Serpentine Walls (15 page)

“Excellent.”

But before Austin could light it, Missy bellowed down the stairs. “Austin! Pete! Get your butts up here. We need some help.”

“Later, then,” Austin said, pocketing the joint. “How’s Mom?” he added as they got off the bed.

“Crappy.”

“Yeah. Jesus, what a mess.”

They came into the kitchen, where a huge turkey, brown and fragrant, sat in a pan on the counter.

“Smells awesome,” Pete said.

Mom nodded. “I’m letting you two carve it while Missy and I get the rest of the food on the table.”

Mom and Missy left the kitchen with bowls of green beans and mashed potatoes, while Pete and Austin looked at each other and then at the turkey.

“Ever carved a turkey?” Pete asked, regarding it doubtfully.

“No. Dad always did it.” They eyed the turkey some more. “Crap.” Austin ran a hand over his forehead. “Guess it won’t carve itself.”

“Well, how hard can it be? Where’s that electric carving knife that Dad used to use?” Pete started rummaging through the cabinets.

“We can always use this.” Austin pulled a large butcher knife out of the knife block and aimed it at Pete with a flourish. “En garde.”

“Don’t point that thing at me!” Pete grabbed a wooden spoon out of a drawer and raised it in defense, laughing.

Nate loped in and, ignoring them, reached over, pulled a strip of meat off the turkey, and popped it into his mouth. “Mm. Hurry up, guys, I’m starving.”

“Get outta here!” Pete whacked him on the butt with the spoon.

“Hey!” Nate grabbed a dish towel and snapped it at Pete’s face.

“What’s going on?” Mom’s appearance put a halt to their antics. “We need that turkey carved. Everything else is ready.”

“Where’s the electric carving knife?” Pete asked. “I can’t find it.”

“I… I don’t remember where Dad kept it.” Pete hated the pained look on Mom’s face.

“No problem,” Austin said quickly. “We’ll handle it.” He started hacking at the turkey with the butcher knife.

Missy walked in. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do it!” she cried, voice shrill. “Stop, before you ruin the whole thing!”

“Excuse me.” Rob stood in the doorway, the electric carving knife in his hand. “Dad gave this to me this summer. Now, if you’ll get out of the way, I’ll carve the turkey.” He didn’t bother to hide his smug expression as he walked calmly over to the counter and inserted the plug into the outlet.

Jennifer, who had come in behind him, turned to Mom and asked, “Laura, do you want the turkey to go on this platter?”

Pete dropped the wooden spoon on the counter. “Well, I guess you got it covered.” He went over to the pantry and took out two more bottles of wine. “Who wants some of this excellent wine?”

Rob frowned and started the electric knife while Missy and Austin held up their glasses.

“Can I have some?” Nate asked.

“Do you think that’s wise?” Rob asked, raising his voice to be heard over the racket made by the knife as he sawed through the turkey breast.

“Mom?” Nate looked at her imploringly.

“Sure you can.” Mom took down two more wineglasses from the cupboard and set them in front of Pete, who was uncorking the bottles. “I’ll have a glass too. Rob? Jennifer? Would you like some?”

They exchanged a look. “No, thank you,” Jennifer said.

Pete filled the glasses in silence, while the kitchen reverberated with the whine of the carving knife.

“G
OD
,
this is so good.” Angie leaned back in her chair, making ecstatic-sounding noises as she chewed her pizza.

John snorted. “You sound like the girl in that movie—what is it?
Sleepless in Seattle
?”

“No, moron,
When Harry Met Sally
.” Pete poured himself another beer from the pitcher on their table.

“That’s right. Yes, yes,
yes
!” John flailed his arms around in fake ecstasy.

“Oh, stop,” Angie said. “You’re making Brian blush.” Brian made a sound of denial, but his face was pink.

“So what else is new?” George smiled and snagged the last piece of pizza.

Sprawling in his seat and sipping his beer, Pete felt truly relaxed for the first time since he’d been home. Being out in Georgetown with his high school friends was just what he needed after yesterday’s Thanksgiving Day from hell.
Family tension so thick you could cut it with an electric carving knife
, Austin had joked when they had finally escaped downstairs for that much-needed joint.

