Hugh Gets A Gym Membership (NSFW)

This is a Scientific Method story, but takes place long before The Scientific Method.

Hugh Reynolds is bored. And, okay, maybe a little bit lonely. His best friend’s out of town and it turns out that he doesn’t really have a reason to leave the house without her. When his mom mentions the new gym down the street, he figures, why not?

The cute guy at the gym flirts outrageously and says filthy things to him, the kinds of things Hugh finds arousing and doesn’t know why, so when Nick invites him home, he goes along. Maybe he’s never actually gone home with a guy he just met specifically to have sex with him, but Nick is cute, and promises pizza.

They share a bit more than pizza.

Warnings: contains wildebeests. (Not really.) (But kind of.) Also a gym steam room that doesn’t meet health codes, a totally non-romantic sexual encounter, and a lot of dirty talk.

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Hugh Gets A Gym Membership

Do you go back to being a virgin if you haven’t had sex for a certain length of time? Say, six months. After six months of not having a meaningful sexual encounter, you revert back to virginity. At least, to the parts of it that matter: the awkwardness, embarrassment, and self-loathing.

Define “meaningful sexual encounter.”

Hugh Reynolds laid back on his bed—his actual bed, not the dorms, since it was suddenly summer—and contemplated spending a lifetime in solitude.

“Dinner, kiddo!”

At least Mom was happy he was home.

“So, what’s with the moping? You’ve always been moody, but moping is new.”

Mom didn’t know about Ethan. Correction: she knew about Ethan, and that they’d broken up, but she didn’t know-know about Ethan, aside from whatever she’d assumed when she woke up to find he and Lucy half-asleep with a pot of coffee on the table between them.

She hadn’t asked any questions, so she’d probably assumed enough to get pretty close to how bad it’d been. Hugh shied away from whatever Mom must have seen in his face to not even ask.

“Am I moping?”

“Surely I wouldn’t have said that if you weren’t.”

He tried for a smile, and managed a grimace.

“And Lucy?”

“In Mexico. Until next week.” Not that she was his only friend. Except she was the only friend who’d come over without calling, drag him out without asking, and generally annoy him until she got an actual smile out of him.

“Hugh. You should go do something, out in the world. What about that gym? You said you wanted to join, didn’t you? I’m sure they’ve got some kind of free trial.”

“You’re telling me to go to the gym? Clearly, you haven’t been reading enough gay pornography.”

She adopted her Mock Stern Face. “Excuse me, mister?”

“Aren’t I your tender, vulnerable boy? Shouldn’t you be concerned for my well-being or something? I mean, look at me.” Or don’t. Short, bespectacled, oozing nerdiness. No wonder he hadn’t had sex in six months.

“What I see when I look at you is irrelevant, son. I do worry sometimes about what you see when you look in the mirror.”

“I’m fine. But maybe I will check that gym out. You think Grandfather would consider a gym membership a sensible expenditure?”

Mom rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome to attempt impressing him, Hugh, but I never managed to do it in life, so it’s hard for me to imagine you’ll manage to impress him now that he’s dead.”

He did not quite wince, though hearing her tone—harsh, to cover the regret he thought was a great deal deeper than she’d let on—hurt him in some indescribable way.

“Well, I just don’t want to use Grandfather’s money in a way that would…offend him.”

“Then lay off the gay porn,” Mom said.

“You’re hilarious.”

She kissed his forehead. “You’ll get the dishes before you leave? I’m a little tired.”

“Of course, Mother.”

“Oh, don’t pout. Your grandfather loved you, and if the gym made you happy, he would be perfectly happy that you were spending money on it. And it is your money, Hugh.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know, baby. Have fun tonight. Maybe you’ll see some of the kids from school.”

“I’m not fifteen!”

“I know that. I was being a mother.”

He rolled his eyes that time, and then she rolled hers back, and both of them laughed.

“Goodnight, my boy.”

“Night, Mom.”

He did the dishes, cleaned up, and changed into gym-going clothes. Right. The gym. He could do this.

* * *

The cute guy behind the counter—mussed brown hair with highlights, tight shirt, neon shoe laces—gave him a hard sell on membership.

“I’m still not sure I’m interested,” he said, and decided that if the guy didn’t back off, he’d just leave.

“Okay, so, let me give you the tour, because it’s pretty much my job, and if you still aren’t interested I’ll hook you up with the week guest pass anyway, and you can walk away when it’s up. Deal?”

A week pass was a good trial. Hugh nodded. “Fine. But the sales pitch isn’t going to work on me.”

The cute guy—Nick, his name tag said—winked. “Guess I’ll have to try a different tactic.”

“I’m not interested.”

“In a gym membership? Weird. You just, what, go around flirting with guys trying to make a decent commission and meet their sales goals?”

He wanted to come back with something clever, but was sidetracked instead. “Is that how it works?” he asked, following Nick down the orange hallway and through a door marked “Mens’ Lockers.”

“Sure. But I never have a problem meeting my sales goals. The straight girls love having a charming gay pal, the gay guys love looking at my ass, and the straight guys admire my muscle tone.”

“And the lesbians?”

Nick grinned. “I leave the lesbians for Sheneea.”

Despite a general personal distaste for such simple categories, Hugh found himself returning the smile.

The tour took about twenty minutes, and Nick’s breezy delivery could have been that of a friend showing him around. He abandoned all sales points and instead occasionally mumbled amusing—never cruel—anecdotes about the people they passed.

“Hey Jonah! How’s it going?” High five.

Hugh envied the easy way Nick spoke to people; no rehearsal, no agonizing over word choice, or tone, or body language. Nick’s body language was open and welcoming, even when he spoke to someone who, moments later, he’d describe as a “Terminal homophobe.”

