Hush (16 page)

“Stop. Fucking. Reading. Me.” Wren has to take a deep breath to modulate his voice. Nora is the last person he wants to be unkind to. She still won’t talk to him about why Matt broke up with her, or what happened, but instead insists that he stop coddling her.

“I’m
not
,” she yells back. “I know you. I
love
you. It’s plain as day even without your aura.”

“Fuck it, I don’t need this,” Wren opens the door with an angry flick of his wrist.

“No, come on, please,” Nora wraps a hand around his arm. “Don’t leave angry. I’ll come with.” He sighs and stares at the wall next to her head. “Wren, I promise I just want what’s best for you.”

“Nora, I just need you to drop this. I know you think I need ‘true love’ or some bullshit. But I don’t. That’s more dangerous than anything I’m doing tonight. Leave it alone.”

She just looks at him sadly. “Okay, come on,” she says finally, tugging at his arm. “Help me pick something out.”

Wren shuts the door quietly and nods. That uneasy stirring inside feels sharper and it takes more effort for him to tamp down his distress.

Wren dances with all
the
pent-up sex he’s been strap­ping down, losing himself in the steady, hard throbbing of bodies and heat and music. He opens himself and takes in the energy of the room. It’s a tangle of fear and desire, annoyance and anger. Wren wants it all. He wants something on the edge of insanity, wants to lose himself in it. He lets boys tug him by his straps into closer dancing that’s really more like grinding with intent.

Then there’s a boy—sensual and dark-eyed and tall, with strong hands that pull Wren in by the small of his back—who starts kiss­ing under Wren’s ear. When he feels the shaking exhala­tion Wren lets loose, he starts biting a little, pulling him further in, spanning his hips, and they’re both hard and together and surrounded by people on all sides. He kisses Wren with an open, wet mouth and for an intense moment, with that incredible flash of need inside, Wren thinks he can do it. But when he pulls back to whisper the words in this guy’s ear, he notices for the first time how similar he is to Cam, and how he’s replicating something he wants from someone else.

“
Fuck,
” Wren shouts to be heard. “I’m sorry.” He pulls away and tries to ignore the frustrated frown on the other guy’s face. “I can’t do this. Wrong reasons.” He hopes this will be explanation enough. Nameless boy gives him a resentful look and turns away. Wren fights his way through the throng of people with shaking legs and a pounding heart.

This is so fucked up. He is so
fucked
.

He exits the club; he’s sweating and shaking and, for some rea­son, irrationally angry. It’s a walk to his apartment, but he needs the dark, close air around him. The clouds completely obscure the stars. He feels anonymous but burning too bright.

I could fuck anyone I wanted
, he texts Cam before he thinks bet­ter of it. It’s a long time before he gets a response.

I suppose you could

Fuck this. What?
What’s that supposed to mean?

It means you made the rules. I don’t have to like all of them. Do you want me to say I don’t like it?

Wren takes a ragged breath. This conversation is straying dan­gerously into territory he’s been avoiding.

I have to go,
he responds, after a long minute of trying to talk himself down from a jittering high he can’t explain. His phone buzzes before he can pry it into the incredibly tight pocket of his uncomfortably tight jeans.

You can always come here. If you need something

I’m not your boyfriend Cam. Don’t treat me like one
. His fin­gers fly over the screen so fast he almost sends a message full of auto­correct typos.

I’m not stupid. I know what you want this to be. I meant sex Wren. If you need someone to fuck

Wren bites his lip. It’s so fucking tempting. He needs it, hard and fast and on his terms. And safe. God, Cam makes him feel so ridiculous and disjointed. Makes him do things he resists, or wants to resist.

Nate out?

Yes

Wren closes his eyes, takes ten deep breaths and tries to think clearly. But all he sees is Cam, and all he wants is Cam, and there is a restlessness in his body he knows won’t quiet.

I’ll be there in 15

“What—” Cam answers the door
to get a handful of Wren, sweat-damp, his hot searching lips already opening Cam’s with a desperate kiss. Wren kicks the door shut behind them and begins attacking Cam’s shirt, wrestling it off in seconds. “What’s gotten into you?” Cam gasps, and pulls away.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Wren says. He works his way down Cam’s neck and chest, biting his nipples until Cam is whining into his hair, where he’s buried his face. Wren smells so good—male and sweaty and like rain and grass.

