Omorphi (9 page)

Christy eyed Michael for a long moment, uncertainty in his eyes again. Michael slid to the end of the couch and reached over to pat the now faraway spot again.

Christy remained standing for another long moment before taking a seat in the faraway spot. A magazine caught his eye, and he lifted it from the coffee table and stared at it. Michael was mortified. It was the well-read, dog-eared edition of
Crash
with Andrej Pejić on the cover. Christy held it up, the cover facing Michael, giant question marks dancing in his eyes.

“Ah, that’s Andrej Pejić. He’s a fashion model and….” Michael cleared his throat and prayed his naked embarrassment wasn’t as obvious as it felt. He didn’t suppose he could claim that his mom or dad thought Andrej Pejić was hot. “And, ah, I think he’s hot.”

Christy’s eyes went wide, and he prompted Michael with an encouraging look.

“Well, he’s, ah, androgynous, a boy-girl, you know, and, well, I like that. And I like his, her clothes. The way she dresses, I mean. And you look like her. You’re gorgeous like her, I mean.” Michael cleared his throat again, knew he was babbling like an idiot, and wondered if someone could spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

Christy leafed through the magazine until he came to Andrej’s fashion spread. He turned the pages slowly, thoughtfully considering each picture before tracing the images with a fingertip. He touched them ever so delicately, almost reverently, just as Michael had traced them, and seemed to be as fascinated by Andrej as Michael was.

To Michael’s utter amazement, Christy set the magazine aside and moved to straddle Michael’s lap and rest his head on Michael’s shoulder.
Whoa!
Michael’s hands suddenly felt superfluous. He rested them on the couch, taking great care not to touch Christy. Seconds ticked, Michael’s pulse gathered speed, and his traitorous body began to react.
Crap.
Then Christy’s hand wended its way into his.
Seriously nice. Be cool. Don’t blow it
. There they sat for what seemed an hour. “Don’t forget to give me your number,” Michael finally whispered.

Christy dug in Michael’s pants pocket for the phone, and it took every ounce of Michael’s strength not to groan aloud when Christy’s hand brushed his dick.

Christy typed, and Michael read over his fingers. “What’s CTAC?”

Christy handed the phone to Michael and pulled out his pad and pen.
Christophoros Tryphon Alexis Castle
.

“That’s quite a name.”

Christy wrote
Greek
.

“You don’t look Greek.”

Christy shrugged and pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to Michael. Michael entered his number and handed the phone back to Christy. Christy looked at it, frowned, and held it up.

“You’ll figure it out.”

Christy’s frown deepened as he pocketed the phone and returned to resting his head on Michael’s shoulder.

“You paint in art class?”

Christy nodded against his shoulder.

“What do you paint?”

Christy sat up and scribbled
The sea. Rather kiss than write
.

Michael laughed as he thought seriously about kissing Christy. They were alone. In a place where things could get seriously, gloriously out of control. “Me too, but kissing might lead to trouble, and my parents will be home soon.”

Christy tried to stifle a smile and lost the battle.

“You don’t care, do you?”

Christy shook his head, shameless.

“I don’t believe you,” Michael said and threw his head back and laughed.

Christy took advantage of Michael’s outstretched neck and began working his way up Michael’s throat, his kisses leaving a cool, damp trail in their wake. This time Michael couldn’t prevent his groan as his dick broke a speed record getting hard. “Christy….”

When Christy kissed beneath Michael’s jaw, he could no longer contain himself. He lifted Christy by the waist and laid him back on the couch. Supporting himself on one arm, he looked down at Christy and found heat in his eyes. The same heat he’d seen in the locker room. “Trouble,” he whispered before carefully moving the scarf away. Michael paused. Now, what was he going to do if he couldn’t touch Christy? Christy solved his dilemma by wreathing his arms around Michael’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

Heat quickly rose between them, the kiss deepened, and they dared to explore each other in soft caresses and gentle movements. Michael drank down his first intimacy and the closeness he’d yearned to have for as long as he could remember. He knew then that he would love Christy. Overwhelmed by the revelation, and throwing caution to the wind, he rose and unbuttoned Christy’s shirt. Smoothing his palms down Christy’s pale, golden skin to come to rest on his belly, he found his fingers trembling like nervous butterflies.

