100 Days (9 page)

“I’d offer you a cigarette, but I think we both know how that’d turn out,” Jake says, leaning out of the open driver’s side door. “You okay?”

“He’s just so fucking oblivious, acting like we’re best friends,” Aiden says. “Ugh. I just… I need to get laid.”

“Well, yeah,” Jake says, climbing out of the cab and lighting a cigarette of his own. He draws on it slowly, looking at Aiden, and asks, “So why don’t you? You could get anyone.”

“Can we not have this conversation again?”

“You brought it up. Ade, I’m serious, you don’t know what you’re missing. And I’ve seen the way you look at—” Jake stops, cutting himself short, and looks away as he takes another drag.

Oh, if only you’d just finish that sentence,
Aiden thinks.

“I’ve seen the way you look at some people,” Jake goes on. “Is this some sort of internalized homophobia thing? Are you ashamed, is that it?”

“No, I’m not ashamed. I’m out and proud, you know that.”

“Well, sure, but it’s not like you ever act on it. You’re not a robot. I mean, everyone has needs. And if
Philadelphia
taught us anything, it’s that life’s too fucking short.”

“Yeah, well, ‘needs’ are what got you kicked out of that bar when we were here the last time,” Aiden says, and Jake’s eyes narrow dangerously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that; you know I wouldn’t ever judge you for…”

“For getting around.”

“Jake, I’m just… look, sex complicates
everything.
Okay? I’ve seen it. I’ve
lived
it,” Aiden says, the old guilt coming back to haunt him with a vengeance, and dammit, he thought he’d put all this shit behind him once and for all. “Sex is the reason my entire family was ripped apart, and I don’t—it was my fault, okay? It was
all
my fault, because if I hadn’t come out when I did then it all would have been fine, and I can’t—”

“Aiden, hey—Ade, look at me,” Jake cuts him off. He drops his cigarette and cups Aiden’s face with both hands, gently but firmly forcing Aiden to meet his eyes.
“None
of what happened between your parents—no, let me fucking finish. None of it was your fault, you
have
to know that.”

Aiden leans into the touch for a moment and attempts a smile, but says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Jake says quietly. “Aiden, I’m sorry. Look… okay, this is what we’re gonna do. We’re going to head back into the city, find the first bar we can and get absolutely wasted.”

“Since when did that ever solve anything?” Aiden grumbles, though the argument is weak—a night outside his head actually sounds pretty good. He sighs and covers Jake’s hands with his own—he doesn’t want to lose the comforting touch just yet. “Okay. Okay, let’s do it. What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

“Ugh. I can’t believe
I had to get all dressed up in the parking lot of a fucking Misery-Mart,” Jake gripes.

They’re standing outside the famous Woody’s Bar, surrounded by students edging gradually closer to the front of the line, and they’re close enough to hear frenetic music pounding from inside. Aiden sweeps appraising eyes over Jake’s outfit: slim-fit black dress slacks belted just above the hip and a deep purple shirt, sleeves rolled at the elbow, paired with a scooped-out black vest. The only accessories he wears are his Saint Christopher, which makes Aiden smile, and his black leather cuff.

“For what it’s worth, you look great,” he says into Jake’s ear, his voice low.
You look gorgeous, fantastic, breathtaking.
“Me, on the other hand…”

“Please, you look hot,” Jake says, waving him off. Aiden’s gone casual in his favorite pair of dark-wash jeans—which, he has to admit, do make his ass look fantastic—a sky blue shirt printed with tiny white anchors and a skinny white tie to finish it off.

I’m not here to pick up guys anyway,
he reminds himself.
I’m here to dance, to loosen up, to breathe.

When they reach the front of the line, they pay their ten-dollar cover and head inside. The music is loud, bass thrumming immediately in Aiden’s chest, and he drums his fingers on the bar as they wait for service.

He loses Jake to the crowd after four drinks and about half an hour of close-but-not-too-close dancing. Even though he spends a couple songs here and there dancing with a few attractive but ultimately uninteresting strangers, he’s fine with being on his own. And the longer the evening wears on, the more relaxed and pliant he feels. Jake was right: This is exactly what he needed.

