Off Campus (28 page)

Reese's eyes lit, catching flashes of light from the dance floor as he surged in close, grinding up against Tom and kissing him so hard his lips hurt. Tom held still under Reese's hands and hips and rocked his own hard dick against the answering bulge in Reese's jeans.

“Want you to suck me.” He didn't care that he was shouting over the music.

“Mm-hmm. But not here, cowboy.” The scrape of teeth on his neck made him shiver.

“Home.”

Reese's shoulders shook as he licked a stripe up the side of Tom's neck. “Not while my dad's down the hall.”

“Tomorrow. Wanna suck you too.”

“Tomorrow you're gonna want to die and you won't even remember this conversation.”

“Will.” Because it felt like he could prove it with his dick, he pushed his hips forward again. When Reese let one of his wrists go to wrap a hand around Tom's dick, he held his own wrist in a tight grip so he didn't reach for Reese. Instead, he let Reese tease him and torture him and drag him back on the dance floor to rub up against him until Tom was sure he was going to end up coming in his pants anyway, long before they made it home.

Reese was right about one thing, though. Tom didn't forget a word of their conversation, but it was almost forty-eight hours before he wasn't wishing for death and could deliver that blowjob while Mr. Anders was at work. The porcelain of the old claw-foot tub was hard on his knees and there was barely enough room for the two of them, the shower curtain smacking him in the face and threatening to suffocate him. He braced a hand under Reese's ass and one against the wall, careful in the slippery tub that Reese didn't lose his balance, and sucked him down until he gagged, forcing more than he could handle. He might be the one with his mouth open, but
Reese
was the open well down which Tom poured all of his confusion and gratitude and all the other crazy emotions that pushed and pulled him through each day.

Four more days after that they headed back to school. Four days of food and laughter and Mr. Anders ruffling his hair when he passed. Of walking all over Boston, not hand-in-hand at all times but giving Reese a squeeze to say thank you or pressing a kiss to his cheek and acting as if he didn't care if anyone saw them, because he was almost positive they wouldn't or that it wouldn't matter if they did.

But those weren't quite the same thing, and four days wasn't forever.

Chapter Fifteen

Back on campus for the start of the spring semester, Reese silently gave up arguing about whether Tom had fulfilled his end of the bargain and made an appointment at the Health Center with a therapist.

Tom kept running in the early mornings, just in case. When the ground on the trail was clear of snow and ice, he ran outside. If not, he suffered through the mind-numbing boredom of the treadmill, trying to hit the gym at hours when he wouldn't run into anyone. He'd talked to Coach and was back on a conditioning program, although it was clear to both of them he'd be working with the team as a trainer rather than competing. Indoor Track and Field season had already started, but by the time the outdoor season began in the spring Tom wouldn't embarrass himself.

So he kept running. For himself, and for the promise he'd made.

If Tom thought Reese had been cranky at the
idea
of getting professional help, that was nothing compared to how hard he bitched after every therapy appointment.

Tom was not helping matters. As soon as they hit campus, Tom curled up like a dry, dead leaf, all the life sucked out of him by the five thousand pairs of eyes he felt following him every time he left Perkins House. The first time Reese grabbed his hand as they left Perkins to head onto campus for class, Tom flinched and pulled away. He couldn't explain it when Reese demanded to know what had changed overnight. Or rather, he
didn't
explain it. Because he knew perfectly well what had changed.

Reese didn't speak to him for the rest of that day.

Being out in Reese's neighborhood in Boston, surrounded by solidly middle class families, not traditionally a hotbed of liberalism, was easier for Tom than being out on campus, where Carlisle Pride had voter registration drives and workshops every weekend, but the Greek system still ruled over the social universe. The average student had better odds of passing a calc final without studying than getting away with holding hands with his boyfriend in public without harassment.

But Tom wasn't the average student. The landline in their room had started ringing off the hook with hang-up phone calls that Tom was convinced were journalists who disconnected when Reese answered the phone. His father's first parole hearing was coming up and articles rehashing the sting operation and trial were popping up in the
Globe
and
USA Today
. He flinched whenever a cell phone near him clicked as someone took a snapshot, though he knew any pictures taken of him would be silent and from a distance.

Reese thought he was a paranoid asshole who vastly over-estimated how much the world gave a damn about the son of a white-collar criminal, no matter how record-breaking the bust.

He voted for Evil Nemesis as the hang-up caller. In the end, they turned the ringer off and ignored the problem, because it was too far down on their list of shit to deal with.

