Gideon

I looked on deep in thought as the boys interacted and chatted over breakfast. What should have felt like just another lazy Saturday morning, felt like something else entirely. It had been two weeks since the night I fucked Marcus Anderson's throat, and every day in which I was forced to lay eyes on him since felt like a cruel joke. I told him it'd never happen again, and what's more I told myself such things would not happen again. But to that, he'd just smirked and said, "what a shame.." kissed me, and then eventually fell asleep on my shoulder watching Alien.

I had to nudge him awake when it was over and coax him back upstairs, and I had the best night of sleep since God knows when. Right there on the couch, until nine in the morning when Drew, the one-man elephant herd, woke me as he descended the stairs.

What the fuck?

I couldn't make sense of half the shit in my head about the situation. It felt impossible at best, and at worst, it left me confused, left me feeling guilty, but most of all, it left me craving things I shouldn't, thinking bad things late at night while alone... and yes, getting myself off to the memory of his mouth wrapped around my cock.

Point was, Marcus and I now shared a filthy, filthy secret that could never see the light of day.

Why did he have to be so pretty? Why did he have to be so easy to talk to, so easy-going? Why did I fuck his throat again, and since when was I so into fresh-faced, androgynous femboys that I dreamt about one? Dreamt about him?

Somebody, anybody tell me. It's like I'm entering a second midlife crisis, without having ever left the first one behind. Apparently, I was even willing to suck a dick now... so long as it belonged to Marcus. Yes, I'd even been considering that. Someone save me from myself.

"Yes, tomatoes are considered a fruit." The twink's deep voice sluiced through me.

Drew actually chuckled; the sound rumbling low in his chest. "They don't taste like fruit."

"Maybe not, but you know what does?" Marcus twirled his hair and grinned. "Just guess." He added, wiggling his fingers in Drew's face.

Drew yawned and tried to hide a smirk. "You?"

"Bingo!"

I blushed. Felt like an intruder in a conversation I shouldn't be listening to, even if it had only been about tomatoes. I wondered what Marcus had been up to in his spare time, wondered what the rest of him tasted like... and yeah, I loved the cute little black miniskirt he was wearing over a pair of ripped black stockings. I especially liked the way it hugged his ass and hips just right. Just right for a good fu–

"What?"

Drew's sharp voice dragged me out of my head. I ran a hand down my face and eyed him with surprise; my son never spoke to me unless I spoke to him first.

"Hm?" I raised my brow and shifted on the stool at the breakfast bar. Drew scowled.

"You're staring at us. It's annoying."

I almost laughed at the sick irony. Would you believe it's your pretty little friend that I can't keep my eyes off? Would you be shocked that I was sick enough to shoot a load down his throat while you were off fucking your girl? Would you hate me even more than you already do now? Of course you would, I hate me too.

"... I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to. Just staring off." I mumbled weakly.

Marcus' eyes found mine; like a predator locking in on its prey. He looked hungry, and I knew what for. His soft, pink, bare lips curled into a knowing smirk. My heart raced, and I frowned, wishing I could tell him just to cut it out. To stop teasing me. Stop fluttering those fuck-me-eyes my way every chance he got. It was cruel.

"Dude, what's your problem?" Drew groaned, following my gaze to Marcus. "What, you've never seen a guy in a miniskirt before?"

I fumbled mentally. "... I don't... that's not–"

"Oh my God, you're so fucking embarrassing. He can dress however he wants." Drew hissed, slamming his drink down on the counter. "Come on Mar, sorry about him."

Marcus shrugged. "No biggie, no laws against staring."

Drew grumbled and shrugged. I just sighed.

Of course, Marcus wasn't done, and of course he flashed me that dirty little look over his shoulder as they went upstairs. Naughty little fuck. I sipped my espresso and flipped him off. He just grinned, but like everything else about Marcus Anderson, I just couldn't get enough, no matter how much of a tease he could be.

I pushed my cup aside and dropped my forehead onto the counter and groaned. This had fucking spiraled out of control. I was beyond torn over it all– torn because of my poor son upstairs, blissfully unaware of the events that took place not two weeks ago– torn because I loved him, even if he felt nothing but hate toward me. How could I move on from this? How could I forget?