Arms raised up over his head as he sways his hips amongst the crush of bodies in front of the giant, lit-up equalizer on the wall, Aiden grins when the crowd cheers at the next song and the atmosphere changes almost immediately. The crowd seems to slow down and speed up at the same time, couples moving against one another while the others look around to find partners and bounce along with the unrelentingly fast pace. With its pounding beat and dirty bass line, this is a song made for grinding.

Aiden isn’t surprised when he feels a warm body pressing into his back and fingertips dragging down the length of his raised arms. He revels in the contact, leaning into the touch and chasing the fingers for more. Bodies are packed tight around him, the beat pulsing through them, and he feels as if all of them are here simply to bear witness. He can’t hear the moan he lets out when he feels a mouth sucking and nipping at his neck but he
feels
it, rumbling up from deep in his chest and vibrating through his entire body. The stranger is pressed against him from head to toe and Aiden grinds back in time with the beat. Arms wind tightly around him—the right all the way around his middle and the left tight against his chest—and he reaches back to bury his hands in the stranger’s soft, thick hair, pulling him closer because the way he’s worshiping Aiden’s neck with his mouth is filthy-addictive.

Aiden opens his eyes and glances down at the stranger’s hands as they begin to loosen his tie and work open the top buttons of his shirt, and just for a moment, he freezes. The song blends seamlessly into a quieter, more intimate-sounding one, and the lights come up only to drop straight back down. In the sudden flash, Aiden catches the most fleeting glance of a black leather cuff wrapped around the stranger’s pale wrist, the sleeve of a purple shirt rolled to the elbow.

“Ade, dance with me. Come on,” Jake says.

The words cut straight through the beer haze fogging Aiden’s mind. He lets out another moan as Jake traces the shell of his ear with his tongue and nips at the lobe, and he can’t help melting back into Jake’s body. “Been watching you all night; everyone has. You’re so fucking hot…”

Jake wraps himself around Aiden, seemingly oblivious to everything but the feeling of Aiden’s body against his own. He nudges Aiden’s thighs apart, taking most of his weight and swaying them from side to side in time with the sudden, insane beat of the chorus.

“I want you so fucking much; you don’t even know. God, they’ve all been watching you and
wanting
you, but you’re mine…”

Eyes closed, biting his lips, Aiden grinds down on Jake’s thigh and tightens his grip on Jake’s hair to keep him right where he is, keep him doing exactly this because this is… this is…

It isn’t enough. Maybe there will
never
be enough. But there is only one way to tell, and Jake has moved from his ear down to his neck, still muttering words into his skin that Aiden can no longer hear, only feel the shapes of. Jake is hard against him, moaning into the hollow of his neck with hot breath that smells like whisky. And it really, really
isn’t
enough—Aiden
wants,
feels buoyed with the confidence to not only demand but to take and to have and to keep it all locked inside some warm and secret place.

Already aching with need and anticipation, he turns around and looks deep into Jake’s eyes, thumbing over Jake’s cheekbone and then taking him by the hand.

Getting back to the RV where it’s parked just up the street is a blur of shivers in the considerably cooler night air, rushed footsteps and Jake’s arm around his waist, teeth nipping at his earlobe every so often. It takes almost everything he has to keep from pushing Jake down an alley and having his way, right there where anybody could see.

When Jake finally steps into his space in the privacy of the RV’s bedroom, his stare deep and searching, Aiden says nothing. He doesn’t even blink, just yanks his tie over his head and goes to work on the buttons of his shirt. Jake follows the motion with blown pupils and a flick of the tongue that makes him look ravenous. He hooks two fingers into the waistband of Aiden’s jeans and pulls him through the mile-sized inches left between them, replacing Aiden’s fumbling hands with his own, strong and sure; and this is what bridges the final gap in Aiden’s synapses. He’s wanted, and it’s Jake who wants him—a weight finally lifts from his shoulders, and he lets himself fall back onto the bed.

Jake follows in the next heartbeat and briefly hovers over Aiden, breathing hard as he pushes the shirt from Aiden’s shoulders, and for a single, suspended moment he just stares at Aiden’s parted lips. Then he leans down, down, past Aiden’s mouth, and sucks hard on his neck.

Seconds pass that feel slower than honey, and the ringing in Aiden’s ears still holds remnants of the bass they danced and touched to, lost themselves in. In one moment, Jake is all he can feel, all around him, and in the next no warm, firm body pins him; instead, hands divest him of his jeans and underwear in one quick sweep and toss them over the side of the bed.