“What the hell is this shirt?” Cam tries to get his hands inside it, but all the buckles on the outside seem to be binding Wren into it. “Why do your shirts always come with so much hardware?”

Wren smiles impishly and lies back on Cam’s bed. “Take my boots off,” he says. Cam kneels by the bed and works them off slowly. It takes him a minute of searching to figure out where to start. Wren’s outfit, difficult as it is to remove, is an incredible turn-on. He looks fierce and confident, sexy and untouchable. And only Cam gets to touch.

Assuming he can get any of this off.

“Ah!” he finally finds a zipper hidden under the row of buckles. Once Wren’s feet are free, Cam runs his hands up the insides of his legs and thighs, using his strength to pry Wren’s legs apart, even when Wren resists a little.

“Good luck with the pants,” Wren laughs. Cam crawls up on the bed and bites Wren’s lips, licks them and breathes against the moist heat of his mouth.

“I have confidence, after the shoes. However… shirt?”

Wren pushes lightly on his shoulders and runs a finger over one of the buckles. “You have to undo me,” he says. A small frown passes over his face when he says it, then flickers away.

Cam wants nothing more than to undo Wren. He works the straps loose slowly; they both seem to be past the frenzy of Wren’s entrance. He moves on to Wren’s belt, leaving the shirt open but still hanging from his shoulders. Their movements and the moments pass as if they’re suspended in molasses. Together they work Wren’s pants off, inch by inch. Just getting the pants past Wren’s cock is a challenge because it’s so hard and presses against his zipper in the constricted space. They both sigh in dif­ferent sorts of relief when it’s free and Cam noses it through Wren’s underwear, inhaling the the utterly male smell of him. He’s wanted this, wondered about it for a while, but wondering is nothing like having, not like the dizzying knowledge of how close he is to the reality of the fantasy.

He mouths over the cotton of Wren’s briefs until Wren pushes him away, squirming and laughing. “Get them off, then you can get me off,” he says.

They both push them down, and then Cam gently guides Wren out of his shirt. It clanks when it hits the floor and it occurs to Cam that he’s divested Wren of what amounted to a suit of armor.

“You now,” Wren commands.

“Can I…” Cam pauses, then traces his finger up the flushed red skin of Wren’s erection. “Blow you? First?”

“
Fuck
,” Wren groans. He covers his eyes with his hand. “Okay. For a bit,” he concedes.

Cam doesn’t want to start slow, even though he has no idea what the hell he’s doing. He takes Wren in in one movement, as deep as he can, choking himself a little in the process.

“Slow,” Wren tells him, and Cam feels Wren settling him, loos­ening the frenzy in his chest. Cam closes his eyes and pulls off by tiny increments. He takes a deep breath and kisses along the length with open-mouthed kisses and suckles at the tip. Wren is bitter on his tongue. Before very long Wren is pulling him up with impatient hands.

“No, no, too close,” Wren pants.

“Can you do what you do to me? Calm yourself down?” Cam asks. Wren shakes his head and pulls Cam even closer, kissing his lips and cheeks and pushing Cam’s pants down far enough so that their cocks can brush together.

“Hold on,” Cam says, laughing. He pushes his pants all the way off and covers Wren’s body with his. He props himself up on the bed with his elbows bracketing Wren’s head. Wren is so small under him, compact and lithe and so, so sexy. His eyes glitter, new-grass green.

“Come on.” Wren pushes his hips up, rolling his body against Cam’s.

“Wait, lube,” Cam says. He moves to pull away.

“No, like this,” Wren says. There’s a note of desperation in his voice. “I need to feel you. I want it rough.” Cam groans, buries his face into Wren’s sweet-smelling neck and then lets go, rubbing himself against Wren fast and hard. He takes Wren’s hands and laces their fingers together and presses them down into the bed. He swallows Wren’s whimpers, tastes his lips and tongue in slop­py kisses, listens with wonder as the tone of Wren’s noises sinks lower and lower until they’re both grunting. It’s something animal and wild, them humping each other so desperately until Wren arches up against him, bucking against Cam so forcefully he almost rolls off. He moans so long Cam can’t believe it, coming between their bodies. His come creates a wonderful slippery mess; Cam rubs himself through it, grateful for the slide. Wren wrests his hands free and grabs Cam by the ass, hitching him up and against his stomach.

