Bad Influence (8 page)

With a sigh, he gave in, stroking fast enough to move things along. Thumb across the head, catching the bump under with the crook of his index finger. Nothing fancy, just scratching the itch so he could get back to sleep. It felt good. But it used to feel amazing.

Like—

And he was barely seventeen again, that first time, dick sliding into Zeb, the unbelievable heat and pressure. It had felt so fucking good, so amazing to have his cock inside Zeb, everything inside Silver seemed to be hot and tight too. His brain shorted out, and his lame mouth said, “God, Zeb, I’m inside you.”

Watching Zeb, the way he licked lips all dark and wet from kissing, feeling the ripple and squeeze of those muscles, the prickle of hair on Zeb’s ass against Silver’s balls, it made him have to thrust. And though Zeb’s face screwed up in a grimace, he grabbed on to Silver’s ass and pulled him in deeper. Took him all the way inside.

Two more thrusts, and the look on Zeb’s face became one of surprise. He grunted, tipping his hips up farther. “Jordie, fuck me.”

And that had been it. Over in a flash, as quick and sudden as lightning, he was at the peak and hanging there so sweet and perfect he never wanted to come down. But he did, hips slamming against Zeb, dick pumping over and over as his balls emptied.

In Eli and Quinn’s shower, Silver bit his free hand to keep the groan inside as he jerked and shot against the wall, body shaking with the echoes of pleasure. Despite the fact that his first time topping wasn’t going to be winning him any adult movie award nominations, it had always been his favorite jerk-off session. It had gotten him through lots of bad times, first at camp, no matter how many times he had to pray to be delivered from unclean behavior—and those fuckers went through his trash for evidence of spunk-filled tissues—but even after, after the night when Zeb had treated Silver like he was a piece of DNA-soaked trash.

Silver stretched his jaw and pulled his hand free, glancing at the teeth marks in his hand. No scary infected blood, only dents.

He angled the showerhead to rinse his jizz off the tiles, then got a bleach wipe from under the sink and wiped down the wall. He was going to stagger off to his room, but then he thought about the tub. He knew—but it didn’t seem to matter what he knew or had had explained to him in one of those skin-crawling counseling sessions at the clinic.

He found the cleaner under the sink and sprinkled it over the tub.

When the door banged open later, Silver was scrubbing the toilet.

Quinn loomed over him. “What are you doing?” He rubbed his face.

Silver figured he probably ought to be more freaked out by the fact that he and Eli’s boyfriend were both naked in the bathroom at the same time, but he was more embarrassed by what he was doing.

“I’m cleaning.”

“At oh five forty?”

“I was awake.”

Quinn scrubbed at his jaw some more. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Yup.” Silver scrambled to his feet, glad to not be eye level with Quinn’s dick anymore. “I’ll just—” He shoved the brush into its stand. “Uh, have a good day.” He sprinted back to bed, jammed the earphones in and put a pillow over his head.

When Eli yanked off the pillow and pulled the buds out of Silver’s ears, it was bright in the room.

“I’m sleeping, Eli.” He had been. At least he thought so. It had been like he blinked and Eli was there.

“It’s almost eleven.”

“So?” Silver reached for the pillow.

Eli flung it out of reach. “So aren’t you late taking your pill?”

“Fuck.” Silver flung the sheet off and put his feet down. If he was back on Tyson Street, this wouldn’t have happened. He’d never have slept this long on that skinny mattress, never have been comfortable enough to jerk off in the shower.

I’m happy you’ve decided to begin the medication, but I want to make sure you understand the commitment, Silver. If you don’t follow the regimen, you’ll be creating serious problems for yourself in terms of managing the condition.

Silver had assured the counselor that he could handle eating a meal and taking a pill at the same time every day, even if he wasn’t going to take them up on the offer of housing where he’d have to put up with inspections and other kinds of intrusions. He’d been doing pretty good. The pill he’d puked up Sunday had been the first one he missed in the two months since he’d started.