“I once handed him a towel—not to be a jerk, but because he needed a towel—and he looked at it like I’d just pissed on it first. C’est la vie, right?”

The gym was brightly painted, brightly lit, and made up mostly of elliptical runners, treadmills, and complicated-looking weights machines. And mirrors. A lot of mirrors.

“You are disappointed,” Nick said, rounding them back to the desk.

“What? No, I—” Secretly want to be Rocky, and work out in the kind of gym that reeks of men, and sweat, and bodies pushed to breaking point?

“Yeah, listen. I moonlight at a place. Let me find a card, hang on.”

Moonlight at a place? Hugh eyed Nick’s body covertly.

Or not covertly enough.

“You don’t get this body working out on a Smith Machine,” Nick said, and handed him a card.

“No?”

“Hell no. Listen, I’m off soon. I’ll meet you there in an hour, Hugh, all right? But wait outside for me so I can get you in for free.”

“Is that, ah, legal?”

Nick blinked. Then his mouth opened, not quite a smile, more the child-like fascination Hugh associated with studying a particularly interesting ant community.

“Stupid question,” he said quickly.

“Uh, no. And yeah. I mean, it’s only technically sneaking you in. If you pay for a membership, what’re they gonna do, fire me for my excellent recruiting skills? But most of the time when I tell someone I can sneak them in, that makes them more likely to enjoy the experience.” He paused, and bit down, visibly, on the tip of his tongue.

Stop looking at the guy’s mouth. Oh my god. Stop.

So he looked at Nick’s eyes again, surprised to discover that Nick was blushing. Who knew the self-assured gym hopper could blush?

“Oh boy,” Nick said. “So will I see you in an hour?”

“You like that gym better than this one?” Goals. He came here with a goal. Focus.

“This one is for people who want to say, ‘I go to the gym three times a week,’ and catch up with reality shows while they’re on the elliptical. The other one is for people who never have to say ‘I go to the gym’ at all, because you can tell, just looking at them.”

A wave of heat moved over his skin, from head to toes.

“Not sure I have the genetic gift for that,” Hugh said, feeling ridiculous suddenly. Short, not quite skinny, not quite pudgy. Too thick for his height, maybe, after the last few months of self pity (and Cheetos; damn Lucy for getting him hooked on Cheetos).

“Genes only control how hard you have to work, to get what you want. Like with anything. If you’re good in school, a lot of that is genes, right? Some people are fucking morons, but they take tests well. The gym’s the same way. Show me what you want, and I can get you there, but you might have to work harder than the guy with the steady metabolism and innate love of steamed vegetables and lean protein.”

This wasn’t a sales pitch. Nick, who’d mostly laughed and teased, was serious.

“You can get me there,” Hugh repeated, and was rewarded by a deeper blush.

“Well, okay. I mean, technically I’m in training to be a trainer. But yeah. I’m smarter than a lot of people, and I understand what it takes. It’s all mental, you know? The physical is only a fraction of the effort. People are terrified by becoming what they think they want to be. Anyway, I should get back to work. But I really hope I see you in an hour. Oh, and here’s your week pass.”

Sure enough, a laminated card, “Guest Pass, Seven Days, Ending ______”

“Shouldn’t you fill this in?”

“Well, tonight doesn’t count. When you come in on the first day, they’ll write in the end date.”

“Oh, right. Makes sense.”

Nick smiled. “See you in a bit, Hugh Reynolds.”

Hugh managed to wave as he was backing out the door, which said, of course: Pull. He swallowed his embarrassment, turned around, pulled the door open and escaped into the pleasant summer darkness of the streets.

* * *

People are terrified by becoming what they think they want to be. He’d taken it for an off-hand platitude, but it wasn’t. And now, standing outside the second gym—or, at least, the door with the sign on it that read, fittingly, “GYM”—Hugh couldn’t stop thinking about the weirdly complementary relationship between terror and wish fulfillment. He’d thought he wanted to be Ethan’s “boy,” but that role had only brought him misery and orgasms. (Two more things he hadn’t known could possibly go hand-in-hand, but did.)

He didn’t usually let himself think about Ethan, and he wasn’t, now, exactly. He was thinking about Ethan’s friend Dillon. The rest of the guys liked Hugh, found his presence among them entertaining, especially when Hugh became the entertainment. (He wasn’t the first of Ethan’s barely-legal finds, and not the last, it turned out.) But Dillon was different.

Different. Not the same. Ill-fitting, when he tried to take on the role the others took on. Dillon helped him with the clean-up once, while Ethan and his friends screamed at one of the cooking reality shows on cable. (Distasteful, reality shows, Hugh had thought, then immediately tried to exorcise the thought from existence because a good boy shouldn’t think like that.)

“I should be doing this,” Dillon had said, low-voiced.

“No, no, I have it. But thanks.” Because they were all decent to him, more decent than Ethan was, really, though it felt a little like pity, but Dillon, right now, was the first person who seemed to be speaking to Hugh, not just “Ethan’s new boy.”

“You have no idea, do you?” Dillon looked over, at the television on the wall, the four guys on the couch shouting at some chef who’d done something wrong. Then he looked back at Hugh and dropped to his knees.

“What—what are you—”

Dillon held a finger to his lips, looking up into Hugh’s face, and Hugh’s entire body went rigid (fear, arousal, need, desire).

Then Dillon, who was only, at most, thirty, and thus the youngest of Ethan’s friends, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of Hugh’s right foot. Then his left. When he sat back again, on his heels, he brought his hands behind his back. And looked up.

