bottoms.
“Hey, bring your guitar!”
“Huh? It’ll wake up the house.”
Caesar waited at the door. “So play quietly!”
Jason grabbed the instrument from the closet and followed Caesar down the hall, which was even darker, but he could still see the strong lines of his neck, the jutting shoulder blades, the narrow waist. Caesar had a nice build. Not football player, by any means. He wasn’t a beefy guy, but he wasn’t skinny either. Somewhere in the middle, like Jason himself, except with real muscle.
When the door to Caesar’s room opened, light flooded the hallway. Jason noticed Caesar’s charcoal-colored boxers as he squinted against the brightness, but soon his attention turned to the room itself. He could see why Caesar considered his room to be bare, since this one was bursting with personality. A king-size bed sat in the middle, dark brown sheets and comforter in a rumpled tangle, but even its bulk didn’t monopolize the room’s space, which felt larger thanks to the vaulted ceilings. In one corner hung a yellow flag with a black two-headed eagle. Posters decorated the walls, a few of girls, some hip-hop themed, and one of Jimi Hendrix that likely had more to do with what he was smoking than his music. On the far side of the room was a loveseat stained by too much snacking, probably while playing the game console that sat on the floor in front of a widescreen television. Next to this, a door revealed bathroom mirrors beyond.
“Jesus!” Jason said, forgetting to whisper. “You’re really slumming it here, aren’t you? No wonder you keep coming to my room.”
“Yeah, it’s a complete dump,” Caesar said, standing by the door he had just closed. He wasn’t bothering to whisper either. “Like I said, you’re always welcome in here.”
Jason spun around once more, noticing the car magazines on the side table, the sideways pillow in bed that Caesar might have been cuddling with, and the clothes he’d worn that day piled together on the carpet. Jason’s instinct was to sit on the bed, since most people didn’t have a couch in their bedroom, but instead he just stood there holding his guitar.
“What’s with the flag?” Jason asked, nodding to the corner.
“Ah, that’s the flag of the Holy Roman Empire. You know… Caesar? Roman Empire? A gift from my father, or a reminder of what I’m supposed to inherit. Thing is, in Julius Caesar’s day, they didn’t carry flags. They used standards, like a golden eagle on top of a pole that would be carried into battle. Not to mention that the emperors of the Holy Roman Empire weren’t known as Caesars.”
Jason stared at him dumbfounded. “You’re really into history, huh?”
“Told you I study my ass off. And no, I’m not into history.” Caesar flopped onto the bed. Propped up on his elbows, his bare legs hung off the edge. Jason averted his eyes.
“I guess when you’re named something like that,” he said, “you pay more attention.”
“Which is probably why you like those horrible Friday the 13 th movies.”
Jason grinned. “Are you saying my mother named me after a murderer?”
“No. Hey…”
Jason was forced to look back. Caesar scooted further onto the bed, back against the headboard, and patted the space next to him. Jason, throat feeling tight, leaned his guitar against the wall. When he climbed onto the bed, he made sure there was distance between them.
“I was thinking about your mom,” Caesar said. “You were how old when it all happened?”
“Seven,” Jason answered.
“That’s almost nine years ago. A lot can change. Maybe she’s not with that guy anymore, you know? When’s the last time you had contact with her?”
Jason looked sidelong at him, sexual thoughts dissipating from his mind. Caesar’s eyes were wide with concern, maybe even hope. Jason struggled to understand why he would care, why it mattered if there was any chance of being reunited with his mother. He also found himself wanting to
“Hey, bring your guitar!”
“Huh? It’ll wake up the house.”
Caesar waited at the door. “So play quietly!”
Jason grabbed the instrument from the closet and followed Caesar down the hall, which was even darker, but he could still see the strong lines of his neck, the jutting shoulder blades, the narrow waist. Caesar had a nice build. Not football player, by any means. He wasn’t a beefy guy, but he wasn’t skinny either. Somewhere in the middle, like Jason himself, except with real muscle.
When the door to Caesar’s room opened, light flooded the hallway. Jason noticed Caesar’s charcoal-colored boxers as he squinted against the brightness, but soon his attention turned to the room itself. He could see why Caesar considered his room to be bare, since this one was bursting with personality. A king-size bed sat in the middle, dark brown sheets and comforter in a rumpled tangle, but even its bulk didn’t monopolize the room’s space, which felt larger thanks to the vaulted ceilings. In one corner hung a yellow flag with a black two-headed eagle. Posters decorated the walls, a few of girls, some hip-hop themed, and one of Jimi Hendrix that likely had more to do with what he was smoking than his music. On the far side of the room was a loveseat stained by too much snacking, probably while playing the game console that sat on the floor in front of a widescreen television. Next to this, a door revealed bathroom mirrors beyond.
“Jesus!” Jason said, forgetting to whisper. “You’re really slumming it here, aren’t you? No wonder you keep coming to my room.”
“Yeah, it’s a complete dump,” Caesar said, standing by the door he had just closed. He wasn’t bothering to whisper either. “Like I said, you’re always welcome in here.”
Jason spun around once more, noticing the car magazines on the side table, the sideways pillow in bed that Caesar might have been cuddling with, and the clothes he’d worn that day piled together on the carpet. Jason’s instinct was to sit on the bed, since most people didn’t have a couch in their bedroom, but instead he just stood there holding his guitar.
“What’s with the flag?” Jason asked, nodding to the corner.
“Ah, that’s the flag of the Holy Roman Empire. You know… Caesar? Roman Empire? A gift from my father, or a reminder of what I’m supposed to inherit. Thing is, in Julius Caesar’s day, they didn’t carry flags. They used standards, like a golden eagle on top of a pole that would be carried into battle. Not to mention that the emperors of the Holy Roman Empire weren’t known as Caesars.”
Jason stared at him dumbfounded. “You’re really into history, huh?”
“Told you I study my ass off. And no, I’m not into history.” Caesar flopped onto the bed. Propped up on his elbows, his bare legs hung off the edge. Jason averted his eyes.
“I guess when you’re named something like that,” he said, “you pay more attention.”
“Which is probably why you like those horrible Friday the 13 th movies.”
Jason grinned. “Are you saying my mother named me after a murderer?”
“No. Hey…”
Jason was forced to look back. Caesar scooted further onto the bed, back against the headboard, and patted the space next to him. Jason, throat feeling tight, leaned his guitar against the wall. When he climbed onto the bed, he made sure there was distance between them.
“I was thinking about your mom,” Caesar said. “You were how old when it all happened?”
“Seven,” Jason answered.
“That’s almost nine years ago. A lot can change. Maybe she’s not with that guy anymore, you know? When’s the last time you had contact with her?”
Jason looked sidelong at him, sexual thoughts dissipating from his mind. Caesar’s eyes were wide with concern, maybe even hope. Jason struggled to understand why he would care, why it mattered if there was any chance of being reunited with his mother. He also found himself wanting to
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