Eli took the pillow with him as he went to his desk. “I kept some French toast warm in the oven, or you can nuke a waffle from the freezer.”

Silver bit back a comment about not needing a mother, since the evidence wasn’t on his side this morning. He stood up and stretched.

Eli dropped the pillow on the chair and headed for the door. “And you might want to put on some kind of pants. I don’t think there’s any furniture in the house we haven’t fucked on.”

After Eli’s breezy exit line, Silver snatched his pillow off the chair and grabbed his briefs.

Eli hadn’t gone as far as setting a place for Silver at the kitchen table, but as he carried his French toast and coffee in hand, Silver still approached it warily. No way would Eli be satisfied with Silver’s quick
I’m over it. Everything’s fine
explanation in the kitchen last night.

Silver lowered his plate to the table as quietly as if he were around someone nursing a hangover. Eli continued to flick through stuff on the tablet, a cup of coffee next to his elbow.

“Syrup?” Eli offered without looking up.

“Sure.”

“It’s in the fridge.” Eli flashed a grin like it was a brilliant joke.

“Thanks.” Silver rolled his eyes as he got up. But at least Eli wasn’t fixated on digging. It had been easier having him as a friend when Silver could just say he had someplace else to be and escape any inquisitions. “Cream?” he asked Eli, while he had the fridge open.

“No thanks. Had some already,” Eli purred. “Fresh and full of protein.”

“Yeah, whatever. Aren’t you the lucky bitch?”

Silver sank back into the chair and saturated his French toast with the syrup.

Eli put the tablet down. “If you want to get laid while you’re staying here, you can bring him back—”

“Not fucking likely.”

“I know it’s embarrassingly suburban.” Eli waved a hand then hid behind his coffee mug.

“No, I mean, I’m not likely to want to get laid while I’m here.” Or for the foreseeable future. “And I like the house, Eli. You’re lucky.”

That threw Eli off his stride. “Uh, thanks.” The mug hit the table with a thunk. “Quinn told me you were cleaning the bathroom this morning.”

Silver cut his French toast into pea-sized pieces and swirled trails through the syrup.

“You don’t have to do that.” Eli talked to the top of Silver’s head. “That kind of casual contact doesn’t spread—”

“I know. I got the pamphlet and got an A- in health class, so you can save the public service announcement. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Is that a side effect of the reverse transcriptase inhibitor?”

Silver couldn’t have rattled the information off so easily, even if it was his med. The doctor at the clinic had talked about NNRTIs and NARTIs and retrovirals. Silver had thought this pill sounded best because it was a combo and he only had to take it once a day. But he had read the warnings on the side. “Yeah.”

“Sorry. Did they give you anything for that?”

Silver shook his head. “I figured I was lucky to get this. It’s not like I have insurance, you know.”

“Me either. Though if Quinn and I got married…” Eli trailed off then hid behind his mug again.

Silver stabbed another piece of sticky bread. The Eli Silver had met in the shelter would mock the hell out of the Eli sitting across the table. “Got your gown picked out?”

“You know I love to dress for an occasion. Speaking of occasions, it’s time for a special one.”

“What?” Silver used his last piece of bread to mop up as much syrup from the plate as he could.

“The one where you tell me what the fuck was up last night with you and—” Eli’s lips pursed. He seemed to be having trouble coming up with one of his labels for Zeb.

“Saint Zebadiah?”

“Right. Him. Though I will say he’s rocking the whole bad-boy-Jesus look with the scruff.”

“Nothing.” Silver should have known he wouldn’t be able to escape the questions.

“Don’t nothing me.”

“What are you going to do?” Silver sneered. “Kick me out? Please?”

Eli tapped his chin in consideration.

For a second, there wasn’t enough air, that last chunk of sticky breakfast clinging to his throat. He resisted the urge to wipe his hands against his thighs. This was the problem with living soft. Too easy to get used to it again.

