Watching Him Back 4.2

The first part of the fourth installment is here.

“Crispin.” There’s a tiny person to my right, tugging on him. “Let’s go.” The boy gives the last word two syllables.

Crispin and I untangle ourselves swiftly and I wipe my face.

“Sorry, this is my little brother. Quentin,” he crouches to look the boy in the eye, “say hello to my friend Aaron.”

Quentin and I shake hands. “Were you crying?” he asks suspiciously.


“I fell down,” I explain. “It really, really hurt.” I want to ask how a couple of Brazilian kids got such British names, but I refrain. Additionally, I try not to resent a six-year-old for interrupting a much-needed hug from my boyfriend.

The kid isn't charmed. "I'm hungry," he declares. "Let's go."

Crispin gives me an apologetic look. "I have to go—"

"Come over earlier tomorrow," I cut in swiftly. "Actually, come home with me after school."

"But Aaron, hey, Aaron!" Crispin shouts after me, but I'm already jogging away. He won't refuse.

Third period is Human Biology. We’re watching some movie about DNA with the guy who everybody thought had died. So, like anyone with half a brain, I sign in early, when everybody is still getting settled and then walk out of the room long before the bell rings. I make it to the boy’s bathroom to wait out the hall patrol. Because I have shit luck these days someone walks in just as soon as I get my feet on top of the toilet seats.

“—because she’s a fat bitch who takes it out on me!”

Ugh. It’s that shithead, Porter.

“I can’t believe you talk about your mother like that.”

That would be Crispin. I can’t believe he still hangs out with Porter.

“Whatever, she’s a total prick sometimes.” I hear him unzip his pants. “Speaking of pricks, are you still going out with that meathead?”

“Aaron isn’t a meathead,” Crispins replies. “He’s actually really smart.”

“So he’s a smart dick.”

“He’s nice to me, Porter, even in front of all the other jocks. If you were a little less judgemental you could tell. Aaron’s a really great guy.”

“Whatever. I just think you could do better.”

“In this school? You’re kidding me.”

This is fucking awesome.

The bell rings, and Porter says, “Shit! I still have to get my books from my locker!”

He runs out. Even with the urinal flushing I can hear Crispin mutter, “Wash your hands, idiot.”

I don’t want him to give me away by surprising him, so I let the door swing open quietly. Crispin is standing at the sink at the other end of the bathroom, humming to himself as he washes his hands. He’s so confident that no one else is around that he doesn’t notice me until I put a hand over his mouth. His gaze flies up to meet mine in the mirror.

“You might want to check the stalls before you start discussing your love life.” Taking my hand away, I rest one hip on the sink next to his.

“Oh my god, Aaron, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think; I swear it won’t happen again. I just, I have a hall pass, so I figured, or —”

“Dry your hands first.” He thinks I’m angry because he was talking about me openly in school. What will he do when he figures out that he, too, will be missing his next class?

“Are you…" Crispin pauses to throw his paper towel away, which is just an excuse not to look at me in the eyes. "Are you super mad at me?”

“No.” Grabbing him by the shoulders, I back Crispin into the last stall and lock it.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

“You can’t tell?”

“No.”

Tugging his waistband with one hand I slid the other down into his briefs. Crispin nearly jumps out of his smooth brown skin.

“How about now?”

“Are you serious?” he hisses.

“Yes.”

“Aaron, I have class!”

I close in on him, bending to kiss his neck. “What class?”

“Study hall, but—”

“But shut up if you don’t want to get in trouble for fucking in the boy’s bathroom during the school day.”

I’m not actually going to have sex with him; I don't think I’ll ever be the type to carry condoms in my pocket just in case a hot ass is open for business. He doesn’t know that, though. What I want is to let Crispin know that I am just as into him as he is into me, even if I can’t say it aloud. What I want is to say a big fat fuck you to Preston, to my parents, to my coach, to all the athletes, to everybody—right now I could give a rat's ass about what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm going to do some nasty shit in school in the middle of the day, and I'm going to feel great about it.

Even as his breathing deepens and his cock grows thick in my hand, Crispin looks frightened. His hands are trembling, which undoubtedly embarrasses him.

“Take it out,” I order, and put his hand on my zipper.

He does without undoing my belt, right through the opening of my boxers. A plan starts to form in my mind.

“Do you know what’s going to happen now?” In the quiet of the bathroom my voice is loud.

Crispin shakes his head, his dark eyes wide.

“You’re going to suck my dick, right here, and jack yourself off until we both come.”

The furrowing of his brow isn’t a good sign. One day I’ll push him too far, I think, and he’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble. Today can’t be that day. I’m hard as fuck in his hand, and even if Crispin doesn’t like the idea of blowing me in a bathroom, he’s rock hard, too. Because I know he likes it, I run the fingertips of my free hand over the bare skin around his ear.

“Every time you come in here,” I continue, “You’re going to remember my hand on your dick, my cock in your mouth, and the sound of me calling your name.”

I’m full of shit.