“Do you understand, now?”

Hugh could barely breathe through the tightness in his chest. He forgot Ethan, and Gordon Ramsay, and the churning in his stomach from fried food and jizz.

One corner of Dillon’s mouth turned up. Then he stood, turned, went back to the dishes.

When Hugh shook off the brief, astounding paralysis, Ethan was looking over at him. He resumed straightening up, not entirely surprised when Ethan ordered him to suck him off—again—while he shouted at the television. The next time Dillon came over, he didn’t even look at Hugh. And when his “turn” arrived, he fucked Hugh with a ferocity entirely unlike their earlier encounters.

The other men cheered.

But his fingertips, ostensibly digging into Hugh’s sides, stroked his stomach for a moment, where no one could see. It was the first time Hugh seriously considered ending it with Ethan. What, leave Ethan—who was loud, and vibrant, and intense—for Dillon? But Dillon’s lips brushing dryly over his skin, for a second, a split second, had sent an electrical current all the way to his dick, all the way to some deep part of his brain that lit up as if it had been dormant his entire life and now couldn’t be turned back off.

“You came.”

The voice shook him out of his thoughts, out of his memories. Nick. The gym. Now, the second gym. A street corner in Oakland at night, where he’d just lost all awareness of his surroundings. Stupid, boy, Mom chided in his mind.

“Hi,” Hugh said.

“Are you hungry?” Nick asked, frowning.

“Excuse me?” God, was this whole thing just an elaborate ploy for a date?

“You look pale. Might be low blood sugar. Or maybe it’s just the lousy lighting, right? Follow me.”

Hugh had the distinct impression he was being let off the hook.

“Keep your head down and they’ll just think I’m bringing you back here to screw.” Nick smirked at him and grabbed his hand.

Fighting a residual wave of desire—when did anyone touch him, ever?—Hugh allowed himself to be pulled down the long hallway, in through a back door to a large room with cinder block walls. A section for the same kinds of cardio machines, and another for the same kinds of weight machines, but the larger area was home to free weights and weight benches.

Scattered men working out at this hour, and at least one woman, lifting a long bar of weights in front of a mirror.

“Don’t tell her, but every now and then I catch sight of Anya out of the corner of my eyes and think she’s hot for a second before I realize it’s her. But come on, look at her. She’s the dictionary definition of androgynous. And ripped, but in a sexy way. But seriously, don’t tell her. She deadlifts more than I do.”

The conspiratorial smile seduced Hugh into a fantasy of friendship. But no, they hardly knew each other.

“So, tell me how this gym’s different from the other one.”

“Well, no windows. The point is not to impress people walking down the street. Also, there’s three TVs, instead of a TV at every station. Again, the point isn’t to catch up on on The Bachelor, or whatever.” Nick walked as he talked, gesturing with his hands. “And you don’t usually have to wait for weights here. If you were actually serious about trying to get strong at the fitness center, you’d have to factor in how long it takes for people to use the two weight benches in front of you. Hey, Anya.”

“Nick,” the woman said, and nodded to him.

He shot Hugh a grin and beckoned him to an unused area in front of a mirror. “You ever do squats?”

“In middle school. Maybe.”

“Nah, those aren’t really squats. Here.” Nick squatted down, then stood back up. “Easy, right?”

“Yes?”

“Try it.”

“I hadn’t really budgeted for personal training,” Hugh said. Stall, stall, figure out how to get out of here.

“Uh huh.” Nick stood closer, facing him, and he could see both of their profiles out of the corner of his eye, reflected in the mirror. Beside Nick, he looked like an adolescent who hadn’t lost his baby fat yet. “What are you afraid of? Squats only look easy, but most people do them wrong. And this isn’t business, it’s pleasure. I’m trying to make a friend, here, Hugh.”

“What, me?”

“You sound so shocked. Come on. Keep your back straight, your feet a little more than hip width apart, and if you have to reach forward to balance, that’s cool, but don’t round your shoulders.”

“Seriously?” No way. God. Were other people looking at him? What about that incredibly strong woman they’d passed? People would laugh.

“Okay. How about this.” Nick stepped even closer, close enough to smell. “For every true squat you complete, I keep a count. And that’s how many items of clothing you can take off me when I take you back to my apartment later.”

Not again. “I don’t think we’re compatible,” Hugh said, hating himself a little for it. But Dillon, on his knees, looking up at him—that had been a moment, a real one, the most real of his entire relationship with Ethan. He didn’t mind the physical sensation of bottoming. The psychological edge was an entirely different matter.

“You don’t want to rip my clothes off and fuck me?” Nick’s chest rose faster. “Really? Because the vibe I’m getting off you right now is you want to throw me over that bench and do me dry.”

Hugh’s hands were trembling. What did that mean? “I—are you offering?”

“I’m insisting. Jeez. What’s a guy gotta do, write you a contract and sign his name? Honey, please. But for every squat you do badly, you have to take something off. You have a lot of layers, there, so if you really concentrate hard, Hugh, this might end up with you fully dressed and me entirely naked. Wouldn’t that be hot?”

“I really just came for a gym membership.” That was so cheap. And now he was thinking of fucking Nick—using him—without even bothering to take off his clothes. “And yes. That would be hot.”

“Good. Okay. Watch me again, pay attention to my knees and my thighs. Knees shouldn’t go too far past your toes—though a little bit, if you’ve got an active core, isn’t going to kill you. Thighs have to come down to parallel with the floor, or it doesn’t count. Got it?”

Hugh watched a few more times. But it looked straightforward, and Nick’s explanations made sense.

“You try.”

He didn’t fall. He nearly fell. A distinction that was very important, while he blushed and glanced around.