It was impossible with Marcus in our home all the time. Damn near impossible.

I hit my head against the counter a few more times in self-loathing, then dragged myself out of my seat to get the mail. I was still in my pajama pants and t-shirt, slippers and all. Like a gremlin, I took those indoor slippers outside, because you know what? I couldn't care less anymore.

Whatever.

My mom would turn in her grave, and the Korean half of me nearly cried as I shuffled across the concrete, but I felt like I'd passed the point of caring anymore. The act of taking my house shoes outside was almost like a test; a test to see how far I'd take things.
How far could I push the boundaries of my normal life before I put that nine-millimeter Beretta in my mouth and pulled the trigger? Only time would tell.

The Autumn winds washed over my frame, I shivered as I pulled a handful of yesterday's envelopes from the mailbox and made my sad journey back into that damned house. Why did I purchase it again? For what, a sad attempt to grasp at the threads of a life I once had? Pathetic. Drew was right to hate me.

I heaved a sigh and stepped over the threshold, staring down at the slippers on my feet. Dirty. They're dirty now; dirty like me. I swore my eyes twitched as I dared myself to wear them back into our home as if I hadn't just committed a cardinal sin with them, just as I'd sinned with Marcus.

"Do it, ya sissy." I murmured, but several strained moments passed before I finally cracked.

I can't, I can't! I just fucking can't.

I stepped out of them as if they were on fire, deciding I'd take a Clorox wipe to the bottoms to satiate my anxiety. No shoes in the house except house shoes! Ugh. Just kidding, these were now officially my new, 'I'm-making-a-quick-trip-to-the-mailbox' shoes. It's not like I didn't already have sandals for that exact fucking purpose already, but I'd decided to push the limits of my laziness and apathy this morning, so outside shoes they now became.

The muted sound of music from Drew's room trickled downstairs as I wiped the bottoms of my slippers off and tossed them in the garage. Barefoot for now would have to do.

I returned to the kitchen and took a moment to sort through the mail, but then I heard it– laugher. Real laughter. A belly laugh, loud and boisterous, and it belonged to my son. I gasped and looked toward the staircase, heart aching at the happiness behind the noise. I never heard Drew laugh like that around me, and it only weighed heavier knowing that such laughter had to be because of Marcus. As stressed as I was about Marcus, it wasn't lost to me how important his friendship was to Drew, or how precious that laughter was; how crucial that much-needed support was. It's not like I had a say in who Drew was friends with anyway, but what I'd done... what we'd done? It was a still a huge fucking problem.

I rubbed at the knot forming in my chest; the ache of tears trying to escape and swallowed the feeling. That was the only way I could cope with all this shit. The only way I could cope with being the worst fucking parent in the universe. Swallow it down. With another sigh, I flipped over the last envelope, and my heart nearly shot out of my chest when I laid my eyes on the sender: University of Washington Admissions. This was it. I held it up to the light in hopes of maybe catching a word of acceptance somehow, but to no avail. The envelope was thin.

"Fuck." I murmured, staring at the staircase again. I needed to get this to Drew. With a deep breath, I booked it up the stairs faster than I'd intended. Maybe I was excited, sure. Maybe I hoped to see the joy on his face as he got accepted; hoped to be a part of a good moment in his life, even if that meant he'd be leaving me soon. The laughter and music became louder as I made a sharp left, arriving in no time at Drew's door.

I swallowed hard and knocked three times. The cursing was audible, and then silence, as the music was shut off–almost as if he didn't want me to see that they were having a good time; didn't want me to see him smile. I'd begun to reconsider; thought maybe I had best just slip it under the door and run, but before I'd made up my mind the door swung open a quarter of the way.

"Gid!"

Marcus. My heart stopped, and I felt a cold sweat start to break across my brow. Why did he have to be the one to answer the door, huh?

"... Hey." I breathed out.

He tilted his head, deep brown eyes centering in on the expression I must have been wearing. My jaw tightened as his gaze flickered over my form until it stopped at my cock. He made sure to linger there before his eyes met mine again. "What's up?"

I tapped the envelope against the palm of my hand and then held it up. ".. from the U.W."