Crispin hesitates for a moment, so to help him out I reach behind him and put the toilet seat down. Lucky me that I remembered which stall still has one attached, so I don’t have to feel bad about pushing Crispin down on it. He looks up at me a little worriedly—poor guy probably hasn’t ever skipped a class in his life—so I give him an encouraging little peck on the lips. Then, just to be mean, I whisper, “You owe me, Vieira.”

Crispin narrows his eyes at me. However smug I’m feeling is undoubtedly written all the fuck over my face right now. Nonetheless he scoots forward on the toilet seat and pulls me closer to him.

“C’mon, baby,” I drawl, tapping my dick on his cheek. “Gimme them pretty dick-suckin’ lips.”

“You are an ass,” Crispin retorts, and seals his mouth around my cock.

So warm, so wet; Crispin swirls his tongue around the tip, digging into the slit and flicking the underside. Bracing myself with one hand, I run the other around Crispin’s ear and try to resist guiding his head. He’s teasing me. That, or he’s trying to give me a completely noiseless blowjob. The hand he has wrapped around my shaft doesn’t move; just squeezes in time to the movement of his mouth. This is different from usual—a slow, steady burn settles behind my navel to spread outward. My nerves are on tenterhooks between each pause of Crispin’s tongue, the cool feather of his breath, the gentle pressure of his fist.

“Goddamn that’s good,” I groan way too loudly.

Crispin immediately raises his head. “Aaron, shut up!”

“You shut up,” I reply, and shove him back onto my dick.

Finally Crispin starts bobbing up and down, and almost as gratifying is the sound of his zipper coming down and the soft rustling as he takes his own cock out. I do love watching him get himself off. I don’t know if Crispin realizes it, but the reason I can make him come so quickly is because I now know what he likes to do to himself. He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it free of his shorts without ever losing his rhythm. I lean over a little bit to touch him, but the motion shoves my dick too far in his mouth and Crispin chokes.

He pulls off, wide-eyed and coughing. Shit. I could either apologize and put my hard-on away, or just grab his hair and make him do it again until he figures out how to deepthroat. Right? Is there a third option?

“You okay?” I hear myself ask.

Crispin nods, wiping at the tears that his coughing fit brought to his eyes.

“Good. Quit trying to eat my dick.”

Trying not to smile, he replies, “The cafeteria is serving hot dogs today.”

“This is not snack time.”

“Maybe not for you,” he snorts.

“That’s because I can’t sixty-nine you in a fucking bathroom stall.”

He rolls his eyes. “You just haven’t tried.”

“You have made it very clear that if I even try to put my hands on you, you’ll bite my cock off. That’s what you did, just now. You threatened me through fellatio, and I am hurt and wary of you.”

Crispin can’t quit laughing long enough to close his mouth, much less pick up where he left off in this boy’s room blowjob, so I pick him up and set him on his feet. He even giggles when I spin us around and push him into the stall door. I do need to shut us both up, because we’re getting carelessly loud, so I bend down and shove my tongue in his mouth.

“Mm,” is Crispin’s reaction, and he wraps one arm around my neck. If I step between his legs I can brace him against the door. Crispin gasps when I lift him by his firm buttocks, but he encircles my waist with his legs. Our cocks align perfectly now, so I hold on to the door and whisper in his ear.

“Jack us both off.”

Crispin, resting his forehead on my shoulder, grasps us with both his hands. His hand on me, his cock on mine, the tremble of his fingertips send shivers from the top of my head to the bottom of my spine. I urge him to stroke faster, and grip harder; I’m so ready to come for him, to come on him and mark him as mine, mine, mine.

“That’s it,” I say softly, my uneven breath making my voice ragged, “just like that.”

Crispin’s breath comes harder now, too, and his precum slicks his palm. It glides over my dick, warm and sticky, making wet sounds as Crispin jerks us off. Faster and faster his hand moves, while his free hand teases the tip with a torturously light tough. Suddenly I’m coming—no buildup, no warning—in jet after jet of whitish fluid that speckles Crispin’s chest and abs.

“Oh, god,” I exhale. It’s a struggle to stay upright, but as soon as my orgasmic high is over I can tell that Crispin’s very close to his. “Almost there?”

He nods, eyes squeezed shut, but I can tell he’s not quite getting there. As quietly as possible I wrap my arms around him and sit down on the closed toilet seat. Straddled across my lap, Crispin strokes himself rapidly, teeth clenched and stiff.

Aw.

“Relax,” I breathe in his ear.

The depression behind his jaw, just under his ear, beckons me. Nuzzling him contentedly, I take his hand from his cock and replace it with mine. Crispin clutches my jacket. I don’t think he realizes that he’s rocking his hips, fucking my hand.

“Come for me," I encourage him.

“Aaron, can you kiss me?” he whispers in reply.

Fuck if that doesn’t make my insides feel warm and gooey. “As much as you want,” I answer just as softly.

