{I hate writing smut when I'm tired. Half of me
is horny, and the other half just wants to go to
bed and *sleep*. . .
I swear to god, I wrote this to "Let's Get It On".
If you haven't heard Jack Black's version, from
the "High Fidelity" soundtrack, go *now* and get
yourself a copy. It's a modern classic. In fact,
just go see the movie. It was great, and his
rendition of the song is one of the highlights.}
"Surfacing"
by MonaR.
monaram@yahoo.com
It always started out the same way: it was after soccer practice, they were all in the showers washing up, and Knox or someone else was talking about something - it was usually Knox, as a matter of fact, talking about his latest plan to win over Chris' heart. Charlie would, as usual, say something rude, and Neil would shove him right under the nearest shower head, so that his face was drenched, and threaten playfully to wash his mouth out with a bar of soap. Everyone would be laughing and kidding around - only, when Todd looked up, Charlie would suddenly be *looking* at him, staring right at him, and nobody else even seemed to notice, still kidding Knox about his chances of getting to first base with Chris, and Charlie would just walk right over to Todd, and push him against the wall, and start kissing him right under the shower, and groping his naked body, right in front of everyone, even though nobody else ever seemed to notice, and Todd would hold on to him so tightly he'd almost stop breathing. . .
. . .and the next thing he knew, Todd would wake up in his bed in his room, breathing hard and with a spreading spot of wetness on the front of his pajama bottoms.
Neil never woke up. That was the only good thing about these near-nightly wet dreams. Todd always waited until he could no longer hear the pound of his own pulse in his temples, and then got up and slipped down the hallway to the bathroom to clean himself up with still-shaking hands. He didn't know *why* he was having those kinds of dreams - he'd never even spoken to Charlie, not really, and Charlie never gave much indication that he even knew - or cared - that Todd was alive. If only he could think of something to *say* - something clever and funny, that would make Charlie laugh, or anything, just anything to get noticed. He had this feeling about him; there was just something about Charlie - about how open he was and how willing he was to take a risk, no matter what it was or how stupid it seemed on the surface - that made Todd think that if he could just tell him what was going through his mind whenever Charlie happened to look at him, maybe he wouldn't think it was so bad. If he could just figure out how to *start* talking, Todd knew he'd never be able to stop. Maybe he'd even be able to tell him about the dreams.
But he'd never been able to do it. He couldn't count how many times he opened his mouth in front of Charlie, only to shut it again without saying a word. He wanted just to be able to mentally project his thoughts. That - not *speaking* - would make it so much better.
If only he could figure out a way just to get Charlie to *notice* him.
**********
"I need your Chem notes, Neil, so hand 'em over," Charlie said, barging into his friend's room, and then, "fuck," when he realized he was alone. He kicked the door shut and threw himself down on Neil's bed to wait.
Twenty minutes and two cigarettes later, he decided just to look for the notes himself and *take* them. Neil was probably at rehearsal, and it was anybody's guess when he'd come back. Charlie was a little surprised that Anderson wasn't here, but, then again, maybe the kid had a whole secret life underneath that shy-boy exterior.
"Yeah, right." Charlie started digging through Neil's desk, but he came up empty-handed. He found a whole cache of Shakespeare, a couple books of poetry marked in spots for the next Dead Poets meeting, and three math texts. Apparently, and probably just to spite him, Neil had taken his notes with him to rehearsal, or hidden them somewhere, knowing that *someone* would come in and steal them if he didn't. Frustrated, Charlie tried to think of who else he could crib from.
Wandering eyes led him over to Todd's desk. He went through all of the unlocked drawers with no luck, and then hit the desk in just the right spot on the side that unlatched every single 'locked' drawer on every boy's desk in every cell in Welton. There he found the usual stuff: a couple of letters from home, a picture of an older guy Charlie took to be Todd's dad, and his notebook. "Gotcha," Charlie said, and carefully slid everything back into place. He'd just bring it back after he copied the notes - and if Anderson said anything, he'd tell him that he'd been mistaken, and the book had been on top of the desk, not inside.
It was a perfect plan, only - when Charlie stood up to leave, something fell out of the middle of the notebook. It was a thin, dog-eared paperback, and when Charlie picked it up and turned it over to see the cover, he almost dropped it again. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, a surprised grin spreading across his face. "Our Secret Sin," read the title, and it showed a picture of a woman dressed only in a bra and half-slip, draped in a seductive pose across a bed, with a tortured- looking man, his head in his hands, sitting beside her. It was one of the sort of 'adults only' pulp novels that were hidden on the top racks of newsstands, and sold in train and bus stations for a quarter. Charlie had seen them before, but the fact that Todd *Anderson* had one of them stashed in his drawer totally blew him away. He'd never figured the kid went in for trashy porn novels. Still, he *was* sixteen, and apparently even he had some raging hormones under that wholesome, fresh-faced exterior that he projected to the world.
Charlie warred over whether to put the book back in Todd's drawer for all of ten seconds, and then drew out the last cigarette from the pack in his pocket, and crumpled the empty paper, tossing it neatly into the wastebasket. He stretched out on Todd's bed, lit his cigarette, put his feet up, and started to read the book.
**********
Nothing could have prepared Todd for the sight that greeted him when he opened the door to his and Neil's room. He'd been in the library, ostensibly working on a paper for Mr. Keating's class - but mostly reading all the Walt Whitman he could find, and he had gotten so caught up in it that it was nearly dinnertime before he finally made a run across the common, to drop off his books and hope that he wasn't late. Boys who were even five minutes late for meals received demerits; boys who were more than fifteen minutes late didn't eat.
