Eric pressed himself against me, a long hot line of sweat and flesh. There was a roll of his hips against mine and I said, “Wow.” He laughed.
The song changed and I felt lips against my neck, a quick flick of a tongue.
Later, I was in a bathroom stall. Eric was on his knees. My dick was in his mouth, my head back against warm ceramic tile that shook with the beat of the music. My fingers were in his hair and everything was hot and wet. I grunted a warning and he backed away, jacking me until I came on the dirty floor. He stood up and kissed me while he jerked himself off. He sighed into my mouth. He tasted like stale beer and mint. He came on his hand. I felt raw.
“Thanks,” he said, zipping up his pants. “That was great.”
“Sure,” I said, because I was unsure of what else to say. “You too.”
And then he left.
I stood in the bathroom for a while, but it smelled of piss and my head hurt.
I couldn’t find Carter and I tried to find that thread, that thing inside that said BondPackBrother, but I was overwhelmed by everything and so I said, “Carter, Carter, Carter,” and for a moment nothing happened. And then he was in front of me, eyes narrowed, hands on my arms, looking me up and down, trying to find where I’d been injured.
His nostrils flared and he said, “Was it consensual?” and I blushed and looked away.
It took a moment, but I nodded.
His arm went around my shoulder and he chuckled near my ear, his forehead pressed against my hair. “You dog,” he said.
“Says the werewolf.”
He growled near my ear. “Was it good?”
“Shut up.”
“Was it awesome?”
“Shut up, Carter.”
“Did you swoon?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Look at you,” he said. “Getting blowies in public. My little Ox is all grown up.”
“Bigger than you,” I muttered, and he just laughed and laughed.
He pulled me away. It wasn’t until we got out onto the street that I saw the lipstick smeared across his lips. Across his neck. I told him he was a whore. He snarled, and I ran. He chased me, orange eyes flashing happily. He pretended to let me win.
We slept in the same bed, curled around each other because we were pack, and I knew he missed home.
I showered for a very long time before I left the next morning.
When I got back, Joe asked, “Have fun?”
And I said, “Sure, Joe,” but it felt like a lie.
NICK HAPPENED a year later. He came in to Gordo’s all dusty from the road. The clutch on his bike had blown out a few miles outside of Green Creek. He stayed for a week. I fucked him on the last three days he was in town. He left and I never saw him again.
Joe was fourteen and he didn’t talk to me for three weeks after that. Said he was busy. Finals were coming up and he had to study.
“Sure,” I said, trying not to worry at the strain in his voice. “You okay?”
“Yeah, Ox.” He sighed into the phone. “I’m okay.”
I almost believed him.