His lips are on mine not a moment later, anxious and needy, and I brush my tongue over his when his mouth opens. Crispin’s fist clench tighter in my jacket, the urgency in his hips increase; his abs are standing out in tight definition as his body primes for an explosion. I feel cum hitting my chin before I realize that Crispin is coming. He quivers with each spurt, and I count them in between kisses. One, two…When I reach five he grabs my wrist to stop me from stroking him any more.

“Oh, god.” The words might be a prayer. Crispin drops his head into the crook of my neck. “Oh, my god. Aaron.”

I don’t respond—I’m preoccupied with massaging the dirty evidence into his chest. We’ll both probably smell like jizz until we can shower. Today I don’t care.

Once he catches his breath Crispin stands. “You’re going to get me in so much trouble,” he accuses me, fishing in his backpack for a moist towelette (of course he has moist towelettes).

I shrug. “I may have skipped the occasional class, but I definitely didn’t do this kind of really-get-suspended stuff until you came along. Blame your own hot little ass for my new bad boy persona.”

Why do I like embarrassing him when I’ve already smeared both his and my cum all over his naked torso? The dusky shade of pink that colors his cheeks and ears is just plain cute. When we’re both relatively cleaned and zipped up I unlock the stall.

“So, I’ll see you later, I guess,” Crispin says awkwardly, trying to make for the door without looking at me.

I grab his arm. “I’ll meet you at my car at four,” I tell him, and smack his juicy Christmas hams before I let him run off to study hall.

When Mrs. Park demands to know where I was, I tell her I was having stomach troubles and was in the bathroom. She doesn’t ask me any more questions, and besides, her class is an elective. She’s not even making us write a response to the film. All in all, I feel pretty damn good about what I just did.

“Dude, where the fuck were you?” Carter asks at lunch, shoving me when I sit down with them.

I grin; I can't help it. “In the bathroom.” Keep a lid on it, I order myself.

Jay leans in. “Dude, were you getting it on?”

His dumbass girlfriend laughs. “That’s not the shirt you were wearing earlier.”

I shrug. There's a collective, "Oohhh!" They thought Jay was talking his usual shit.

“Holy shit, Aaron! I have so much more respect for you, man. Seriously, I’m proud of you.” Jay pounds me on the back.

I shove his arm away. “Shut up, Jay.” I'm not used to everyone paying attention to me like this. Why are they so fucking loud?

“So who is she?” he continues. “Is it Madison? She’s totally bangable.”

“Nope.”

Carter suggests, “It was Haley. Can't get enough of sweet, sweet Haley.”

I glance around for the girl in question. We had made out like, a year ago, and even though we had both been pretty wasted nobody wanted to let us forget it. I would love to forget about it. So much on her that squished where I wanted it to be hard—or to be Crispin.

“Nope.” I peel the cellophane off my apple.

Carter grabs the fruit from my hand. “Dude, just tell us who she is.”

“No,” I say smoothly, taking the apple back. “I don’t want you spreading it around.”

“It was totally Haley!” Jay laughs. "Nice work, man."

Is it just me, or has the cafeteria noise died down since I walked in? I’m not an attention-grabber. I wasn’t up for homecoming king. While I know that a lot of the school knows who I am, it’s not like I’m popular enough to have rumors spread about me. This would be a terrible time for them to start.

“No! This particular individual," I raise a finger knowingly, "is so far off your radar that you wouldn’t even find 'em attractive.”

LeAndre says, “Shauna Oldman," and everyone laughs.

I roll my eyes. "Got it in one. I was in the bathroom with Shauna Oldman, going to fucking town. Good work, Sherlock; you’re a fucking genius. Now, please, tell everyone for me."

"I'll do it," says Carter, then suddenly yells across the cafeteria at Crispin's group, "Hey, Shauna! Nice work on our boy here!"

Fuuuuuuuck. Fuckfuckfcuk. "Shut your fucking mouth," I growl at him. This is getting out of hand way faster than I anticipated. I'm sure my face is completely red.

"Yeah, Shauna!" Jay adds, tasking advantage of our growing audience. "Gettin’ na-stay!" He mimes a blowjob, just in case she didn't get it.

Shauna's her usual stony sour face, but I yank Jay and Carter down anyway. "You're going to get me in trouble," I complain as an explanation, hearing Crispin’s voice in my head. That line about a bad boy persona had been a joke, but three months of detention plus getting barred from prom may have put me a little more in the spotlight than I had considered.

Jay and Carter are both cracking up, as is everyone else at the table. Crispin is staring at me; the huddle around his table tells me that the nerds are trying to figure out what stemmed the outburst on my end. What did that dumb jock say about precious Shauna? As much as I dislike her, I don’t think she needs rumors about blowing me in the bathroom to go circling around the school. “Sorry,” I mouth with an appropriately ashamed expression.

Crispin grins and gives a subtle nod as if to tell me that I’m not the only one who dodged a few inane questions after our third period disappearing act. He’s so fucking cute that I grin back wink at him. Shauna Oldman, who clearly thinks that the gesture is not meant for the boy sitting right next to her, blushes and drops her gaze.

What have I fucking done?