see you at the end

Chapter 9

Dylan

There’s surprisingly very little drama between Brynn and I once we’ve decided to take this “break.”

I’m not even sure what that means to her or to myself. I just know that it means I find a furnished one bedroom near DuPont Circle, and I pack up my things while she’s at work. Or maybe she’s out with the coworker she met. I don’t know. I just figured it would be best if I did this without her around. And I don’t mind being the one to move out. My instructor’s salary isn’t as much as hers, but I can afford something small just for me.

And maybe someone else too?

Once I’m in the new place, putting my clothes away and making a list of things I’ll need, I start to wonder if Brynn and I are actually taking a “break.” And I start to think about us moving to DC to begin with, why I’m even here, and what we left behind. I don’t feel angry or resentful really. We haven’t talked about what this means for our wedding plans, aside from them obviously being on hold. Do we just need to explore other relationships for a while then find our way back to each other? I’ve heard of that kind of thing happening. I don’t know if this is one of those things.

I sit on the bed in the furnished one bedroom and look around. I briefly toured it and the landlord seemed nice. The bed is a queen with a light gray comforter. The walls are white. The entire place is bland and neutral, I see. From the color choices in the furniture to the wall hangings, the place isn’t meant to excite or provide any kind of stimulation. It’s working. I feel just as gray as the bedspread; as boring as the wall decor.

On the wall across from the bed are two matching black-and-white photos of flowers. There’s a gray dresser against the wall, one that I could easily move to another part of the room. So, that’s what I do, pushing it over to a wall where a window is. Then I take down the black and white photos and stare at the plain, naked wall.

It needs color.

It needs something fascinating.

Something I’ll never get tired of looking at.

A quick Google search gets me the number. On the second ring, a woman picks up. “E Street Galleries.”

“I’d like to buy a painting,” I say. “The one by Leander Garrison.”

“Oh,” she sounds a little surprised.

“How do I go about doing that? I’ll pay whatever price he’s asking.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says. “It’s actually been sold.”

***

Leander

“Somebody…bought it?”

“Sure did,” Lena says on the phone. “Paid full price too.”

“Holy shit. That’s fucking awesome!” I can hardly contain my excitement, so I say the last two words a little too loud, which annoys an old couple sitting near me on the Metro.

“It’s great news. I knew it was only a matter of time.”

“Wow.” I glance over at Troy, who’s scrolling on his phone across from me on the train. “Who bought it? Some super-rich politician?” My mind flips through the various ones I know like pages in a book. But most of the ones I know have zero interest in abstract art.

“I’m not sure, actually,” Lena says. “They did it through an assistant. Guy came in here this morning and asked about it. Also, you won’t believe this, right after we signed the papers, somebody else called and asked to buy it.”

“What?” Now I don’t know whether to be excited, or a little creeped out. “Seriously?” It’s possible the shooting has something to do with it. It makes my stomach sink a little. Maybe it’s not two people interested in my art. It was just two people who found out I had an art piece and were only interested because I’m a Senator’s son and someone shot me.

“Seriously,” Lena says. “So, do you want me to cut you a check? Or I can deposit it into your Paypal—minus the gallery fee, of course.”

“Of course.” The train comes to a stop and I get out, Troy lagging along behind me. “Um, I guess Paypal would be quicker. Thanks, Lena. I’ll have another one for you soon.”

“Can’t wait to see it. Congrats, Leander. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

I hang up and linger for a few minutes on the sidewalk. And Troy lingers behind me. I suddenly have money. Just like that. My own money. About seven grand, after the gallery takes their cut. It was going to go to help Lionel, who’s sitting in jail right now as far as I know because I haven’t heard a peep out of him, but I need my own place.

Now more than ever.

And at least I know with Lionel in jail he’s not doing any drugs. I mean, at least I hope. So, now I can really take some steps to getting out on my own. And maybe now that this painting has sold, someone else will be willing to buy another one. And another one.

I start to feel a little more optimistic.

And plus it’ll be easier to see Dylan. That is, if he wants to. I shouldn’t be so glad about the fiancée being out of the picture, but I am. But just how much out of the picture is she? He said they were taking a break, and that could mean many things. I feel a cautionary tug deep in my gut, but I really don’t want that to ruin my mood.

I take out my phone and send Dylan a text.

Hey, somebody bought my painting :)

A couple minutes later he texts back. I heard :) I actually called the gallery about it and found out somebody else got to it before me.

I grin so big. That was you that called? You were really going to buy it?

Haha, yes.

I linger against the wall of a building, while Troy stands beside me, looking bored. “Sorry, I’m not more exciting,” I tell him. “But one of my paintings sold.”

“Congratulations,” he says mildly, looking around us and then down at his phone.

