Chapter Ten

 

 

 

Josh practically carries him into the house, and Scott can’t decide if Josh just likes that he can do that or if Scott is actually too drunk to walk on his own. His brain sort of isn’t working right now, and his feet seem very far away, way down there on the floor, and he giggles into Josh’s chest.

Josh doesn’t ask what he’s laughing about, which is good because Scott can’t remember, doesn’t know. Instead, he just stares down at Scott’s face, one big hand cupping his jaw, and growls. “Fuck. Gonna fucking take you apart, boy.”

Scott shudders and closes his eyes, waiting for a kiss that doesn’t come. He finally opens them again to see Josh just towering over him, staring at him, so intense and so serious. Scott opens his mouth.

“Where’s your bed?” Josh asks. “I wanna spread you out so wide, fuck you so hard...”

Scott gulps in a mouthful of air and spins around, heading down the hallway. Josh stays close behind him, crowding Scott against the wall and pushing him forward until Scott reaches the door. He lurches through it, tripping over things and unsteady on his feet without the wall to hold him up, and collapses onto the wide bed. Layla’s sweater is tangled around his ankle, and he shakes his foot to get it off, laughing, knowing he looks ridiculous.

Josh doesn’t look, doesn’t ask, just crawls over Scott and presses him into the bed, holding him down by the neck and digging his teeth into Scott’s shoulder, and Scott’s brain whites out, everything else erased by the sharp jolt of pain-pleasure that shoots through him. He relaxes back into the pillows, content to let Josh lick and bite and do what he likes. He halfheartedly thrusts his hips up into the firm pressure of Josh’s body over him, but his body doesn’t react, too drunk, too exhausted. He doesn’t even care if he comes. It’s not about that any more. He doesn’t know if it ever was.

And Josh is fucking perfect right now, because he doesn’t seem to give a shit about Scott’s cock at all. He just stands up and strips naked and sits up against the headboard of the bed, stroking himself and staring impatiently at Scott. “Come on now, boy, I want you up here on my dick.”

Scott flips himself onto his stomach, feeling like a fish out of water. His limbs don’t seem to move the way he wants them too, but he manages to get on his hands and knees to crawl over between Josh’s legs. He ducks down to lick Josh’s fingers, and the little spaces between them where he can taste Josh’s cock, and Josh grabs a handful of his hair and sits him up again.

“Want you on my dick,” Josh says again, his voice low and rumbly, and Scott can feel it in his chest. He nods as best he can, ignoring the tight pull of his hair clenched in Josh’s fist, and flaps his hand in the direction of the nightstand.

“Got condoms,” he mumbles. His lips feel bruised and weak. He licks them. “Need a condom, hold on. Let go.”

Josh grips him tighter for a second, and in that moment Scott realizes just how much bigger he is, how much stronger... He realizes that if Josh decides he wants to fuck him bare, there’s not going to be a whole lot Scott can do about it. The thought should be terrifying, but Scott just waits, looks back into Josh’s face. He doesn’t feel scared. He just feels numb.

Josh finally pushes Scott’s head away and Scott sways, nearly tumbling off the bed. He slaps clumsily at the nightstand drawer and pulls out a little foil square, but his fingers are too fat and weak and sweaty, and he can’t get the thing open. He puts it between his teeth and yanks hard and the wrapper splits, spilling the condom out into Scott’s hand. He fumbles it and finally manages to get his fingers coordinated enough to push it onto Josh’s cock. Josh is big and thick - bigger than most of the guys Scott’s gone home with recently, but not as big as Carter. Scott hasn’t met anyone with a bigger cock than Carter. He finds himself almost disappointed.

He doesn’t have lube, hasn’t ever needed it at home, and he sucks Josh’s cock into his mouth instead, as sloppy and wet as he can make it. Josh swears and drags him off by his hair, and Scott does as he’s prompted, letting Josh turn him around and lay him back against his chest, so they’re both leaning back against the headboard. Josh holds his cock steady as Scott sinks down, and fuck, this is different, this position. He feels so exposed, like he’s on display, nothing to look at but the empty room, nothing to steady him but Josh’s hand on his hip, forcing him into a quick, brutal pace.

Scott looks down at himself, at his legs splayed wide over Josh’s thick, muscular thighs and his cock, half-hard and bouncing hilariously against his thigh, and he feels so small. He closes his eyes against the sight and reaches back to hold onto Josh’s shoulder, and Josh is so firm and smooth everywhere Scott can’t even get a grip. He groans and instead concentrates on the feel of that thick cock stretching him open. The pain of it, the pleasure spiking through him when Josh slams in just right.