He’d never touched a guy before, let alone one as beautiful as Christy. The exhilaration that filled him was fresh and new and like nothing he’d ever known. His eyes traveled Christy’s torso, committing the smooth, golden skin, small nipples, thin waist, and taut belly to memory. Christy was stunning, everything he’d imagined, everything he’d ever dreamed of in a boyfriend.
Everything I’ve ever wanted
. And Christy was seriously small. A hot, sexy guy in miniature. Well, maybe not so small in one place. He’d learned that over the last few moments. Michael felt heat fill his face at the thought and prayed Christy didn’t notice.

Their eyes met again, and he saw challenge in Christy’s gaze. He’d seen that look in girls’ eyes but never in a guy’s eyes and certainly never directed at him. He wanted to take Christy into his arms, to know every part of him, to show him that he cared about him, but he had no idea what was okay to do with a guy. With girls, he knew the lines not to cross, but he had no idea what the lines were with a guy.

Christy solved his quandary as he covered Michael’s hands with his own and slowly pushed them south of his belly, encouraging Michael to touch him. Following Christy’s lead, he gathered his courage and dared to unbutton the top button of Christy’s jeans and reveal the pink lace beneath. The underwear was sheer and fine and looked expensive. Michael ran a fingertip along the edge where lace met skin and decided that Christy looked sexy as hell in pink lace. Heat rose in his veins and his breaths quickened as he raised his gaze to meet Christy’s once again.

“Very pretty,” Michael breathed as he dared to gather Christy’s waist in his hands and feather his thumbs over the protruding hipbones. Christy arched into his touch, his eyes blinking slowly as he watched Michael intently. Worry suddenly filled Michael’s mind. Was this okay to do with Christy given his… abuse? He was dangerously close to losing himself in the moment and fought to rein himself in. He didn’t want to do anything that would scare Christy, trigger something bad in him, or hurt him in some way.

Again, Christy assuaged his worry. He brushed a hand lightly over Michael’s straining body, then held him firmly, tightly for a moment before tugging on the hem of his shirt. That was all it took. Michael surrendered to Christy’s touch, pulled his shirt over his head, and dropped it beside the couch before covering Christy’s small frame with his own. Bare skin met bare skin, a thrilling ache blossoming in Michael, and he claimed Christy’s sweet mouth passionately. They melded perfectly and moved in flawless harmony, as if they were made for each other. Christy’s hands worked down Michael’s back and lower, cupping his buttocks and urging him closer still. Then they heard the garage door open.

Michael thought he would die right then and there. He groaned into the sweet smelling softness of Christy’s neck. “Damn.” He didn’t want this special moment with Christy to end. And his body was, well, you know.

“We’re home,” Bobbie called from the kitchen.

Michael’s mom never called across the house, and he guessed she knew what they were up to. Fighting his raging libido, he rose quickly, helped Christy with his buttons, and pulled his shirt over his head just as his mom entered the room.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. You must be Christy. I’m Barbara, Bobbie for short.” She extended a hand.

Christy stood and took her hand with a slight bow and kissed the back of it.

Wow, that was a bit much. Guess that’s what you do when you can’t speak
.

Bobbie smiled, pleased. “Oh, quite a gentleman. Come and talk to me while I prepare dinner.”

Michael prayed she was only using a figure of speech.

M
ICHAEL
had to work to hide his discomfort as they sat at the breakfast bar. He didn’t think it was possible for jeans to feel so uncomfortable. In an effort to save himself from the agony, he thought of boobs. Little boobs, pointy boobs, round boobs. Big, fat, sloppy boobs. The kind he absolutely hated. He imagined kissing them. Then he imagined boobs smothering him. It worked, and Michael began to relax. His favorite body part wouldn’t be crippled after all.

Bobbie pulled things from the refrigerator and set them on the counter. “Is there anything that you don’t like, Christy?”

Christy retrieved his pad and pen and wrote
lima beans
, then held the pad up.

“I’m with you there. Anything else?”

Christy added the word
liver
to the pad.