“Stay with me. Fuck everyone else. I’ll give you that one for a practice. Now try it holding your arms out straight in front of you, but don’t roll your shoulders forward.”

That time, he made it down and up without over-balancing, but Nick shook his head.

“That’s one for me. Thighs parallel to the floor, Hugh. It’s easier if you can go slower.” Nick moved to his side, put one hand flat on his stomach, and the other on his back. “Tighten all of this. The tighter your core is, the more control you’ll have, and you won’t have to rely on momentum, which is a shitty workout.”

When Nick moved away, Hugh wanted his hands back. Other than Mom kissing him goodnight, no one touched him. Not even Lucy jumping all over him for the past few weeks.

“It’s okay. You’ll get it. Try again.”

He bit down on his lip, tried to tighten his stomach muscles (he had no idea how to tighten his back muscles; his intention to do so was met with a firm “return to sender”), and went down again, as far as he could.

“Way better, that time. Good. I don’t think you need a block, since I’m right here, but they’re over there in case next time I’m not here. That’s one for you, do it again.”

A significant number of squats (points for him) and “pathetic squats” (points for Nick) later, Hugh shook his head and called for a break.

“Are my legs supposed to be burning like I replaced the blood in them with napalm?”

“Yep. That’s how you know you’re doing it right. Come on.”

Even walking hurt. Hugh followed, trying not to stumble, as Nick showed him into the locker room. But no, that was a deal-breaker, there was no way he was going to shower at a shower head on a tile wall, like in a prison movie.

Nick took two towels off a stack and tossed one to him.

Showering with Nick wouldn’t be so bad. If they weren’t in a room with a handful of other men.

But Nick led him through a back door, out into the hallway again, and down to another, unmarked door.

“Steam room, but keep it on the DL. It’s kind of a perk of working here, or being a really old member. It’s not up to health codes or anything.”

Hugh’s body pulled in, arms flattening against his sides, prepared to find some fungal garden of untouchable surfaces. First you can’t shower with the big boys and now you’re afraid of a steam room that doesn’t meet health codes. Cool it with the neuroses, buster. (How to eliminate Mom’s voice from his head during the somewhat gradual approach to a promising sexual encounter was definitely a subject for another day.)

“Here.”

To Hugh’s relief—bone-deep and revealing—the steam room looked entirely fine.

“There’s a filtration issue or something, and the owner figures it’s almost easier to keep it as kind of a specialty thing, than get it fixed,” Nick explained, unselfconsciously pulling off his pants, shoes and socks. “And also, he doesn’t want to install another one for women, so here we are.”

“Are women not welcome in this one?”

“Well, there’s only a few hard-core women who come here, and only one of them actually uses this. And she doesn’t much care about naked men.” Nick smiled, and offered him a bench. “And actually, the men who come back here don’t much care about naked women, so it works out.”

“I can’t help but notice that we are not naked.”

“Nope. I’m just kind of mellowing you out so I can take you home and seduce you. Except you have to promise not to be scared off by my roommates. They’re animals. I apologize in advance for the screaming and cat-calls.”

“Ah,” Hugh said. It was fine. He could do this. He could walk through an apartment full of—animals (impossible not to, again, picture Ethan’s friends, not to feel their hands on him).

“Well, they’re not that scary. And I will totally make it worth your while. Promise.”

“Sure.” He was cute. Nick. “How old are you?”

“Ha, I knew you didn’t remember me. We took that appalling freshman composition cesspool together.”

Hugh narrowed his eyes. He generally prided himself not so much on remembering everyone he met, as remembering people better than they remembered the nondescript short man in glasses. But apparently he’d made an impression on Nick.

“Sorry. No.”

“Yeah, no worries. It was a horror show. If I was better at repressing, I wouldn’t remember it either.” Nick smiled, but more gently: offered, not insisted. “So this is where I lose my nerve. Did I read you wrong?”

“You’d have to tell me how you read me, for me to know if you’d read me wrong.”

Nick pulled his towel on each side of his neck and shifted on the bench. His skin glistened with sweat. “You’re a top, right? I mean, I am, like, obviously so not a top. But most of the time it seems like you are, until you retreat a little. Now I’m not sure.”

“I—” What was the real answer here? “I guess I don’t know exactly. I’ve only really had one boyfriend, and he—it wasn’t that great.” Lucy would laugh herself hoarse if she heard him describe it that way. “He was a top. He sort of decided I wasn’t. Or maybe—” Oh. That was so much worse. Hugh swallowed.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me about your ex. And I’m not really boyfriend material, you know? But you’re cute, and smart, and I liked watching you zone out in that class, like you were somewhere else in your head. I’d really like to be with you when you’re inside your body.”

“Okay. I mean, yes. I agree.”

“Good. Well. Should we go?”

Hugh had one boyfriend. Aside from that, he’d gone down on three other boys, had one lousy 69, and one pretty fantastic blowjob in the woods at camp when he was fifteen.

And now he was planning to go back to the house of a guy he’d just met, specifically to have sex with him.

“Come on. No strings. We’ll get a pizza.”

“You eat pizza?” Hugh asked, and looked up and down Nick’s body without hiding it.

“When I’m seducing the sexy silent type I do. Just remember—ignore my roommates. They’re wildebeests.”

* * *

Hugh braced himself for frat boys, walking into the apartment Nick shared. What he got was…girls. Women. Female humans of his approximate age.

“Dinner! Nicky brought home dinner!”

“I’m sure he has a name, Mary!”

“Not him, I meant the pizza!”

“Shut up, you shrews. Get away from my meat!”

“Ha ha, you wish, Nicky!”

