the theater kids worked like crazy when the band was on stage, and they got to rehearse with those, but even then Mackey looked at the lame lights and wished for something bigger. He had anideafor stage effects, things that would go with the lyrics and the beat that you couldn’t do in a rinky-dink high school gym.
But for now, he had the basics and he had Tony Rodriguez, theater kid, student council member, marching band member—everything Mackey’s brothers picked on, Tony was it. But he’d been more than helpful this past week helping them figure out how to load the equipment in for prom. Kell wouldn’t work with him—called him fag to his face—and Grant couldn’t seem to get Kell to stop, but Mackey thought Tony was okay. He worked hard, even if he didn’t have any guts for the sound work.
“’Kay, I got you all plugged in, Mackey,” Tony said, almost pathetic in his eagerness to please. “Your amps’re all set and—” His voice was suddenly picked up by the mike and the resultant feedback loop about blacked out Mackey’s vision.