Tom didn't drive any more on the weekends, but being on campus from Friday through Sunday was almost worse than exhausting himself behind the wheel of a cab. Reese might never be a social butterfly, even after therapy, but he was far more social than Tom. The trio of friends now, Cash, Steph and Reese, were relentless in bids to get Tom to join them in more than playing video games in Cash's room or studying as a group in the library. Especially after Cash was busted with beer in the stacks and almost got himself kicked off the team. Partying was restricted to actual parties from that day forward, and nothing would do but that Tom joined them. Coming up with excuses to stay in was harder than cleaning a drunk's vomit out of back seat floor mats.

Four weeks into the semester, Reese's mood post-therapy didn't show any signs of improving. Twice a week he was a total shit to be around, silent and pale before heading out to his appointment, full of piss and vinegar afterward.

Tom had tried comforting him, leaving him alone, and asking Reese what he wanted Tom to do. He'd gotten, respectively, a cold shoulder, a guilt trip about ignoring Reese, and a snapped out, “Nothing!”

He'd taken to being there in their room, waiting for Reese. If nothing else, he could be a witness. And a verbal punching bag, if that was what Reese needed. Since he was failing on every other front as a boyfriend.

Reese was stripping off his scarf and hat, whipping them in the open door of his closet before slamming it shut with a bang. His hair stuck up every which way and his eyes bounced around the room, skipping over Tom and looking for a safe place to land. He tracked melting snow and muck off his shoes as he came in the room.

“It sucks.” The slam of his messenger bag on the floor. “I have to talk about it, again and again. He wants me to tell him every goddamn detail about what happened. And I get it. I'm not an idiot. I know what talk therapy is.” Coat unzipped, balled up and pitched to the corner of the bed where it slid to the floor. “I know that this will help me get a handle on it and let it stop controlling my life and be able to think or talk about it without fucking freezing up or having a panic attack, but it's fucking hard and I don't want to do it anymore!”

Tom stayed on his bed, pretty sure that approaching Reese was a bad idea right now. His boy was seething with unhappiness, but both of them were smart enough to know there wasn't anything to do about shitty situations like this but get through them.

Until Reese dropped his bombshell.

“I talked about you.”

Tom braced an arm against the mattress, the fight-or-flight instinct automatic. Reese threw himself on his mattress and shot Tom a dark look. “Don't panic. It's doctor-patient confidentiality. He's not going to out you to everyone on campus, who, hello? Wouldn't care anyways, but that's not the point. I talked about you and the doc said I should ask you to come with me.” Reese rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.

“No.”

Reese sat up.

“Seriously? No?” His hair hung in his face and shadows like bruises cupped his eyes. “That's all you have to say?”

“I can't.” He pushed his book off his lap and pulled his knees to his chest. Wrapped his arms around them. Jesus, he spent a lot of time in the fetal position these days. “I get it. I'm a mess too and my mess is part of your mess now, but I just can't.” He knew he should stop. There wasn't anything pretty about the shit in his head and he
knew
he was better off keeping it locked up there.

“I'm not asking you—”

“I know you think everything's great now that school is paid for but I'm
barely keeping it together
and I can't go diving in that pool, okay? I don't
want
to bring anything out into the light or what the fuck ever. I was bawling in the kitchen with your dad already, for Christ's sake. I've taken the emotional gay thing pretty far already, okay?”

So much for keeping it locked up.

This was too much bullshit for Reese to tolerate sitting.

“Oh, fuck you for being an asshole.” He stood, taking abortive steps in different directions and then turning back. Maybe Reese wasn't sure if he wanted to look at him. “You weren't crying because you let yourself have some kind of freakish gay feelings for me, dumbass. You're crying because you let yourself feel anything at all. And your life is
still
as much of a wreck as mine is. Was. Of course you're fucking crying.” He stopped in the middle of the room and stared down at Tom, who felt pretty small. “But don't you dare blame it on me and some kind of gay cooties.”

Tom pressed his forehead to his knees until it hurt, because something should, and tried to take it back.

“I know. I'm sorry. I know. But, baby—” He heard himself say the endearment like he was floating above himself, watching this big, dumb guy trying to say the right thing to his incredibly pissed off boyfriend, and knew he'd never let the word slip out again after this one time. “I can't. It's too much and I just can't.”

Silence. And, eventually, a sigh.