He reaches down to get a hand on his dick, and he’s changed his mind, he really fucking wants to come, just like this, riding Josh’s cock. He can hear himself crying out, louder with each stroke, and normally he would be embarrassed, but right now he’s too far gone, too drunk to care. Josh slides down and gets both his hands on Scott’s hips in a tight grip, fucking up into him fast and hard with all the power of those muscles behind him, and oh fuck, it’s exactly right, just enough to push Scott over the edge, coming all over himself and Josh’s legs and the bed. He closes his eyes and throws his head back and strokes himself faster, and god, he wants to feel Josh come too, lose it inside him right as Scott comes.

Josh keeps fucking him for a moment longer, keeps up the same steady, unforgiving pace, and then he falters. His grip on Scott’s hair goes lax. Scott moans, grinds himself down on Josh’s cock, but it doesn’t feel like Josh is coming yet.

“Come on,” he pleads. “Come on, come on, I wanna feel it, fucking do it, come on.”

“Fuck,” Josh gasps in his ear. He grabs Scott’s hips and lifts him off, and Scott’s eyes fly open. He looks around wildly, wondering why Josh stopped when he was so close - Scott feels almost like he didn’t get to come either, deprived of Josh’s release.

“Scott...”

Scott doesn’t remember telling Josh his name; Josh never asked. He looks up over his shoulder, searching Josh’s face, but Josh isn’t looking at him. Josh is looking past him, at Layla, who’s standing in the doorway. Scott stares at her and she stares right back, and he’s suddenly very conscious of the come staining his stomach, and the bite marks on his shoulder, and the bruises on the insides of his thighs, all so exposed to her now.

Josh pushes Scott off his lap and Scott collapses to the floor, slamming his knees to the thin carpet painfully. He looks up as Josh makes a beeline for the exit, clutching his jeans and shirt in front of his crotch. Layla doesn’t spare him a glance. She’s still watching Scott, tears streaming down her face and her mouth dropped open.

“Layla...” Scott starts, his voice rough and broken, unsure what to say. If there is anything to say.

She holds out a hand. “Don’t.”

Cold, sobering disappointment surges through Scott’s body. The reality of what’s happening is slowly dawning on him, and he’s more disgusted with himself with every passing second. He sits back on his heels, not even bothering to cover himself or all of the incriminating marks, and lays his hands flat on his thighs, palms facing up.

“I don’t know what to say,” he tells her. “I’m sorry? I just...”

“Shut up,” she snaps, her voice thick and choked. “You don’t get to talk right now. Fuck, Scott.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I knew about the girls. I was willing to look past that, Scott. I was willing to let it go, because I loved you, and I thought you loved me-”

“I do!”

“But this is too far. I can’t forget this, Scott. I can’t just ignore it. This is... This is disgusting. You are disgusting.”

Scott doesn’t contradict her. She’s right.

Layla lets herself fall back against the wall and buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. I thought...I thought what we had was special. That maybe I was the one you’d change for. But you’ll never change, will you? You’ll be a lying, cheating asshole until the day you die.”

Scott lets his tears spill over and clasps both hands in front of his chest. “Please, no, I’ll be better, I swear. I promise. Layla, please don’t say that. I can be better. I’ll stop, I promise. I promise.” He’s breathing so fast he feels lightheaded, and his hands are slippery with sweat, his nails digging into his palm, and it hurts, but it doesn’t distract him at all from the punch to the gut Layla’s words deliver.

He shuffles towards her, extending one hand as a gesture of peace, but she slaps his wrist and shoves it away. Shoves him away.

“Get the fuck out,” she cries. “Get out of my house.”

“No, Layla, come on. Come on, please...”

He pushes himself to one knee, then up to his feet, and he feels her gaze track down his body. He feels her looking at the come on his stomach, and his pathetic, spent cock, and he wants to curl up and die.

Layla bends down and snatches up a pair of Scott’s jeans from the floor. She throws them at him. “Clean yourself up. You’re disgusting. Then get the fuck out.”

He knows he should do what she says - his skin is crawling, and he wants a burning hot shower and clothes that don’t smell like whiskey and smoke. But he can’t stay in this house one more minute, he can’t. He yanks the jeans on, grabs the first shirt he finds, and goes for the door. He doesn’t even stop to put on shoes.

He’s three blocks away when the pain in his feet finally filters through the haze of alcohol and shock clouding his brain. He stands still, under the glow of a streetlamp, and looks up and down the street. He needs help. He needs someone. He pats his pockets, looking for his phone, suddenly immensely grateful that Layla had picked up the jeans he’d discarded less than an hour ago.

“Mike?” he pants, listening to the phone ring on the other end. “Mike? Help me. I need help. Mike.”

Mike finally answers, groggily saying Scott’s name until Scott shuts up and lets him speak. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Need help,” Scott tells him. Now that he’s not moving, he feels sick. He feels like he’s about to fall over. He thinks his feet might be bleeding. He clutches the streetlamp, shifting his weight. “Can you pick me up?”