“Someone’s gonna get a piece of Nicky’s meat!”

Cacophonous laughter.

Hugh—blushing, though he wasn’t entirely sure why—put his head down and followed Nick’s heels to his bedroom.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. They’re embarrassing. We had this dorm hall monitor thing, in September, and the guy was a total douche, so the five of us decided to get a place on our own. It’s actually been really good, except for—well, you just saw. I mean, I can’t complain. When one of them brings a trick home, I’m on the other side.”

“A trick?”

“Well, you’re not a trick. I actually like you.”

“And that sets me apart from the other people you have sex with?”

“Wait a minute. You’re not a psych student, are you?”

Even though Nick was teasing, Hugh bit his lip. Then said, “It’s one of the paths I’m considering.”

“No! Is it? We should share clients, Hugh! You can help them with their brains and I’ll help them with their bodies.”

“Are we eating?”

“Oh, I see how it is, I’m not good enough to share a future practice with you, huh?” But when Nick sat down, his leg touched Hugh’s. “Seriously, though, that’d be a whole new model for therapy and personal training.”

“I wonder if the two groups have enough overlap. Some of the people who go to the gym might also go to therapy, but how many of them are going in lieu of therapy?”

“Or booze, or cigarettes, or whatever. Yeah, true. And how many people in therapy sit there every week talking about how they’re gonna start their diet and hit the gym next month, but right now things are just too difficult.” He pulled a clownish angry face.

“Interesting.” It was actually a brilliant idea. Hugh wasn’t sure it was a marketable idea, but it was interesting. People could pay a certain amount per week and get both services. There might be some issues billing insurance, though. He considered it while he ate his pizza.

“You know, you should be less surprised someone wants to be your friend. Where’s all this low self esteem coming from, Hugh Reynolds, Future Shrink? You’re smart and you’re damn sure cute when you smile, though you could do that more, if you’re taking requests.”

“Requests on my facial expressions?”

“Fine, be difficult. I can make you smile, though. I can probably make your face do all kinds of things it’s not used to doing.”

Hell. Was he going to remember Ethan every time a man made a pass at him for the rest of his life?

“I did it again,” Nick said, watching him way too closely. More closely than anyone did except Lucy.

“Did what again?”

“You look sad. It’s a good thing I’m not the romantic type, cause your sad face is heartbreaking. So, you’re the shrink. You want to talk about it? Or do you want to grab me by the hair and make me suck you off? Because I could do either, but the second one is way more likely to make you happy, I think.”

Hugh wanted to say, “What, you don’t believe in therapy?” But way more than that, he wanted to grab Nick by the hair. He sucked in a breath, trying to understand why he wanted that, and what it meant.

“Okay, or we can talk about your ex, who I like less and less.”

“No,” Hugh said.

“Good.” Nick set the pizza box aside and pulled a tube of actual baby wipes down from the desk. He offered them to Hugh, then took one himself.

“These smell like babies.”

“They were on sale. And I don’t like the bleachy ones that much.”

A second later, both of them laughed.

“Oh god, they do smell like babies. I guess I usually use them after, so it doesn’t really matter at that point what they smell like.” Nick studied the plastic container, shaking his head. “That might have screwed these up for me completely. I’ll have to give them to Jameka. She likes kids, that probably wouldn’t ruin sex for her if she had baby wipes around.”

“Did I just ruin sex? Because I take it back.”

Nick grinned. “Mm, I think I want to see your sense of humor even more than I want to see your body. It must be friendship, honey.”

“Did you just call me ‘honey?’”

“Yeah, I heard myself do that. For awhile, after I came out, I used ‘honey’ the way valley girls use ‘like.’ It’s totally humiliating to think about. And not in a good way. Speaking of humiliating in a good way—” He grabbed Hugh’s hand and pulled it to his head. “I really like it when my hair is pulled. Okay?”

“You derive physical enjoyment from it?”

“I want you to use my hair to control me,” Nick said. “I like how it feels, in my head, and my body. See?”

God, what would it be like to know that about yourself? To be able to say, with confidence, that you knew what you liked? He was with Ethan for four months, and as much as he’d hated some of it, he didn’t think he could really blame the sex.

Was it possible to have great sex with awful people? And what did that mean?

“We’re going to settle our points score in a little while,” Nick said, and stood up, pulling Hugh with him. “But first, you’re gonna force me to my knees and tell me to suck your cock. Got it?”

“God. Yes.” Hugh’s muscles tensed, then relaxed. He tightened the hand in Nick’s hair.

Nick inhaled, eyes fluttering. “Yeah. Like that.”

So he pushed down, using his other hand on Nick’s shoulder, and, hardly knowing where the words came from, he said, “Unzip me.”

“Yes, sir.”

And oh fucking hell, Hugh’s balls tightened like he might be able to come from a cute guy calling him “sir.”

On his knees. A cute guy, on his knees, calling him “sir.”

Then Nick was shoving his pants down and yes, yes, he could just let this happen now, close his eyes and let Nick do what he so obviously wanted to do—

“I said, unzip me.” Hugh yanked hard on Nick’s hair.

“I knew it,” Nick breathed across the damp skin of his stomach. “Oh fuck. Sorry, sir. I, uh, apologize.”

“Do you want to suck my cock, Nicky?”

“Yes, please, sir, please let me suck your cock. I’ll be better, I swear.” Nick smirked up at him, in no way submissively.

“You better,” Hugh said, and yanked him closer, rubbing his face against Hugh’s shorts-covered erection. “Start here. If I think you’ve earned it, you can taste me.”