Soft shuffling steps and the smell of stale sweat, a lingering aftereffect of the intense sessions Reese normally showered off immediately upon his return. He didn't look to see Reese at the edge of the bed next to him.

“Maybe it feels like I keep on moving the goal posts on you, huh?” Reese said at last, knuckles bumping against Tom's shoulder.

He turned his head to rest his temple on his knees.

“Shifting the finish line?” Tom smiled but it was a tired, worn out thing and they both knew it. “I'm just afraid we're not running the same race. I'm second string all the way, Reese, and you're not. You're the anchor.”

Reese stood over him and scraped his fingernails through Tom's short hair. Pinched the inch of it between his fingers and tugged. “C'mere.” Tom scooched to the edge of the mattress. Reese's hands curved around his head and gripped his neck. “If you get to hide away here in our little cave and avoid everything, then why do I have to go out there and do all the hard stuff?”

He pressed his head against Reese's stomach and wrapped his hands around skinny thighs. Staring down at the floor, he sighed and told the truth.

“Because you're stronger than I am. I told you that all along.”

Chapter Sixteen

Eventually, he gave in and agreed to go out for the night with his friends, if only to avoid having his refusal be a last straw for Reese, who was looking pretty thin around the edges. Tom said okay on a Wednesday, figuring the number of broke students willing to cough up twenty bucks to drink cheap beer on a weeknight might keep the size of the crowd down. He wouldn't agree to the frat party Cash suggested. Cash still didn't know about Reese but assumed Tom was the driving force behind their avoidance of fraternity row when they walked on the edge of campus that bordered the town's main drag. Tom hadn't explained, but no way was he going to let a bunch of drunk frat guys hassle Reese. Or worse, haul up numbers and rank him like a girl, catcalling. Because, face it. Even with his head down and his hood up, Reese
moved
like a gay boy, somehow a little more slinky than everyone else, and Tom didn't think he was the only one who saw it.

So they went to a semi-random house party in a battered A-frame with sticky floors and a bathroom too gross for Steph. The furniture was strictly of the “pulled off the curb on trash day” variety and several of the bedroom doors were padlocked to keep out wandering partygoers.

Cash and Steph had claimed an old leather love seat in the front room, stuffing leaking out of the seat cushions where they'd split and been repaired with duct tape. Tom pushed a burgundy metal folding chair at Reese. When Cash patted his knee and Reese sat on it, you could have knocked Tom over with a feather.

He left the room to get a beer to stop himself from staring, but five minutes must not have been long enough for him to get his shit together, because when he came back and spotted a recognizably drunk Jack standing in front of the loveseat, Tom stopped in the open doorway and didn't go in.

“You got a twink on your knees now? You know what that means.” Looked like his Evil Nemesis was flying solo tonight, no friends to rein him in. And he was flying pretty high if the flask in his hand and the slurred voice were any indication.

“What, like he's gonna get his gay cooties on me? Are you trying to turn me gay, Reese?” Cash was mostly ignoring Jack, reaching over with one finger to flick the end of Steph's blue pigtail until she swatted at him.

Reese rolled his eyes but pulled his shoulders back and didn't turn away from Jack. “Totally.”

“Better watch out. I'll get straight cooties all over you and before you know it, you'll be eyeing Steph here and thinking about boobs.”

Steph braced her foot against Cash's hip and pushed hard enough that Reese wobbled on his knees. “Seriously, Statham. Do you ever think about anything other than tits?”

“Sure. I think about dick too. But only my own. Don't get any ideas, goth boy.”

All this casual banter was too much for Jack, who wobbled on his feet and swept his arm through the air.

“You guys are fucking queer. All of you.”

“Oh my God! He called me queer!” Cash shrieked, clapping his hands to his face and doing his best girl imitation, which had Steph punching him in the shoulder. “I'm gonna cry. My secret life is ruined. Forever!” He sniffled and fake sobbed and draped an arm around Steph's shoulders until she shrugged him off and whacked him on the head with a throw pillow.

“Get off me, goofball.”

Cash switched targets, wrapping his arms around Reese's waist and weeping into the back of his shirt.

“Reese, save me from that boy. He called me
queer
. What am I gonna do now?”

Jack pushed past Tom, too drunk to recognize his favorite target.

Sliding into the room, Tom froze at the sight of his friends, beer halfway to his mouth. He waited for Reese to tense up and wondered how he was going to get him away from Cash who wouldn't know that he'd crossed a line.