“Okay, sure, let me get dressed... Where are you?”

“Um... couple blocks away from home. I forgot my shoes.”

“You did not seriously just call me to drive you home when you’re three blocks away, right?”

“Can’t go home. Layla’s home. Layla-” Scott’s stomach twists and he can’t finish the sentence. He starts breathing hard again, trying to keep himself from puking or crying or dying of guilt and humiliation.

“Fuck, man... I’m coming, all right? Gimme five minutes. Where are you, on the street? Sit down, Scott, just sit down where you are, okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”

Scott sits down right there next to the streetlamp, not letting go of it for a second. He turns his head toward it and closes his eyes. It’s late, and it’s unlikely anyone will walk by, but he can’t take the chance, doesn’t want to see the looks in their eyes. He concentrates on breathing through all the pain, and sooner than he expects, he feels headlights shining on his eyelids.

Mike opens the door for him and helps him in, and when they get back to his place, he climbs right into the shower with Scott, holding him up while the hot water washes his skin clean. He falls against Mike’s sturdy frame as he’s stepping out of the tub, and for a second he can’t get his bearings. Everything goes dizzy, and he finds Mike’s face only after a whole minute of trying.

“Where...where’s Dave, did he make it back?” Scott hears himself ask.

Mike’s eyes go wide. “Scott...we haven’t lived with Dave in years. This is my apartment, mine and Gina’s. Remember? We moved out of our old place when you and Layla got together.”

Scott squints at Mike for a long time, and he wants to smile, reassure Mike that he’s fine, yeah, sorry for doing this to you again, man. But when he opens his mouth to speak, his body doesn’t give him the chance. He’s puking on the floor before he even realizes it’s about to happen, and Mike jumps back as far as he can and still keep Scott from hitting the ground.

When his stomach finally stops clenching in agony, Scott leans against his friend and breathes slowly through his mouth. He’s vaguely aware of another person coming in, and for one confused minute he thinks it’s Dave after all, but it’s a woman’s voice that speaks.

“Jesus, is he okay?”

“I think so,” Scott feels Mike say. He likes the vibrations in Mike’s chest. It’s comforting to feel the words rather than hear them. Mike rubs Scott’s back. “I think he’s just drunk.”

“M’sorry,” Scott mumbles. “Didn’ mean to.”

“I know, Scott,” Mike says quietly. “It’s all right.”

“I wanna go t’bed now,” Scott tells him miserably.

“Oh, fuck. Scott...” Mike looks around and pulls Scott up until he’s standing straight. Scott’s abs ache and he groans pitifully. “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but... Scott, you’ve seen how small this place is. Are you sure you can’t go home? Maybe things will blow over...”

Scott shakes his head hard enough to make himself dizzy again. “No. It’s not...it’s her house. I fucked up. I can’t... I can’t.”

Mike sighs and runs a hand through his hair, resigned. “Shit, man. Tomorrow we’ll find you another place to stay, okay? Somewhere with a bed.”

Scott feels his face crumple and the tears start again. He sags in Mike’s arms. “Carter,” he mutters. “Can you take me to him?”

“Yeah, of course, Scott, of course. We’ll call him tomorrow, all right? Let’s get you lying down, okay? Come on.”

He lies down on the sofa where Mike deposits him, with his head resting on a scratchy throw pillow and a too-warm blanket over him, but he doesn’t fall asleep right away. Instead, he watches the light spilling out of the kitchen and listens to Mike and his girlfriend talking.

“You don’t seem surprised to see him like this.”

“Fuck, Gina, I thought things were better. He and Layla were good together. Last I heard, anyway. But...Scott’s not really a relationship guy, y’know? This wouldn’t be the first time a girl’s tossed him out on his ass.”

It hurts to hear that said out loud, but it’s true. Layla’s words echo in his head. You’ll be a lying, cheating asshole until the day you die. He turns his face into the pillow and tries hard not to cry. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I tried.”

“Awfully nice of you to pick him up. In the middle of the night. When he’s falling down drunk. You’re too nice, baby,” Gina says.

“You don’t want him here?”

Scott holds his breath, waiting for her answer. “No, I don’t mind, for one night, anyway. But I do wonder a little bit...why you do it.”

A sigh. “Sometimes I do, too. But I couldn’t just leave him like that, Gina. He’s my friend. He’ll always be my friend, no matter how many times this happens. He needs people that love him. He has... trouble on his own.” Scott’s heart swells. He doesn’t deserve friends like Mike.

“Trouble how?” Gina asks, and Scott wants to know what Mike thinks of him, but he’s fading fast, and he can’t hold his eyes open any longer. The voices blur into the background, and when he wakes up, he’s not sure what was a dream and what was real. If any of it was real at all.