“How’s MIT?” Angie asked George.

He’s looking handsome tonight
, Pete thought. He always had been, but he was so skinny in high school that they called him String Bean. He’d filled out in the last few years, let his dark brown hair grow, and seemed more comfortable in his own skin. He’d updated his glasses too, and his new frames made him look more like a hipster and less like the brilliant science geek that he was.

“Good.”

They waited for more, but that seemed to be all George had to say on the subject. That was typical George, though—he was a man of few words.

“Thanks for elaborating, dude,” John said, and everyone chuckled. “Truly eloquent.”

“Up yours, Borden. Okay, to elaborate: MIT is hard, I have to study my butt off just to pass, but I’m still there.” George closed his eyes for a minute, as if exhausted by the effort of saying so much at one time.

“Cool.” John offered his knuckles to George for a fist bump.

“What should we do now?” Brian asked, looking at the empty pizza pan. “More beer?”

“Not for the drivers,” Angie said. “How ’bout a movie? What’s on at E-Street?”

“Remember that time—” Brian began.

“We all argued about what movie to see—” Pete continued.

“And me and Pete said anything as long as it’s not the James Bond one. Your turn, guys.” Angie smiled at John and George.

“And after arguing for like a half hour, we drove to the mall and ran into the theater without looking because we were late,” John said. “And….” He nodded at George.

“It was James Bond.”

They raised their mugs and clinked them together. “We rock!” Angie cried.

T
HEY
came out of the movie theater arguing.

“Well, that sucked,” John said.

“What do you mean?” Brian protested. “I thought it was great!”

George laughed. “Pretty lame, if you ask me.”

“How would you know? You slept through most of it,” Brian said.

“Okay, guys, can we finish this argument later? I’m freezing my ass off.” Pete pulled his scarf tighter. “Who’s driving who?”

“I’ll take you,” George told him.

“And John can take me and Brian,” Angie said promptly.

Pete gave her the side-eye, but she returned his gaze with an innocent expression.

“Okay.” John rubbed his hands together. “Shit, it’s cold. Come on, guys. George, good luck at school if I don’t see you again.” Brian and Angie echoed John’s remark.

“Thanks,” George said.

Pete and George headed down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, shoulders bumping. Once in George’s car, Pete stretched out his legs, waiting for the heater to kick in. They didn’t talk as George drove through the DC streets, but the silence was companionable. They’d never had tons to say to each other, even back in high school. George was driving them over the Fourteenth Street Bridge when he finally spoke.

“You seeing someone?”

“No,” Pete said, but then he thought about it. Angie would say he was “seeing” Jed, and he’d love to be “seeing” Aidan again, but he didn’t feel the need to get into his current hookup situation with George. Besides, he knew why George was asking. “You?”

“No.”

They were quiet for a few minutes as George drove down Route 50. When he got on the exit for their neighborhood, he said, “Wanna come over?”

“Sure.”

They entered George’s house through his basement, just like old times. And just like old times, George led Pete into the utility room, where there was a ratty couch with an afghan thrown over it—location of many a fumbled hand job and fevered blow job during high school. It was cold down here, only slightly warmer than outside.

As they sat, Pete wanted to make some crack or break into the chorus from “Memories,” but George had already unsnapped Pete’s jeans and yanked down his zipper. When he slid his hand into Pete’s underwear and closed it around his cock, Pete jumped.

“Your hand is cold,” Pete explained, rubbing his own together, preparatory to getting them on George’s dick.

“Sorry.” George pulled his hand away and blew on both of them. “Wonder where that space heater went?”

Pete unbuttoned George’s pants. “You know, mouths would be warmer,” he suggested.

“True.”

Neither of them moved for a moment, and Pete experienced a strange sense of ennui. He yawned.

“Keeping you awake?” George’s voice held a hint of sarcasm. “Pull your pants down, okay?” He got on his knees on the worn brown shag rug in front of the couch as Pete pushed his pants and briefs down to his ankles, shivering at the chilly basement air on his bare skin.

George’s hand was marginally warmer than before when he wrapped it around Pete’s half-hard cock, and—
oh, yes
—his mouth was scorching in comparison. Pete let his head fall back and his eyes close as George’s mouth and hand worked his dick. It was all so familiar—the silence, George’s efficient blow job technique, the musty utility room, the scratchy material of the old couch under Pete’s thighs.