“Oh, I’ve got worse tortures in mind.” Eli narrowed his eyes. “I’ll send you bowling with Quinn.”

“Oh please. Anything but that.” Silver held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, did you really go all psycho on Zeb in the courthouse lobby for me?” It was kind of cool to think that Eli would, plus getting him to talk about himself would equal total derailment of his questions.

“Did he say that?” Eli got all indignant.

“Nah, Jamie told me. Only he said ‘cut-a-bitch crazy’.”

Eli huffed. “Well, all I knew was what you told me on the phone. And don’t think I couldn’t take him.”

Silver didn’t doubt it. He’d seen Eli in action once. He was small but fearless, and he went right for the nuts. Silver relied on a shove or a trip and the speed in his long legs.

“And don’t do that,” Eli said.

“What?”

“Distract me.”

Silver sighed. “What are you so hot to know for, anyway?”

“This may be Quinn’s house, but if there’s a reason that guy shouldn’t be hanging around you, I want to know it.”

“Fine.”

Eli eyed Silver with one brow arched in suspicion. “You could start with how we go from you freaking out and leaving your own birthday party—yes, I figured that part out—to get away from him and after one night in jail later everything is peachy-keen.”

“Did you really just say peachy-keen?” Silver doubled the raise on his own brows.

“Don’t change the subject again.”

“Someone’s been taking toppy lessons from Daddy.”

Eli didn’t bite. He stared and let the silence stretch between them.

Silver could have played that game too, folded his arms and waited, but Eli was better as an ally. The story would have to be edited. No way would Eli—at least not cut-a-bitch-crazy Eli—let Zeb hang around if the whole disaster came out.

“Zeb and I used to—”
God help me, Jordan. Do you know how much I love you?
“He’s an ex,” Silver finished, and leaned back to balance the chair on two legs.

“Yeah, I got that much. From when? Quinn said he’s been in Haiti for two years and just got back last summer.”

“I guess. I wouldn’t know. It was back when I was living at home.”

“That’s the way to work it.” Eli offered a fist bump Silver ignored. “I’m not the only one who goes for older men.”

“He’s still a lot younger than Quinn.” Which wasn’t the only difference.

“So, was hooking up with him how your parents found out?”

“Yeah.” Now was the time for the careful work in the editing room. “Before they knew, they actually liked me hanging out with him. Thought it was a bible study group.”

“But you were studying him in the biblical sense.” Eli chuckled at his own joke.

Silver checked frame by frame, looking for places to cut. Even after his parents had left New Hope for a different—less liberal, according to them—church, they’d been thrilled at all the interest Silver showed in staying with the old congregation instead of fighting them every Sunday. And when he’d announced he was doing a bible study group with one of the youth leaders, they’d praised Jesus up and down.

All Silver had to do was a quick Internet search for a couple of verses and interpretations and he could be out until 11:30 two nights a week. That had always been the worst part once they’d started making lo—fucking. Having to get out of bed and dress, a long good night kiss at the door before the drive home. Most of his friends wished they could find someone to bang regularly. Silver dreamed of a time when he could spend the night in his lover’s arms.

Silver examined his younger self with disgust. Poor pathetic sap. No wonder he’d been so fucked. He never should have opened his mouth. Shown Zeb’s picture to his best friend. Maybe then nothing would have happened. It had taken a whole lot of
if
s to get to the place where everything went to hell.

If Zeb hadn’t gotten a job filling in for a teacher on maternity leave over on the middle school side of the campus. If Marissa hadn’t wanted to go over to that spot in the woods to sneak a cigarette during lunch. If Zeb wasn’t such a good teacher that he had his seventh graders outside to do some practical geometry measuring shadows. And mostly if Marissa hadn’t said loud enough for the other two girls with them to hear, “Mary’s donkey balls, Jordan. Isn’t that your boyfriend?”

Marissa wouldn’t have deliberately screwed him over. But once it was out—