Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 14

Until this story is finished, I want you to imagine me as the meme of Elmo in front of flames. Typing at any opportunity, stuck in a hell of my own making, no longer caring about quality. We're getting this done.

Dillon rolls his blue eyes. "Oh, I'm so moved. What a grand declaration when nobody's around!"

"It’s a private fucking conversation!" I protest.

"What do you actually want, Jay?" he demands angrily. "You think I’m rolling over for you just because we fucked that one time when you had a head injury?"

What do I want? Obviously I want to be friends again. I want to kiss him while he comes. I want to watch him blow me. I want to talk dirty to him. I want to be balls deep in his ass while he rides me. Most of the things I want are just sex, so instead I answer, "I really do want to have sex with you, though."

Whoops.

Dillon just gestures irritatedly, like that wasn’t a huge fuckin’ reveal. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"Ugh!" Dillon turns to walk away, but I grab his arm.

"I don't know what you want me to say! You can't expect an answer that I don't fucking have yet."

Dillon shakes me off, but he doesn't leave. "This is lusting after forbidden fruit, and you know it. I don't want to be the guy you experiment with and then ditch."

"I’m a fucking work in progress, Dillon. If you want me, this is what you get." I can't help myself, because I want to hear him say it. "Do you want me?"

He frowns. "Once again, I already let you fuck me." That’s not really an answer, but I’ll take it.

"So what's the problem? You want me to kiss you here? I'll do it." I step toward him, but Dillon skips backward. 

"No! You don't know how to give a casual kiss, and I don't want to be the guy who security catches dry-humping on the Hill."

The image makes me smile. "That sounds like you're saying my game is on point."

"Shut up, Jay," he laughs reluctantly.

I don't know how to make him do what I want. I mean, I can say the words in my head: I just want to be with you. If I could rewind to that day, minus the misunderstandings and concussion, when we were friends and had pretty damn good sex, boy I would fucking do it. That's all I want: to still be friends and fuck. I don't know what that is, but I only hope Dillon wants that as bad as I do because he did let me fuck him, and he did spend all his time with me, and he is letting me keep him past his bedtime now even if he seems mad. 

"Look," I finally say, "I spent the entire first semester trying to prove to you that I was a good person. I don't know what it is about you that makes me try so hard." Maybe I started the sentence with something else in mind, but the truth popped out in the end. Why had I tried so hard?

Dillon folds his arms and doesn't say anything.

"Like, this has been the most fucking stressful few months of my life, trying to stay on your good side," I continue. "All the shit you say to me about who I am and what I'm like sticks in my head, and it's like…oh my god, you might be the meanest person I know, now that I think about it. Why the fuck do I keep trying to impress you?" Seriously. At this point I'm just thinking out loud, but I have got to have some sort of weird, masochistic streak to keep coming back for more of Dillon's verbal abuse.

"I don't know," Dillon replies, just absolutely letting me hang myself out to dry.

I’m on a fucking roll, though. "You accused me of being a homophobe, then when I tried not to be would always be like, ‘Try harder.’ You told me I was too fucking stupid to be a sociopath—who says that shit to another human being? And, and!" I put a hand up to stop whatever Dillon's about to say, "then you kissed me, made fun of me at me for freaking out about it, gave me a concussion, and then got mad at me again for feeling weird about having gay sex for the first time in my life. Of course I would crash out! That was perfectly fucking normal reaction! Who the hell are you?"

Dillon blinks. "Um…"

I don't blame Dillon for not being able to keep up with me. I can barely keep up with me, at this point. "It's like, I had you on this pedestal because of Aaron—"

Dillon sighs under his breath. "Of course. Fucking Aaron." He sounds like me when I talk about Viera.

"Hey, shut up." I snap. "If not for him, I probably wouldn't have even tried to be nice to you at all. But I had it in my head that because you were gay and out, somehow you were better than me. And you, you sat up on your high horse, telling me how I was and what I wasn't and basically treating me like shit when I was in over my head the whole time, trying so fucking hard to be the kind of person you'd want me to be, changing and changing and hearing your voice in my head like, fuckin’ night and day, telling me to be less judgmental, more sensitive, more open, and so I tried even though it was so fucking hard, and then we…" I don't know what comes next. "We…"

Dillon is staring at me with those big blue eyes and for once, without a single thing to say.

"You know what? Forget this shit," I declare, and walk past him. "You're an asshole, and I'm fucked in the head."

This time it's Dillon who catches my arm, turning me around. Good. Maybe not good. I knew two minutes ago what I wanted.

"Jay," he says, and his voice is different from usual. It's soft, like after he knocked me out, like when he told me I was being adorable, like when it was six in the morning and everything was quiet except for us. It gets under my skin. I don't like it right now. I keep my eyes on the ground.

Dillon puts himself in front of me. “You’re so, so close to saying something real.”

"I don’t know what that means, and I can't take this anymore," I say honestly. Never in my life have I wanted someone so badly, and it's fucking me up. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it is the whole forbidden fruit thing. I wish I could vaccinate myself from you."

Dillon looks kind of sad from my peripheral vision. "You know that gay isn't infectious, right?" he jokes, but it sounds empty.

"You made me fucking miserable, dude." It's only when my voice cracks that I realize how stressed I am. Last time I cried it was, what, six, seven years ago? Fuck me if I start now.

Dillon slides his hand down to fit in mine, and I let him intertwine our fingers. I should walk away.

"Jay," he says again. He steps toward me.

"What?" My tone is flat. Oh, boy. I am a motherfucking mess. How did this even happen?

Dillon takes a deep breath, faces me, and puts his other hand on my neck. "I have a confession." Our mouths are very close together.

I finally look him in his stupid blue eyes. "If you tell me you drove me insane on purpose I will fucking kill you."

He smiles a little at that. "I didn't."

Then, instead of telling me what the hell is going on in his head, Dillon closes his big blues and kisses me, not a minute after telling me he didn't want to get caught humping on the Hill. And, good god, that might be exactly what happens. Maybe I'm extra sensitive now because of all the stress, but if I'm not then Dillon has been holding back. Way back. His tongue isn't even in my mouth and my hair is standing on end. Goosebumps, shivers down my spine, chest tingling—all that good shit is happening. His fingertips are light on my neck, stroking just a little, just enough to set my blood to racing.

"Dillon," I manage to say as he nips at my mouth. That’s, woof. So fucking hot. "Text Brantley and tell him to fuck off."