“Look at me,” he growls and Cam feels the punch of pleasure Wren gives him, sending his orgasm through him like seismic shocks until he’s sure he’s coming out of his skin with it.

“
Fuck, fuck, fuck
,” he cries out. Later he’ll know there is no way his hallmates didn’t hear them. Perversely, he’s kind of proud.

“Holy hell,” Wren pants, weakly pushing Cam off of him.

“What you said.” Cam stares dizzily up at his ceiling. He wants to tell Wren how incredible this is; vaguely he wonders, as he has before, what it would be like to come with Wren without being pushed.

At some point—he has no idea when or who does it—their hands are clasped tightly between their bodies. Once he’s aware of it, he’s careful not to move or draw attention to it. Energy circulates between them.

They’re both almost dozing off, filthy and naked and sweaty, when the trill of Cam’s phone jolts them. It’s Peyton’s ring tone, and he answers automatically, reaching over Wren’s prone body to get it.

“Pey, it’s one in the morning,” he says in lieu of greeting.

“What can I say, I was feeling the love,” she responds. Wren gives Cam a strange look. He pulls his hand away with a jerk and starts to sit up.

“No,” Cam says, putting his hand on Wren’s stomach.

“No, you’re not feeling it?” Peyton says. Cam shakes his head and swallows.

“Sorry, no, I’m distracted. Where are you? Can I call you back at this number?”

“Ohhh, Cameron has someone thee-re,” Peyton sing-songs.

“Shut up,” Cam’s face is flushing.

“Say no more. Call me later. Enjoy yourself,” she says with a laugh.

“You didn’t have to get off the phone for me,” Wren pushes Cam’s hand off of him and grabs some tissues.

“Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have answered, but I never know when Peyton will call next,” Cam shrugs and takes the handful of tissues Wren hands him. Wren cleans himself without looking at Cam and starts to swing his legs out of the bed.

“Don’t go yet,” Cam says quietly. He risks a hand on Wren’s shoulder.

“What, you think you’ll be up for a round two?” Wren says over his shoulder. He looks back with a coquettish expression. His eye­liner is smudged and his cheeks are still a frenzied red. Cam wants to say,
It’s not just sex
and
Hold my hand, please
. But that’s not what Wren wants to hear and Cam wants to keep him close any way he can.

“I’m beat. But maybe if we take a break…” he leaves off sug­gestively. Wren takes a deep breath and then carefully lies back.

“Won’t Nate be back?” he asks.

“Good point,” Cam picks his phone back up.

“What are you doing?” Wren turns onto his side, fluffing Cam’s pillow under his head.

“For the first time in two years, I am soxiling him,” Cam says with a laugh. “I’ve never gotten to. Oh the power,” he jokes. Wren smiles and it’s the first one Cam’s seen that looks true and easy.

“Help me find a good picture,” Cam puts his head close to Wren’s on the pillow and holds the phone up for both of them to look at.

“Of what?” Wren tilts his head to see.

“Socks,” Cam says.

“What the hell, socks?”

“You know how people used to do the sock over the door thing as a signal?” Cam asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Wren says.

“So Nate thought it was hilarious, but wasn’t going to do it. So he started texting me the word ‘socks,’ and eventually we started calling it ‘soxiling.’ Or ‘Sock Saturday,’ because that’s usually when I get booted. Then he started sending me pictures of funny socks.”

“Hey, I have a question.” Wren half sits and looks at Cam seri­ously. “Have you, like, come out to anyone?”

“Well, they set me up with Jason, so yeah. I mean,” Cam shrugs, “I didn’t come out and say the words.”

“Hmm.” Wren lies back down. Cam is searching for the right pair of socks when Wren stops him. “Those.”

“Rainbow socks?”

“Make it official,” Wren says.

“What, should I add ‘Hey I’m gay’ or something?” Cam jokes, copying the picture and dropping it into a text.

“If you want to. I don’t know. I… when I finally came out, there was a lot of power in saying the words. It was…” Wren squints as if he’s struggling to find the words. “Really affirming and liberating.”

“Hmm.” Cam lowers his phone for a minute and thinks.

“I probably shouldn’t assume anything,” Wren rushes to add. “I mean that you’re gay or bi or anything.”