He had no idea where these words—these fucking insane words—were coming from, and he didn’t care. Nick’s mouth, hot and wet, closed over the dense knit of his jockey shorts, and it was probably good that there was a barrier there, or Hugh would have shot off like a fucking kid.

This was the hottest sex he’d ever had. In his life. Bar none.

“Don’t even think about touching yourself,” he growled, hoping the riotous television in the next room covered his voice.

Nick groaned and used his hand, instead, to palm Hugh’s testicles through his shorts.

“Oh god.” Do not come in your clothes. This show had to move along now. “Take me in, Nick. Show me how much you want my cock.”

“Yes, sir.” Nick pushed his shorts to his ankles and paused, with one hand at the base of Hugh’s erection, and the other now clawing the back of his thigh for stability. “Come in my mouth,” he said. “Not on my face.”

The thought of ejaculating on his face had not occurred to Hugh. “Of course. I mean, damn right.” His sudden self-consciousness almost unraveled the moment.

Nick said, “Yeah, good. Thank you.” Then he leaned forward and sucked the head of Hugh’s cock and Hugh remembered to tug on his hair. Both of them groaned.

It was unstoppable. Hugh tried not to moan too loudly, hands tensing of their own accord as he fucked Nick’s face. He came, way too fast, a vaguely unsatisfying blink-and-you’ll-miss-it orgasm, that Nick, at least, seemed to appreciate.

“Fuck, that was awesome. I knew you could talk shit.” Nick wiped his mouth and kissed the top of Hugh’s thigh before tucking him back into his clothes.

“Is that what I was doing? I’ve never said anything like—any of that, before.”

“Yeah. I can always call a dominant man. Seriously, in the produce section, surrounded by the wife and kids, I can look at a guy and know he wants to tie someone to a bed.”

The image was incredible. Hugh’s cock, so recently spent, twitched.

“Not on the first date, big guy,” Nick said, with a lopsided smile.

“I should, um, how do you want—”

“How fast can you get it up again?”

“Er—well, it’s not immediate, but—”

“Are we’re talking ‘episode of Project Runway’ fast, or ‘settle in for a Friends marathon’ fast?”

“I guess the first one?” The grandparents never watched television. He and Mom barely watched television, though they had cable now, running to the TV in the office upstairs. But he’d never seen Friends and he’d never heard of the other show.

“Because if you think it’s soon, then I’d much rather wait until you’re fucking my ass and talking filthy in my ear,” Nick said.

“God, is that what you want?”

“Yeah. That’s kind of how I’ve been hoping the night would end since you walked up to me at work and asked about a gym membership.”

“Then yeah. That.”

“Sweet.” Nick pushed him back onto the bed. “I thought I’d have to kind of lead you through it, but that whole ‘I said, unzip me’ thing was amazing.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before. I mean, sex, yes, but this—talking like that to someone is new.”

“Well, it’s fucking hot.”

Hugh propped himself up on his elbows. “How many points do I have?”

“Fifteen. And before you ask, even if we counted piercings, that’s everything.”

“And how many do you have?”

“Five.”

“Do shoes count?”

Nick sighed dramatically and put his hands on his hips. “You trying to weasel out of our deal, Hugh?”

“If shoes count, then that’s two shoes, two socks, and my sweater.” He pulled his sweater over his head and tossed it over by his gym bag. “Take off my shoes, Nicky.”

“God, seriously, you should go into business.” Nick knelt and removed each shoe, then each sock, and put them by the door. “You want me to suck your toes? I knew a guy who was into that.”

“That’s unsanitary,” Hugh said, and winced when he heard how stupid it sounded.

“Maybe after we shower.” Nick’s hands smoothed over his feet, up his legs, rubbing deeply into his calves. “Some muscle tone here. I can’t wait until you surrender to my whims, Hugh. I’ll have you lifting in no time. God, you’re made for putting on muscle.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

Nick tongued the hollow behind the bone of his ankle. “Mm.”

How can he never have noticed all the nerve endings right there? In his life, he couldn’t think of a single time he’d ever even thought about that patch of skin, but now Nick’s tongue triggered an electric pulse all the way to his cock.

“Take off your clothes,” Hugh said, hardly recognizing his own raspy voice.

“I thought maybe I could speed up your recovery.”

“I want to watch you touch yourself.”

Nick swallowed hard. “Fuck me. Yeah. All right.” He stripped quickly, kicking his jeans—underwear still in them—into a corner. “Uh, you want me to stand here, like this?”

Yes. And no. And—hell. “Sorry. Yeah. Start like that.”

“Until you can no longer control yourself. Very hot.” Nick slicked up his hand and went to work, closing his eyes.

“Look at me while you do it,” Hugh said, and that was some inspiration there, because that got a blush out of Nick, even as he did it. “That’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.” Thick cock with an inviting, uncut head, now starting to drip precome. “How close are you, Nicky?”

“Any time you want to participate would be good.”

“I think I want you a little more aroused first. Touch your testicles.”

“Jesus. I—”

“Spread your legs a little. Yeah, like that.” Hugh pushed himself all the way up, to sitting, and readjusted his pants around his cock. (Fastest refractory period ever.) “Nick, god.”

Nick was still looking at him when he pulled his gaze up from the excellent view of Nick’s smooth, slender hand on his thick, lubed cock. And watching someone masturbate while they watched you watch them? Mind-melting.

Hugh inhaled and said, “All fours, on the bed. Now.”

Eager, eager, Nick got into position, wiggled his ass a little. “Oh, yes, sir, I’m ready to please you now.”

For a long, drawn-out second, Hugh thought he was going to slap that ever-so-tempting ass. He restrained himself.