She glanced at the pad. “Two for two. Are you all right with steak, baked potatoes, steamed vegetables, and salad?”

Christy nodded, and Michael worried whether Christy was truly okay with her choices. “Mom, can we have mashed potatoes?”

She glanced at him, seeming to sense his concern. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks.” Mac strolled in. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, son. Hello, Christy.”

Christy stood and shook Mac’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet— Have we met before?”

Christy scribbled
Wellington
and held the pad up.

“That’s right.”

Michael looked at the pad. “You know each other?”

“We haven’t been formally introduced, but I’ve seen Christy when I’ve visited patients there. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Christy. Please call me Mac.”

“You have patients at Wellington?”

“Several.”

“Wow. Small world.”

“Do you need anything before I rest my weary bones, honey?” Mac asked as he took a seat on a barstool.

“No, relax, you had a busy day. You should have seen the office, Michael. More sick kids than you can shake a stick at. High fevers, runny noses, coughs.”

“Mom’s a nurse at Dad’s office,” Michael explained.

“How was your day, son?” Mac asked.

“I ran the one-ten in under fourteen.”

“Good for you!” He clasped Michael’s shoulder warmly.

They spoke for a few minutes about Michael’s day, and then Mac turned to Christy. “How was your day, Christy?”

Christy quickly scribbled
Great because of Michael
.

“I’m sure it wasn’t only because of him.”

Christy toggled his head in thought before nodding in the affirmative.

“Tell me about this injury to your neck. Has there been any talk of your future ability to speak?”

“Dad,” Michael groaned.

Christy wrote
Will have voice exercises
.

“Mind if I have a look?”

“Dad!”

Christy put a hand on Michael’s arm and mouthed, “It’s okay.” He unwound the scarf and set it aside.

Mac inspected the injury and issued a soft whistle. “May I examine your neck?”

Christy nodded.

Mac palpated his neck and throat with the concerned, studious eye of a physician at work. “Mmm, is your larynx healed?”

Christy made a
comme ci, comme ça
motion with his hand.

“Well, in that case, you’ll never be an opera singer.”

“He likes to paint,” Michael interjected.

Mac handed the scarf back to Christy. “What do you paint?”

“The ocean,” Michael answered for him.

“I would love to see your work sometime.”

“All right, dinner’s in the oven,” Bobbie announced as she joined them at the bar. “So, tell me all about it. When did you meet? How did you meet? How’d you figure out the other was gay? You know, all the usual.”

Michael rolled his eyes and leaned close to Christy. “Sorry.”

Christy smiled before setting pen to paper for long moments, and Michael was relieved when he finally handed the pad to his mom.

She read it with a few nods and looked up, humor plain on her face. “Only yesterday?”

Christy nodded.

“Michael, I had no idea you were so shy. He’s been following you around for three months.”

“Two.”

Christy held three fingers up.

“Told you I was unaware.”

“Still and all, even two months? What took you so long? Christy’s adorable.”

Michael flushed rose and buried his face in his hands. Christy put a comforting hand on his thigh, and Michael felt warm and tingly all over despite his frustration. He took Christy’s hand and held it in his lap, feeling like part, a whole half, of a couple for the first time in his life. “Mom, you can’t just walk up to a guy and say ‘Hi, I’m gay, are you?’”

“Well, no, that isn’t the strategy I would use, but what’s the matter with simply saying hello?”

“That’s what I did.”

“Still, that’s slow. You left poor Christy to pine this whole time.”

It was Christy’s turn to flush rose and turn away.

“Mom! What’s the matter with you? You’re being weird.”

Mac chuckled. “Leave him alone, Bobbie.”

“Well, okay, so now that you met, what are your plans?”

“Mom, we just met!”

“Well, if you’re on the couch in a full-on snog, there has to be some hope for a future together.”

Michael groaned. “Oh my God, Dad, do something.”

Mac rolled in soft chuckles. “Let me try it differently for her. I assume we’ll be seeing a lot of Christy?”

Michael breathed a sigh, relieved his dad had taken control of the conversation. “Yeah, if you don’t kill us off with embarrassment first.”

“Are you going to be out at school?”

“We decided to keep it low-key at school. Outside of school, out is fine.”