tonight. Tonight, he was going to his room and reading The Great Gatsby and answering all sorts of questions about it so he could get a start on getting credits in eleventh grade English. Tonight, he was going to pretend this whole thing didn’t rip his heart out, because in his head, he knew Joe was right and that he couldn’t possibly trust the guy if Joe took him up on his crush. Tonight, he was going to remember what it was like to be a kid and sit at the kids’ table, oh yes he was. He could do it. He’d survived two months on the streets, dammit, and this wasn’t any different.
He fell asleep on his bed, thinking that Tom Buchanan was a royal douche bag and Daisy Buchanan wasn’t much better, and woke up to a quiet house. Two people were passing his bedroom door from Joe’s room.
“You sure you’ve got to go?” Joe was asking plaintively, and the low, sexy laugh on the other side of Casey’s door was obviously Sharon.
“It was wonderful, sweetheart.” Her murmur was a lot like Daisy Buchanan’s, and Casey was too tired to kick himself for being an ass. “I want to do it again soon. But I don’t think Casey will be too happy if I’m here in the morning.”
“Casey?”
“Yeah—he just got you in his life, baby. Now’s not the time to spring someone else on him. Give it some time. If we last at all, we can do sleepovers then, okay?”
There was a quiet, muffled sound, and Casey wanted to kick something. Damn her. Damn her, for being kind and reasonable. Because Joe wouldn’t be with someone else, would he? Damn, damn, damn, damn…. Finally, the kiss broke off, and Sharon’s next words were breathless.
“I gotta go, okay? I need to catch some sleep before my next shift.” And with that, Joe walked her to the door. Casey heard him go back to his own room, and lay there in the dark, tormenting himself with horrible images of the two of them together. Had she gone down on him? Did she get to see him naked? Did she get to touch his skin? God…. Casey had done enough with girls—and just enough with Dillon—to have had a taste of that. He’d had enough done to him to know where that taste had been leading, if he’d been allowed to taste. Well, he wanted to taste, and now he wanted to taste Joe. He needed to taste Joe. It was imperative .
And that was what drove him out of his bed that night. Joe never locked his side of the bathroom door—why should he? Casey’s worry in the last two weeks had all been about Joe coming over to see him . But now that Casey knew what he wanted, he figured all he had to do was reach for it. That was what people had done to him, wasn’t it? C’mere, boy, let me have you. C’mere, boy, suck my cock. C’mere, bend over. I want your ass. Wasn’t that the way it worked? Well, now maybe Casey could have him some of that.
Joe’s room was almost as spartan as Casey’s. It had a dresser with a mirror on it, and a small bookshelf, and a couple of framed prints by some guy named Steve Hanks that Casey thought were damned sentimental, but other than that, its main feature was the king-size bed in the center, with the big man sprawled out toward the middle. Joe didn’t move when Casey padded into his room. He just lay there on his side, his head pillowed on his arms and his hair spread out around his shoulders like some sort of bloodsucking wild animal. (Casey loved Joe’s hair, he was just always surprised by the sheer volume.) Casey, being a dumbass, didn’t even bother to strip off his pants. He just slid under the sheets on his side of the bed, ignoring the smell of sex and the damp spots.
Like a rabbit burrowing into warmth, he scooted over to where Joe was sleeping, and wrapped his arms around Joe’s waist, pressing the length of his young, slender body up against Joe’s back.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up being kicked out of bed, but the thump of his ass hitting the floor shook the little house.
Joe was sitting up in bed, scowling at
He fell asleep on his bed, thinking that Tom Buchanan was a royal douche bag and Daisy Buchanan wasn’t much better, and woke up to a quiet house. Two people were passing his bedroom door from Joe’s room.
“You sure you’ve got to go?” Joe was asking plaintively, and the low, sexy laugh on the other side of Casey’s door was obviously Sharon.
“It was wonderful, sweetheart.” Her murmur was a lot like Daisy Buchanan’s, and Casey was too tired to kick himself for being an ass. “I want to do it again soon. But I don’t think Casey will be too happy if I’m here in the morning.”
“Casey?”
“Yeah—he just got you in his life, baby. Now’s not the time to spring someone else on him. Give it some time. If we last at all, we can do sleepovers then, okay?”
There was a quiet, muffled sound, and Casey wanted to kick something. Damn her. Damn her, for being kind and reasonable. Because Joe wouldn’t be with someone else, would he? Damn, damn, damn, damn…. Finally, the kiss broke off, and Sharon’s next words were breathless.
“I gotta go, okay? I need to catch some sleep before my next shift.” And with that, Joe walked her to the door. Casey heard him go back to his own room, and lay there in the dark, tormenting himself with horrible images of the two of them together. Had she gone down on him? Did she get to see him naked? Did she get to touch his skin? God…. Casey had done enough with girls—and just enough with Dillon—to have had a taste of that. He’d had enough done to him to know where that taste had been leading, if he’d been allowed to taste. Well, he wanted to taste, and now he wanted to taste Joe. He needed to taste Joe. It was imperative .
And that was what drove him out of his bed that night. Joe never locked his side of the bathroom door—why should he? Casey’s worry in the last two weeks had all been about Joe coming over to see him . But now that Casey knew what he wanted, he figured all he had to do was reach for it. That was what people had done to him, wasn’t it? C’mere, boy, let me have you. C’mere, boy, suck my cock. C’mere, bend over. I want your ass. Wasn’t that the way it worked? Well, now maybe Casey could have him some of that.
Joe’s room was almost as spartan as Casey’s. It had a dresser with a mirror on it, and a small bookshelf, and a couple of framed prints by some guy named Steve Hanks that Casey thought were damned sentimental, but other than that, its main feature was the king-size bed in the center, with the big man sprawled out toward the middle. Joe didn’t move when Casey padded into his room. He just lay there on his side, his head pillowed on his arms and his hair spread out around his shoulders like some sort of bloodsucking wild animal. (Casey loved Joe’s hair, he was just always surprised by the sheer volume.) Casey, being a dumbass, didn’t even bother to strip off his pants. He just slid under the sheets on his side of the bed, ignoring the smell of sex and the damp spots.
Like a rabbit burrowing into warmth, he scooted over to where Joe was sleeping, and wrapped his arms around Joe’s waist, pressing the length of his young, slender body up against Joe’s back.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up being kicked out of bed, but the thump of his ass hitting the floor shook the little house.
Joe was sitting up in bed, scowling at
Similar Books