“That was a good show,” he said. “I think next time I’ll fuck you first, and then make you perform for me. And at the last possible second I’ll suck you so you come down my throat. Would you like that, Nicky?”

“Yes, sir. Please, god, yes, sir.”

Hugh smiled. Because “next time” felt like a promise. And he was beginning to suspect that he really liked Nick.

At least he’d done this before. He knew how to ease his fingers in, how to stretch a tight hole, how to feel around carefully, gently, until he found what he was looking for.

“Fuck you, fuck me already,” Nick hissed, arching his back. “Oh, god, you have to fuck me, Hugh, please.”

Which made it kind of obvious what he’d forgotten. “I have condoms in my bag, unless you—”

“Drawer, drawer, god, come on—”

He wiped his hands with a baby wipe and fumbled in Nick’s bedside table until he found condoms, then fumbled pulling down his pants enough to actually put one on. He bit back a moan. This was supposed to be Nick’s thing now. Whether Hugh could come again or not. (Vanishingly small chance of not.)

“Wanted you to fuck me in the steam room,” Nick said, turning his head. “Wanted to bend over so you could do me on the benches, kept thinking how fucking hot it would be to be all open and fucked underneath you while you pounded me, and what if someone walked in? What if someone saw me taking it like that, like you couldn’t even control yourself?”

Hugh steadied his cock at Nick’s ass and pressed in, firmly, carefully.

“Yeah.” Nick put his head down in his arms. “Oh fuck yes. Harder, come on.”

“Not yet.” Slowly, slowly, all the way in, until his body pressed against Nick’s. He leaned over, bracing on his left arm, brushing his hand over Nick’s well-built shoulders.

“God, stop, just fucking fuck me.”

Instead, he ran his hand up the back of Nick’s neck, into his hair, but gently, a caress.

Nick shuddered. “You asshole.”

“I’m not feeling all that desperate at the moment.” Hugh thrust deeper once, then again. “But you, Nicky, you sound really uncomfortable.”

“You suck so much. I decided I don’t like you.”

“I should punish you for saying that when I’m trying to bring you pleasure.” He thrust again, teasing.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “You should.” And his ass, tight against Hugh’s groin, pushed up.

“Hell.” Because that was amazing. Sparklers went of in his balls and he forgot all about torturing Nick. “You trying to fuck me?”

“I am fucking you.”

It didn’t matter that Nick was provoking him, that Nick was trying to get what he wanted. Hugh shifted so he could hold onto Nick’s sides and began to rock himself into that body with quick, brutal strokes.

Nick grunted with each thrust and mumbled an occasional “fuck yes” into his arms. When Hugh changed the angle a little, seeking his prostate, Nick howled and bit down hard on his hand.

“Yeah, good, now who’s fucking whom? Touch yourself, Nicky, go on. Come while I’m slamming into your ass.”

Nick moaned again and reached down, trying to pump himself with his hand as Hugh pumped into him. And that was a sight, all the muscles in his back going rigid, the way he twisted to give himself room, opening his chest, burrowing his face into his elbow.

“God, you’re so hot, Nick, come on, do it, come for me—”

He felt Nick’s body tense, hold, release, even as he watched come land ropey and white on the bedspread. The increased tightness and sudden relaxation was too much. Hugh bent all the way forward, covering Nick’s body with his own, and came, again, in Nick’s ass. This time he rode the orgasm all the way down, feeling his breathing slow back to normal, his chest against Nick’s back, wishing distantly that he’d taken his shirt off after all, so he could feel Nick on his skin.

“That was definitely worth the price of a pizza,” Nick mumbled.

“Are you calling me a whore?”

“That was fantastic.”

“Agreed.”

“Ha. I bet.”

They negotiated the pulling-out, cleaning-up, re-dressing (Nick pulled on boxers and a T-shirt), un-dressing (Hugh, feeling silly, pulled off his trousers).

“Hungry again. Hope you don’t mind me eating.”

“Of course not.” Hugh perched, somewhat awkwardly, on Nick’s bed.

“Want anything? Water? Soda?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re better than fine, Hugh. Listen, we should do that again. A lot. But I should tell you before we do anything else—I’m not interested in boyfriends. I don’t want to belong to someone, and I don’t want the responsibility of someone belonging to me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Even though that hurt, a little, because Hugh was already thinking about how much his mom would like Nick, and introducing him to Lucy.

“Don’t, like, get me wrong. I could pretty much have sex with you from this second until my next shift, but I don’t do attachment, you know?”

The way Nick said “attachment” made it sound like an inconvenient and humiliating medical procedure.

“All right,” Hugh said.

“Is it really all right? I mean, I’m not slutting around every night or anything. And I really like you. I just don’t go in for monogamous relationships and commitment.”

“Well. I guess I like you, too. So yeah. Yes. And this was…eye-opening.”

“You’re serious, you’ve never come on like that before? I mean, you do it like you have the script already in your head. God. You remember you saying we might not be compatible? Yeah, not a problem, Reynolds.”

“No. I mean, I guess I’ve—been on the receiving end of it. But not—not like that. I didn’t feel good about it, and you don’t seem to feel bad, at all. So it probably wasn’t really the same.”

Nick frowned. “I definitely don’t feel bad about it. This that ex you don’t want to talk about?”

“I thought that maybe he misunderstood,” Hugh said, slowly and looked away from Nick’s weirdly compassionate expression. “I think maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. I think he chose me because I wanted to be in control. And that’s what made it—better, for him. That I wasn’t.”

“Tell me where to find him, honey. I’ll teach him all about control.”

“He’s older. I mean, he’s not a student or anything.”