All thoughts of his nightly ration of Hellton Hash immediately disappeared when he walked into the room, however. He thought that Neil might be late back from rehearsal, but he usually went right to the dining room if he was, without stopping in their room first. There was a burned-down cigarette butt and a trail of ash on the radiator, but on his bed - lying on *his* bed - was Charlie Dalton.
Reading *the* book. The book that Todd had read and re-read so many times that the cover was worn smooth like fabric, and the pages inside were coming unglued. The book that fueled many of his most powerful dreams, where the faceless men all took on the look and manner of Charlie Dalton. The book that, despite its cover illustration of a 'normal', 'healthy' male/female couple, was actually about the sort of men who were seldom discussed in polite company - and even then, only in derogatory whispers and biting slurs.
"Jesus," Charlie said, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw Todd in the doorway. "Why don't you make a little noise the next time, instead of giving me a heart attack?" His face was flushed, and Todd might have taken that for embarrassment that he'd been caught holding the book that Todd *knew* he'd locked up safely in his drawer before he left for the library. But that wasn't the real reason.
Todd knew he was staring; apparently, Charlie thought he was staring at the book that was resting in his lap. It wasn't until Charlie moved it away from his line of sight that they both knew just *what* Todd was really staring at.
Todd very slowly, very methodically put his books down on his desk. Then, he shut the door and leaned his chair in front of it, so it would be impossible to open from the outside. He walked over to his bed and sat down without saying a word. Still silent, he reached out and put his hand on Charlie Dalton's very obvious hard-on.
**********
Kissing hadn't been his idea. Charlie was certain of that. In point of fact, Todd had done everything - first touching him, feeling the heat of his semi-erect cock through his wool trousers, then kissing him on the mouth. It was the *way* that he kissed that was the most disturbing thing; he kissed as though he'd done it every single day of his life, as though he'd been born kissing and everything else he did with his mouth - breathing, speaking, and the rest of it - was just an afterthought.
"That's why you don't talk," Charlie said, nonsensically, even as Todd was undoing the buckle on his pants and opening the zipper. He lifted his hips without even being asked. "You know there's no point in - *ahhh*." Words suddenly lost meaning, as Todd bent his head and sucked in Charlie's cock.
He managed to unclench one of his hands enough to reach out and touch the curve of Todd's back; he was hot, so hot, warmth radiating through the school blazer he still wore. And his school tie; he still had his tie on. Charlie tried to loosen the knot, but it was difficult to do without being able to see it, and Todd was still bent over him, his mouth sucking Charlie in, and licking him, and kissing him, his hands stroking whatever was left of his cock that his mouth couldn't take in. He paid a great deal of attention to the head, licking it like he might lick an ice-cream cone, and then would suck the entire length as deep into his mouth as he could, and Charlie suddenly realized how warm it was in the room, like all of the oxygen was being burned off by the searing heat of Todd's body.
Charlie closed his eyes. It was easier *not* to see Todd's shock of light-brown hair bobbing up and down over his lap, somehow - even though he could still feel what Todd was doing to him with every inch of his body, even in his toes. And *god*, it felt so good, so incredible - he didn't want to make any sudden movements, afraid he might do something that might make Todd think he wanted him to *stop*. Not like this. He was too close. If he didn't get off soon, he might never be able to walk normally again.
He felt that familiar feeling - the tightness in his balls, the way it always felt when he beat himself off at night - only this was different. He didn't know if he should tell Todd that he was about to come, or if he would just *know*. Finally, when he couldn't wait a minute longer, he moaned, and Todd pulled his head away.
The first spurt of come hit Todd on the cheek, and he closed his eyes, still stroking Charlie's cock with his hands. Charlie came like he never had before in his life, not even in his dreams; he didn't think he was ever going to *stop* coming, even if Neil and the other guys and every Master in the school all walked into the room at once and ordered him to stop on punishment of death. His body shook and he thrust and came and bit his lip until it bled to keep from screaming out loud.
And all the while, Todd just kept touching him.
**********
"Where'd you get that book?" Charlie asked, fifteen minutes later, when he could speak again. He patted his pockets down before he remembered he'd smoked his last. Dinner was surely over by now, and their absence would have been noticed and noted. That meant another trip to Nolan's office for Charlie, but nothing could possibly have interested him less. "I've never read anything like that in my life."
Todd lay there, staring up at the ceiling. "There was a guy in a train station the last time I went home from Balincrest. He gave it to me."
"Did he teach you how to do that, too?"
Todd waited a beat, and then looked at Charlie and nodded. "He did it to me."
"Jesus." Charlie paused. "How old was he?"
Todd shrugged. "Old. My father's age."
"And you just - let him?"
"Yeah. We were standing there side-by-side in the bathroom - you know, going - and he kept looking at me, and even though I thought I should, I didn't move away, and then he reached over, and - "
"He did that to you right *there*?" Charlie asked, incredulous. "Where anyone could just come in and see you?"
"We went in a stall and locked the door. I didn't know what he was going to do until he did it." Todd turned over on his side. "He was shaking like you did. I think he thought I was going to hit him, or something."
"Why didn't you?"
"Why didn't you hit me?" Todd countered. "It felt good. I liked it." He reached over and tucked his hand into the front of Charlie's pants. "You liked it when I did it to you, didn't you?"
It seemed to take Charlie forever to answer. "Yeah," he said, finally.
"You want to do it to me?"
This time, Charlie had no words; he just nodded, mute.
"Good." Todd reached over and put his hands on the back of Charlie's neck, and pulled him into a kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into Charlie's mouth. "There's other stuff in that book I've always wanted to try - "
The End
MonaR.