Sweet Revenge (m|m)

Twelve - Blake

I had everything planned out in my head: exactly what I was going to say, exactly how I was going to say it.

But when Aaron opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of pale blue briefs, my train of thought goes straight off the rails.

My eyes drink in miles of milky skin and toned muscle, picking up all the details along the way: smooth shoulders, small, pink nipples, a tapered waist and lightly defined abs, the sharp angle of hips, and finally, a generous bulge in the front of his briefs.

I swallow hard and swear. He swears too, and tries to slam the door in my face. I catch it—barely—and by some miracle convince him to let me in.

And now I'm standing awkwardly in his small apartment while he quickly throws on some clothes.

"I don't need your concern," he says, facing away while he pulls a shirt over his head. "I'm perfectly all right, and have been for the past ten years, thanks very much. I don't need you barging into my life—into my apartment, for fuck's sake—telling me you're worried about me. Like I said last night, you don't know anything about me."

"I know something," I say, stubbornly refusing to be put off.

He spins to face me, his pale face drained of color, though from what emotion is hard to tell. "Oh yeah? And what version did you hear? Is it the one where I slit my wrists? Or the one where I tried to drown myself in the lake?"

"N-neither," I stammer, taken aback.

"Well then, what?" he demands.

"A b-bridge," I say.

He stares at me a moment, perfectly still, mouth slightly open.

"Shit." He walks the two paces to his narrow bed and drops onto it, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.

I stand for a moment, immobilized by uncertainty, before crossing the small room to sit beside him. I don't touch him, and I keep a few inches between us. I just want him to know I'm here, and I'm listening.

He looks up at me, and his eyes are slightly red, though whether from emotion or a rough night's sleep is hard to tell.

"I don't know what you heard, or where you heard it from, but I never tried to hurt myself, Blake. I didn't need to. You and your friends hurt me enough."

"They weren't my friends," I protest quickly.

He shoots me a glare. "That's not how they told it."

"Who was it anyway?" I ask.

"Does it matter? What are you gonna do, track them down ten years after the fact and tell them off, Tarantino style? It's too late for that, and I wouldn't want you to anyway."

"I can guess," I say grimly. "I bet it was Chad Wilson, Brad Smith, and Owen Forbes."

"Which one was Owen?" he asks, looking at his hands.

"Tall white kid with acne and creepy-pale eyes."

"Oh, yeah. That was him."

"Those three were the worst. The rest of the team were really sweet guys, believe it or not."

He's silent a moment. "I do. I knew, even then, you weren't like them. They were hateful and ignorant, and Chad at least was seriously repressed. You were just scared."

"I was," I admit. "My parents are pretty religious, and I was afraid they wouldn't love me anymore if they found out I was all about 'Adam and Steve.'"

"Do they know now?"

A little color has come back to his face, tinging the tops of his cheeks slightly pink. The very fresh memory of him in his underwear intrudes on my mind, and I feel my own face grow warm.

"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat and leaning back on my hands. "I came out a little while after the . . . after you gave us those chocolates. It just started to eat at my soul—that I'd done something so mean just to protect myself from the truth. I was afraid of people finding out who I was, but I was more afraid of who I'd become if I kept doing stuff like that."

"What happened?" he asks, eyes as wide and blue as the sky. I feel like I could fall into them.

I shrug. "They weren't thrilled, but they were more open-minded than I gave them credit for. They didn't disown me, or give me any bullshit about 'lifestyle choices.' In fact, their main concern now is how soon they can meet their adopted grand-kids."

He smiles, but it's stained with sadness. "I'm glad it turned out okay for you," he says.

I'm a little afraid to ask, but I do anyway. "What about you?"

"My mom wasn't in the picture," he shrugs. "I think my dad always suspected, but when he found out for certain he kicked me out. Fortunately, my grandma was a woman ahead of her time, and she took me in until I left for college. I think she was the only one—besides my friend, Nina—who believed that I hadn't . . . That it was an accident."

He stares across the room, and I follow the line of his gaze to a little glass display-case on a bookshelf. Inside is some sort of tattered-looking book.

"Aaron?"

I lay my hand gently on his back, and he startles beneath my touch. When he turns to look at me, it seems like he's looking from a thousand miles away.

"I believe you, okay?" I say. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want. I . . . I'm actually not worried about what happened in the past. I'm worried about you now. You're pushing yourself too hard. Believe me, I recognize the symptoms. You're exhausted and unhappy, and if you don't take care of yourself you're gonna make yourself sick. If something's bothering you—"

"It's you, Blake," he snaps. "You're bothering me." He stands, moving out of my reach. "Look, I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. And then I want you to leave me alone."

He holds up his hands when I start to object.

"No—listen. I'm not saying forever. I know you're not the same guy you were ten years ago. Neither am I. We've both grown up, and been through some shit, and learned a thing or two along the way."

He pauses and bites his lip, adding in a softer voice, "And I like you, too. A lot. But I'm asking you to leave me alone while I figure some stuff out. When I do, I'll come to you, okay?"

All I want to do is wrap him in my arms, take away every hurt he's ever felt, kiss him breathless, and then fuck him 'til he can't walk.

Instead, I nod.

"Okay. But can I buy you breakfast, at least?"

He blinks, clearly surprised I've agreed. Then he laughs.

"Sure. You can do that."