“I think I’d say I’m gay,” Cam says. He looks over at Wren seri­ously, examines the light flecks of gold in his eyes. “I haven’t said anything to Peyton. Or my parents.”

“Who
is
Peyton, anyway?” Wren asks.

“My twin sister,” Cam says. Wren’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Twin?”

“Yep,” Cam says.

“Do you think she—they—will have a problem with it?”

Cam thinks for a moment. “Not Peyton. Knowing her, she already knows. She’s always been better at figuring me out than I have.” Wren snorts softly and Cam shoots him a questioning look. Wren just gestures for Cam to continue.

“I’m not… I don’t know, when I was figuring this all out, I wasn’t ashamed or afraid or necessarily worried about if I was gay. Am. It feels… right. My parents, though…”

“Are they conservative?” Wren asks.

“Well, we’re from nowhere Nebraska. I really have no idea how they’ll react, but I doubt it will be pleasant.” Cam bites his lip and takes a deep breath, pushing that away. He’s got Wren in his bed, talking and open-limbed and easy and he wants to capture it, stretch the moment as long as he can before Wren backs off. He tilts the phone back so Wren can see and types,
You’ve been soxiled. Oh and by the way, I’m gay.
This makes Wren laugh, and Cam laughs too. It does feel a little liberating; not because Nate doesn’t know, but because he’s not yet said the words to anyone, and it feels a little like coming home. Like rooting inside him­self in a space he’s never seen before.

He puts his phone back down on the nightstand and settles against Wren on the bed. “What about you?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“What about me?” Wren says, yawning widely.

“Your family. How did they react?”

Wren stiffens slightly and there’s a long pause, and Cam can tell that he’s somehow overstepped or drawn attention to the comfortable moment they’ve just shared.

“You know,” Wren says, rolling up and leaning over Cam, trail­ing his fingers down Cam’s chest, “I think we’ve done enough talking for the night.” He starts to kiss slowly over Cam’s pecs. Cam swallows the pang of disappointment and puts his hand gently on Wren’s head, feeling the thick mess of his hair through his fingers.

“Well—” he starts to say, and then Wren exhales and kisses his navel and floods Cam with a desire so thick he’s shocked into stillness and oversaturated in sensation. “Fuck,” he says softly as the sliver of disappointment melts away. Helplessly, he arches into Wren’s touch, begging for more.

* * *

“So, a little bird told
me
that Nate got an interesting text,” Maggie says over the rim of her coffee mug.

“Was the little bird actually a big-ass bird
named
Nate?” Cam shoots back.

“I cannot reveal my sources,” Maggie intones, and smiles. She sets her coffee down with a grimace after a quick sip. “Why did we pick this place?”

“I’m trying new things,” Cam says.

“Apparently,” Maggie says. There’s a trace of sarcasm in her voice. Or something like that.

Cam frowns while he tries to figure it out. “Are you upset about it?”

“Well the coffee is terrible, but the view is nice.” Maggie gazes out the window; this café does have a lovely view. He’s passed it countless times but only took notice recently. On a run the other afternoon, he took the time to really look at things he’s passed sightlessly for months, bringing all the colors and shapes into sharp, clear relief where they used to be watercolor-blurry.

“I meant the text,” Cam says patiently.

“Maybe?” Maggie shrugs.

“Maggie,” he says, taking her hand gently, “It’s nothing you guys didn’t know. It was mostly a joke.” He thinks back to the moment he’d sent the text. “Well, and…”

“And?” Maggie prompts. She’s crumbling her biscotti absently and watch­ing him intently. Cam thinks of Wren’s advice, of feel­ing liberated. Of himself and years closed and empty and dis­connected.

“Maggie, I’m gay,” he finally says, his eyes steady on hers. He’s shocked when they fill with tears. “No, no, don’t cry, I’m sorry—”

“No,” she says fiercely and shakes her head. Her fingers grip his like a vise. “Don’t say sorry. I’m proud of you. That’s all.”

“Maggie,” he says helplessly.

“I really love you, you know?” Maggie manages to say. One tear spills over and he catches it with his fingertip. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but I’m… I’m so happy to see you like this.
You
.”

Cam takes a breath and looks out the window. The sun is com­ing and going behind scattered clouds. Rays of light touch the pave­ment and buildings dramatically. Everything moves as it should.