George’s soft sucking played a counterpoint to Pete’s harsh panting as his orgasm started to build. He put his fist against his mouth and bit down on his index finger, thighs tightening, toes curling, and released into George’s mouth with a stifled noise. He relaxed, eyes closed, until George let his cock fall out of his mouth. Then he yawned, pulling up his pants while George stood, so drowsy that he almost wished he could bail. He wouldn’t do that to George, though.

George pushed down his jeans, and Pete knelt between his legs, the floor hard on his knees, and cold despite the rug. Running his hands up George’s bare thighs, he put his lips to his cock, which was already hard. Taking it in hand, he moved his thumb slowly over the head, slick with drops of precome. George’s cock was warm under Pete’s touch, pulsing with life in the middle of the dank basement. Pete closed his mouth around it, and George made a soft noise.

Mm
. He liked sucking George off. His cock was a nice size—not as big as Aidan’s (
no one’s is
), but not small either. It fit perfectly in Pete’s mouth, solid and warm, tasting of high school and furtive sex and George, who hummed low in his throat and shifted against the sofa cushion as Pete got a rhythm going with his mouth and hand. It wasn’t long before George trembled, muffling his moans with his hand, and Pete sucked harder. A few moments later, his mouth was flooded by George’s come.

He let George’s softening cock slip out of his mouth and got stiffly to his feet, using George’s knees for leverage, and then flopped down beside him. George pulled up his pants, and they sat motionless, listening to the furnace kick in with a loud whirring noise. Outside, a cat sounded a series of piteous meows.

“That stupid cat is going to freeze.” George levered himself off the couch and made his way out to the rec room.

Pete heard the back door open and George saying something, presumably to the cat. Taking this as his cue to leave, he stood, yawned again, and grabbed his coat and scarf from the top of the washing machine. As he was shrugging on his coat, George came in with the cat in his arms.

“Hey, Bruiser,” Pete said, running his hand over Bruiser’s orange fur, feeling his purr thrum under his fingers.

“Want me to drive you?” George asked. He made an incongruous vision, holding his purring cat while his tousled hair and swollen lips made him look like a poster boy for “after a blow job.”

“Naw. I’ll walk.”

George and Bruiser accompanied him through the rec room to the back door.

“When do you go back?” Pete whispered, mindful of George’s sleeping family upstairs.

George whispered back, “Tomorrow. We’ve got physics midterms, and our study group is meeting on Sunday.”

“Okay.” Pete opened the door, bracing himself against the cold breeze. “See ya.”

“Yeah. You around for Christmas break?” George scratched the cat behind the ears, and Bruiser closed his eyes, purring even louder.

“Yep.”

“See you then, probably.”

“Yo. Later.”

Pete shut the door behind him and walked through George’s backyard, skirting around the scattered toys left by George’s younger sisters. Going back to school tomorrow rather than waiting another day sounded good to him, but he knew he should stay, for Mom’s sake. He sighed, a wave of bleakness running through him, crammed his hands in his pockets, and headed home.

A
S
THE
last strains of the Byrd piece faded, Aidan clapped his hands, beaming at the members of the octet. “Yes! We nailed it.”

“Very nice,” Soren said.

“I have nothing to add,” Aidan continued, “except make sure we sing just like that at the winter concert.”

The octet members slowly dispersed, and Pete was nearing the door of the band room when he felt a hand on his arm. Aidan gazed down at him.

“Got time for some coffee?”

“Uh, sure.”
I got time for a lot more than coffee, you sexy beast
. Pete chuckled at his cheesy thought.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” Pete responded as they walked down the hallway. “My mind is a funny place sometimes.”

“The mind is a bad neighborhood,” Aidan intoned. “You don’t want to go there alone.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to invite anyone else into my particular neighborhood.”

“Ah, I see. Pete Morgan, man of mystery.”

“Look who’s talking.” They emerged from Old Cabell Hall and strolled along the Colonnades.

“Me?” Aidan widened his green eyes until they were almost comically large. “I’m an open book!”