Jake drops heavily to his knees and slides his arms under Aiden’s thighs, so his thumbs press into his hipbones as he yanks him to the edge of the bed. Aiden could swear he feels the slightest stutter in Jake’s pulse against his skin just before Jake licks up the underside of his cock and sinks his mouth over the head with his eyes locked on Aiden’s.

“God, your
mouth,”
Aiden breathes, descending into a moan at Jake’s ensuing dark chuckle followed by the quick raking sound of a zipper. Wet heat surrounds him and it is all Aiden can do to hold back from tumbling and disappearing inside the sensation, nothing about it measured or patient but more like the inevitable boil of a gradually heating pot. It’s too much, and he can feel the movement of Jake’s arm against his leg as he jerks himself off in tandem with working Aiden over as if he’s made for it. The thought drives Aiden insane, further into the fuzzy, tingling warmth he feels at the base of his spine.

Aiden pulls at Jake’s hair when he feels himself getting close, tugs harder and harder to let him know, because he can’t speak, can’t say his name. He can’t let those four letters slip from his mouth because then this would become some­thing real, something that in his inebriated state he is so much less than equipped to deal with. Jake shakes his head slightly, humming around him, his finger­nails dig­ging painfully into the back of Aiden’s hip, and Aiden jolts upward with a cut-off groan. He throws an arm across his eyes and presses, presses until yellow blossoms behind his eyelids like oil on water and he comes harder than he ever has in his life, crying out and digging his fingers into the unyielding mattress. Jake takes it all, working him through it with his own muffled moan of arrival until he finally pulls off with a lewd pop and drops his forehead to rest on the inside of Aiden’s thigh, his warm breath fanning over the skin there.

“Fuck,” is all Aiden can manage as Jake stands, already tucking himself back into his boxer briefs but leaving his pants undone. His lips are the color of a kiss they haven’t shared. Aiden sits up and forward, hooks his fingers beneath Jake’s vest and pulls limply. “Come here.”

“Aiden, I—”

“Just come here.”

Tentatively, without meeting Aiden’s eyes, Jake climbs onto the bed and they crawl up the length of it together to lie down. Jake presses his damp forehead against Aiden’s neck, brushes a single kiss against his collarbone, and shakily exhales.

They are utterly silent, and all it takes is a few minutes for Jake to fall asleep. Aiden isn’t as lucky. He stares up at the ceiling until the edges of his vision blur. Eventually he switches off the bedside lamp, wondering if he’ll find answers swathed in the darkness.

He doesn’t.

1,410 miles

Day Eighteen: Delaware

Jake surfaces slowly.

At first he feels the body-warmed cotton beneath his fingers; then skin, smooth and heated. Then comes an awareness of deep satiation, the unfet­tered relaxation pooled inside every muscle and the quiet need to stretch, all chased by the smacking of lips, the taste of stale alcohol and—fries, maybe? He slowly opens his eyes, searching out daylight between the slats of the blinds, but it’s still almost dark. Turning, he takes in the sight of Aiden beneath the covers, his blue shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned. He looks more relaxed than Jake has seen him in a long while, and though things between them are still a little strained and he didn’t exactly intend for them to bed-share again so soon, he can’t help but smile.

Slowly, so as not to disturb Aiden, Jake stretches himself out of bed and retrieves a T-shirt, a soft hoodie and his comfiest pair of sweatpants from the closet at the end of the bed. He leaves the small bedroom, slides the door closed behind him and goes about his usual morning routine, skipping the shower because breakfast is far more important.
Pancakes. Oh my god, pancakes.

He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, sipping from a steaming mug of French roast and watching the sunrise break through cloud after cloud when he realizes,
Shit. We’re still in the city. On a Thursday morning.
He doesn’t par­ticularly want to get caught in the morning rush hour, all infuriating start-and-stop until they hit the highway.
What time did we get back?
Jake can’t remember anything after catching glimpses through the crowd of Aiden dancing in front of the equalizer, but he knows they must have gotten back late, and it’s barely a quarter after seven.

Deciding to let Aiden sleep, Jake finishes his coffee and plucks the keys from the hook under the kitchen cabinets. Soon enough, he’s on the road again.