“Oh, that’s even worse. Well, my older boyfriend was the total opposite of that. He was always a little afraid he was going to break me, but he was an awesome guy. I was completely in love with him.”

“Really?” He could turn back now, talking about Nick, no longer thinking about Ethan. “What was he like?”

“Hot. Well, not hot the way you’re probably thinking it, but he was crazy-hot to me. A big old bear, like who needs a blanket, just snuggle up to Tim and curl right in. But he could ride me pretty good, when he wanted to.” Nick grinned, licking the last of the pizza off his fingers. “He was a sweet guy. I miss him.”

“You guys…broke up?”

“Uh, well, see, I kind of lied about my age. Which worked, for like two months. But when he found out I was seventeen, he dropped me hard.”

“You didn’t,” Hugh said. “You lied about your age?”

“I know! Listen, I know now how fucked up that was. But then I just knew there was no way this big bear was going to fuck me if I told him the truth. So I added a year or two.” He shook his head. “And now I’m like, oh my god, if I was with a guy and he said he was nineteen, you know, I’d totally do him. If he ended up being seventeen instead, I’d completely freak out.”

“Wow.”

“Well, anyway. Uh. Yeah.” Nick looked younger, standing there, shame-faced and mussed.

“So I guess I should probably go home. I didn’t tell my mom I’d be gone all night.”

“Your mom, huh? Does she know you’re gay?”

“Thanks to some magazines I stole from Barnes and Noble when I was fourteen.”

Nick winced. “That’ll do it. Will I see you again, or did I just screw up any hope of friendship by revealing I’m willing to lie to get laid?”

“I’d like that. Friendship, I mean. And also, don’t you keep saying you’re going to get me in shape?”

“You’ll be my guinea pig. I’ll train you for free as long as you let me experiment on you.”

Hugh raised his eyebrows.

“Not that kind of experiment. Different routines, protein intake, stuff like that.”

“I’m open to that,” Hugh said. He stood up, and pulled on the pants he’d just taken off. “I’m glad you were the one at the desk tonight, Nick.”

“Yeah, me too. Use that seven day pass, okay? And when it’s over, I’ll see you over at the real gym.”

“How much will that cost me?”

Nick licked his lips. “You get the gym, the illegal steam room, and me. How much is too much?”

“Fair point.” For a second, he had no idea how to say goodbye.

“I’ll walk you out, make sure the girls don’t jump you.”

So he gathered his stuff and survived round two of cat-calls and lewd suggestions from Nick’s roommates. Once they were out on the sidewalk, he turned. “I don’t really—do you want my phone number?”

“Yeah, sure.” Nick, of course, had a cell phone. Lucy had been trying to get Hugh to buy one for months. “What is it?”

Hugh told him, clarifying, “That’s our house phone. I keep meaning to get a cell, then not.” Another expense of which Grandfather would have questioned the merit.

“I can’t live without mine. So I guess that means I won’t give you my number, since the pens and paper are back in the apartment.” Nick shrugged, then reached up to kiss Hugh’s cheek. “I’ll see you around, Hugh Reynolds. Next time I suck you off, I want my fingers in your ass when you come.”

Hugh swallowed hard, toes curling. “I might be able to accommodate that request.”

“Oh, I think you will.” Nick waved, and walked back inside.

Not at all where he thought tonight was going to lead him. Tonight? This morning, now. The buses weren’t running, but at least he was only a few miles from home. He thought of Nick’s muscles, and of Nick’s hands digging into the meat of his calf.

A few miles. That’s nothing, right? He could probably run it, if he wanted to. That would be faster than walking.

He tugged on the straps of the gym bag until it was somewhat securely fastened across his body. Then he took off running.

* * *

Hugh groaned, stretching, before sitting down at the table.

“Did you get in a workout last night, kid?”

“Coffee. Thank you. And yes. Actually, only kind of. I went to the new gym, but the guy who took me on the tour told me about a different gym, so that’s kind of where we ended up.”

“We?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “His name’s Nick. He’s not my boyfriend, so be quiet.”

“But did you have fun?”

She didn’t exactly keep it a secret, that she wanted him to go out more, see people, enjoy the types of things she’d enjoyed at his age. But she mostly tried not to mention it. And having Lucy around definitely helped. Only now could he see how worried she’d been, the last couple of weeks.

“I had fun. We did. We got a pizza.” Do not blush, do not blush, she will know if you blush.

“A pizza,” Mom said, voice way too bland. “I’m sure it was delicious.”

“Hush, Mother. Anyway, I got in late, I thought you’d come downstairs.”

“I was passed out, baby. I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I’m exhausted lately.” She kissed his forehead. “So. What’s on the agenda today? Want to hit the shops?”

The shops. Mom knew the best way to at least stop in at every independently owned bookstore in the East Bay. She had routes pre-planned, with contingencies for road work.

“I think I need to take another shower first. I might have outdone myself a little last night.” Then he realized what that sounded like, and added, “No—I mean—I took a run. Nick lives in Berkeley, so I sort of took a run on my way home. That’s why I’m sore. I mean—that’s why my legs hurt. Well, that and the squats.”

“Squats,” Mom said, eyes kind of twinkly.

“Oh, shut up.”

“You take your shower and rest your weary—legs. Let me know when you want to go.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mumbled.

“Listen, son, I am delighted you made a friend last night.” She kissed his forehead. “Delighted, Hugh. The moping is all but gone, poof, like it was never here.”

“Is there more coffee?”

“I’ll put some in a travel cup for you. Take your shower.”

“Yes, Mother.”

But when she kissed him again, he let himself smile. Okay. So he made a friend. It was good. Nick was good. And all he’d wanted was a gym membership.