When Reese reached behind him and dug his fingers into Cash's armpits, tickling him until the big guy squirmed hard enough to let go and start sliding off the couch in his efforts to get away, Tom let his arm move again and swallowed warm tasteless beer.

“Uncle! Uncle! Jeez, for a little guy, you are fucking strong.”

Stuck halfway to the floor, Cash grabbed Reese's outstretched hand and pulled himself up. When he got to his feet he stopped to ruffle Reese's hair with one hand before stretching his arms over his head and looking around. Steph was curled up in the corner of the couch, shaking her head but eyeing the tan skin Cash exposed when his shirt rode up as he twisted his arms to each side.

“Oh good. He's gone. What a loser. C'mon, gay boy. Let's get a beer, since your boyfriend didn't bring anyone a drink.” Tom flinched. No one else was close enough to hear, thank God. Cash bent his arm and pointed his elbow at Reese.

Jesus. Tom sat straddling the backwards folding chair and called himself a thousand kinds of asshole, watching his friend fool around in public with the boyfriend no one knew he had. He should be the one standing with Reese. But he'd barely breathed when Jack had started spewing his bullshit. He hadn't said a word, too freaked out at the idea of drawing attention. Just sat there and watched his friend shame the asshole until the guy left.

Reese shook his head but smiled at Cash too. He didn't look at Tom.

“No thanks, straight boy. I don't drink. But you can bring me a Coke if they've got one.”

“A Coke?” Cash mimed shock. “That shit leaches the calcium from your bones. Don't you read your
Ladies Home Journal
? Have a crappy flat beer instead. C'mon.”

That was enough to make Tom sit up straight. With a jerk of his chin he caught Cash's eye and shook his head.

Cash got the message and dropped the subject.

“Or we can bring one back for Her Highness here, Princess Stephanie.” He nodded in Steph's direction and pointed at her cup. “Light beer? White wine spritzer? What girlie shit are you drinking?”

Steph threw her empty plastic cup at him. Cash ducked and grinned.

“Like I'd drink anything you poured outside of my eyesight. I can only imagine what kind of nasty shit you think is palatable.” She got up and stuck her own elbow out to Reese who took it while Cash scowled. “But I'll come with. There was a hot girl in the kitchen last time I was in there.”

“Oh sure. You'll take
her
arm. What am I? Chopped liver?” Cash complained as he followed them out of the room. “We could scare the frat boys!”

Tom watched his friends, and apparently they were his friends now, head off together, staying in his corner as another group of loud, laughing students wandered through the room and immediately claimed the vacant couch. Prime seating was hard to find and he wasn't up to protecting anything if it meant talking. He knew he was being stupid, his usual M.O. these days, hanging back and being the guy who pissed on everyone's parade.

Then one of the girls on the couch lifted her hand in front of her mouth and whispered into the ear of the guy sitting next to her, her eyes bouncing off Tom for a moment. The guy looked up, taking in the room, including Tom on his chair alone in the corner, and laughed.

He
knew
that they could be talking about any of a million things. That his paranoia about this was borderline pathological and made him less than fun to be around. He was lucky his friends were still speaking to him. Not to mention Reese, who had probably never hidden a goddamn thing about himself from the world until Tom.

He drained the last of the crappy beer from his cup and stood. He had to get out of here. He shot a text to Reese on his way out.

Going outside for some air.

The front yard was full of people sitting on more living room furniture set up in a circle on the lawn, but there was a shadowed strip of grass along the side of the house that was empty of partygoers.

Reese found him there fifteen minutes later, sitting on the ground with his back against the siding. He strolled up and kicked the toe of his shoe against Tom's sole.

“Hey. You wanna get out of here?”

Tom shook his head.

“Nah. Just needed a break. You're having fun. We should stay.”

Reese squatted down and put a hand on his knee, shaking it gently. Tom didn't look to see if anyone was watching.

“Much as I like them, I didn't come out to spend time with Steph and Cash.” He slid his hand up Tom's thigh, grazing his dick before skimming his hand up to wrap around the back of Tom's neck. Holding him still, Reese pressed a kiss to his forehead and then backed off immediately when Tom flinched despite himself.

“Sorry,” he said under his breath.

“S'okay,” Reese said and smiled. Even though they both knew it wasn't. “C'mon. Let's go.”

Tom scrambled to his feet and followed Reese to the front yard, past a kid who stumbled with one hand outstretched against the side of the house, clearly about to toss his cookies.