Marcus grinned and threw the door open; that's when I finally got a glimpse of my son. Drew shot up off the floor, eyes wide with anxiety and excitement. I held it out awkwardly and he snatched it away, ignoring me completely. Marcus grabbed my forearm and dragged me into Drew's room, "you should be here for this!"

Drew rolled his eyes at his friend and began to pace a bit, held the envelope up to the light, mumbling stuff to his friend like, "isn't it too thin? I can't do this..."

Marcus echoed words of reassurance, urges to, "just open it and see". Drew didn't seem convinced. I wasn't sure what possessed me, wasn't sure why I did what I did, but suddenly I found myself standing in front of Drew. My hands shook, so I shoved them in my pockets instead. He looked stunned, irritated, confused. But before he could lash out, I word-vomited all over him.

"It has to be an acceptance letter," I murmured. "I don't know why I know that, but I just do. You kicked ass on your SAT's, plus with your rowing history, assistant coaching ... you've worked damn hard, Drew. Just give yourself some credit. Open it."

Drew's mouth tightened, his brows furrowed, eyes darting between me and the envelope. Maybe it was wishful thinking there, but I could have sworn his expression softened, only a bit in the outer corners of his eyes as he considered my unsolicited encouragement. He took a deep breath and murmured a hushed, "okay" and began to tear into the envelope.

My heart lifted, only just a bit, because that was the first thing he'd said to me... in God knows how long, that wasn't dripping in hate. I'd take the small wins wherever and whenever I could.

All three of us held our breaths collectively, Drew's eyes flickered back and forth as he read the letter, and then I saw it, a small tug at the corner of his mouth, a smile.

"... and?" Marcus pressed.

Drew flopped down onto his bed and let out a heavy sigh, shut his eyes and smiled. "He was right, they said yes, and they've offered a scholarship for rowing– enough to pay for room and board at least for the next four years."

"Yes!" Marcus jumped up and down, then threw himself on the bed next to Drew and grabbed his shoulder–shook him relentlessly. "See? I fucking told you, he did too, you never had to worry about a rejection letter, dude."

I didn't know what to do with my body, because I wanted so badly to go hug him, shake his hand, anything, but instead I just sort of froze. My voice felt caged–caught in my throat– and I just settled for a "Drew, that's incredible."

The boys sat up, and Drew's smile faded, his laughter too. His eyes found mine, and he just kind of nodded at me.

"... thanks."

He was acknowledging my existence at least, and that was a win, wasn't it?

The smile on my face couldn't be contained; I could feel it. A hopeful smile, and like a dog begging for scraps, I was the metaphorical equivalent. I begged for scraps of my son's attention– and I equated anything I got with the possibility of a relationship between us in the future. I'd tell myself that maybe, just maybe, he'd give me another chance someday.

"Gideon?"

I blinked a few times, heart skipping a beat when I had to force myself to look at him. "Yes, Marcus?"

"You're kind of staring off, you good?"

I cleared my throat and rubbed the back of my neck. "... more than good, yeah. Sorry. Congratulations, Drew. I'm um, I'm proud of you. I'll leave you guys alone now."

Drew eyed me; he didn't say anything, just sort of nodded and then forced his attention back to the acceptance letter in his hand. Marcus winked at me when Drew wasn't looking.

Fuck. I made my exit, shut the door behind me in a hurry, heart pounded in my chest from the thrill of whatever that was. The thrill of having a one-sentence conversation with my son that didn't end in him saying something spiteful, the thrill of him not glaring when I left the room. That was incredible, but once the glow of that wore off, it only left me riddled with more guilt. Guilty of wanting his best friend in my bed. Guilty of having done things I thought only happened in a shitty porno, or some smutty romance novel.

I was going to Hell for what happened that night, the way I saw it. I'd done something stupid, something unforgiveable. I'd drank too much; wasn't thinking straight.

Thinking straight, what a joke. "Thinking straight..." I muttered aloud, chuckling wryly at the irony of it all as I descended the stairs; the irony of the word 'straight' alone. I couldn't think straight in more ways than one these days, because at thirty-eight years old, I was questioning my sexuality. Every time I imagined that; imagined him, I wasn't thinking straight. Literally.