“What about them?” He jerked his head at the house where the party still roared, Steph and Cash inside. Reese turned and grinned while walking backward to the sidewalk.

“Last I saw, Cash was helping Steph hit on a girl wearing a Give Blood, Play Rugby T-shirt in the kitchen. We can text 'em. They're fine.” He held a hand out for a second before dropping it with a grimace.

“Let's get a pizza. My treat. We can watch a movie.”

Tom shook his head. All his determination not to take advantage was bullshit, when it was perfectly clear that he was still doing just that. He looked straight at his boyfriend. “You deserve better than this. You know that, right?”

Reese drifted to a halt at the edge of the sidewalk. His pause spoke volumes as he let out a slow sigh. “Yup, I know.” He tilted his head to one side and shrugged, working on a smile. “But I'm attached.”

Tom's inhale rattled in his chest. The ache under his sternum was back. “So, something with explosions? And car chases?”

“Duh. I'm not going to torture you with another indie flick. Not unless you beg me.” Reese wiggled his eyebrows at him.

Tom laughed. God. They were both trying so hard, and it was almost working.

Almost.

“Sounds like a plan. Lead the way.”

An hour later, he was trying to concentrate on the movie because holy shit, Ed Norton could act his ass off and if he didn't know for sure the guy wasn't mentally challenged, he wouldn't question his stuttering janitor routine for a second. Heist movies were a close second to car chases with explosions in terms of movie magic for Tom. But no movie could compete with the distraction of Reese, propped up on his pillows at the opposite end of the bed, sliding his foot up and down Tom's thigh, brushing ever closer to his crotch as Reese chewed on a fingernail and stared innocently at the television.

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“This?” Reese pushed his foot all the way to the crux of Tom's thighs and pressed against the seam of his jeans. Jesus. Simply being in the same room as Reese put his dick on high alert, but the curving pressure and release of his surprisingly agile toes left Tom light-headed and struggling to follow the convoluted plot as his dick turned to iron in his pants.

“Yes, that. Brat.”

Reese might protest words like kid or brat, but Tom thought he secretly liked the role. The pushy younger guy, knowing exactly how to get Tom's attention.

Like now.

Reese pulled his foot back and tucked it underneath his butt, leaning forward onto his knees and hands in a moment, crawling up between Tom's legs with a wicked grin.

“Brat, hmm?” He settled between Tom's thighs, chest on the bed. His lips touched Tom's zipper, exhaling hard to push his hot breath into the denim, until Tom felt his dick warming. “You keep watching the movie.”

“Hey now. You picked this one.”

“Mmm hmm.” Reese braced his elbows tight up against Tom's balls and started tugging at his zipper. “Seen it before.”

He might tease Reese with nicknames, but they both knew who was in charge when the clothes came off.

Tom sucked in a hard breath as Reese's fingers dug under his waistband and wrestled with the button. The tips of Reese's fingers were brushing the fabric of his shorts against the head of his dick, sending tingling bolts of pleasure and heat up his tailbone. He exhaled slowly and tried not to push his hips up, searching for a way to make that happen again.

“Planning ahead, huh?” he managed to get out before Reese wrapped long, slender fingers around him and slid his hand up and down. Tom dropped his head back and missed the edge of the pillow, cracking his head against the desk.

“Ow!”

Reese didn't let up. He rubbed his thumb over the head before pressing his mouth again against fabric, one thin layer this time, and Tom felt the heat immediately, seeping into his skin and making him harder. He sank his hips deeper into the mattress and drew his knees up, feet braced on either side of Reese's torso as the younger man dragged his briefs down far enough to release his dick, which bounced out as if it were making a beeline for Reese's mouth.

God, he shouldn't just lie here. This was Reese all over again, taking control of the situation and turning it into yet another night of him sucking some guy's brains out through his dick.

But Tom wasn't some guy. He was Reese's guy.

The punch to his gut stripped him of breath for a moment, until he gasped out a sharp moan as Reese's mouth closed over him, sinking low and rising high enough to suck at the head and poke his tongue hard into Tom's slit, mouth extra wet, spit dripping down his dick as Reese's hand started sliding hard from his base to Reese's mouth. He was slipping under the curling wave of pleasure, sucked deep by an undertow that blocked out the movie, the flickering lights on the ceiling, the sound of Marlon Brando and Gene Hackman arguing over the split of the take, Tom's whole consciousness focused on the feeling of Reese's mouth and throat swallowing against him, sending him deeper with each wet spasm.