I text Dylan again. They paid full price, so I’m going to look into getting an actual apartment.

What a coincidence. I’m sitting in my new apartment right now.

My thumbs hover over the phone screen. For some reason, I thought he would tell me before he left and got his new place. He did that pretty quick. Quicker than I thought. I don’t know why it makes me feel funny, like maybe this whole thing with his fiancée is my fault. He says it isn’t, and that she’s been cheating on him, but…he cheated on her too. With me.

I stare at the phone screen, not replying, for so long that Dylan sends another text.

It’s furnished. So I didn’t have to go through the hassle of getting furniture or anything.

I glance over at Troy, who eyes the people walking by us on the street with vague suspicion before looking down at his phone again. At least he’s good at his job. Aside from the fact that he looks like he was a gladiator in a past life, we just look like two dudes chilling on the sidewalk, looking at our phones. Not like a Senator’s son who got shot, out with his bodyguard.

Dylan sends another text. Thought your painting might make the place look nicer. It’s very bland and boring.

I’m wondering if he’s hinting around about inviting me over. I look over at Troy again. “You’ve probably figured out that I’m gay, right?”

Troy glances over at me and continues running his thumb over the screen of his phone. “I guessed.”

“Are you…going to tell my dad?”

He looks up from his phone at me. “What business is it of his?”

“Well, he’s paying you. And he’s a Senator.”

“If you were a minor, I’d be obligated to tell him where you go. But you’re not, so I won’t. Not unless you want me to.”

This is the most words Troy and I have exchanged since this whole arrangement started. He saw me drag Dylan into a dark hallway at the gallery to make out, and there have been no angry phone calls from either of my parents.

But Dylan has his own place now. And soon, I won’t be sleeping under my parents roof or my studio anymore. So, Dylan and I will be seeing each other. Or at least I’m assuming.

“No, not really,” I say to him. “I mean, I always kind of thought they’d just figure it out one day. And that would be that. You know?”

Troy shrugs and looks back at his phone. “I guess.”

I send a text to Dylan. I’d like to see your new place. If that’s okay.

Dylan sends back, Sure, I’d always love company :)

Okay. Maybe…later tonight?

Can I maybe take you out first?

Now I’m grinning like an absolute fool. Like, on a date?

If that’s okay with you.

I want to laugh out loud, I’m so happy, but I just text back, Absolutely.

***

The seven grand hits my Paypal account later in the afternoon.

I stare at all those zeros, while getting on my laptop to look for rentals. I won’t be able to afford anything in DC, because even though I have money now, it’ll be gone really soon. And I don’t know when I’ll sell another painting again.

I frown as I scroll through the results pages. Because I realize I don’t have an actual job. They’re going to want some proof of employment. I wonder if I can have Lena write up something that says I’m sort of “employed” at the art gallery.

But before I can get too deep into it, I have to start getting ready.

For my date.

With Dylan.

Alex would take me out on dates, but I didn’t really like Alex, so I never felt all that excited. I never really worried much about what I would wear or anything. But now I am. Dylan picked a place just over the bridge that overlooks the Potomac. I googled it and it seems pretty romantic. And kind of expensive. And I guess he’s okay being seen out with me now since things happened with the fiancée and I’m not really his student anymore. Well, technically I am, because I’ve yet to officially drop his class, but I kind of don’t want to. It was interesting and I got to see him. But maybe now it might be weird.

When I leave the house with Troy driving me, no one is home except Florence. I haven’t been keeping up with my parents whereabouts. And I guess since I have Troy, they don’t care enough to keep up with mine. Maybe they’re visiting Lionel in jail, who knows.

“So,” I look over at Troy driving. “How is this going to work? Do we need to get a table for three?”

“I can sit at the bar and keep a lookout,” he replies, cutting on the turn signal to take a right.

“What if…I want to go somewhere after?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smirk on his lips. “I just need to know where you’ll be spending the night. I’ll come get you in the morning.”

“Well, I’m not sure if it will be all night.”

He turns his head to look at me at a red light. “You don’t think so?”

“I mean, I don’t know. It’s up to him. I guess. I don’t want to pressure him.” Then I laugh and shake my head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

“Sounds like you’re nervous.” He pulls into a parking lot. “We’re here.”

“We are.”

Troy follows me inside and once he spots Dylan at a table, he goes over to the bar.

Dylan watches him as I take a seat. “I wondered if he’d come in or not.”

“He said he’d just sit at the bar.” I look over at Troy getting situated on a stool and then look at Dylan. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That I have to have him with me. I don’t know. I hope it doesn’t ruin the vibe or whatever.”

Dylan smiles. “It doesn’t ruin anything. I’m glad I can be here with you.”

“I’m glad you asked me out on an actual date.”

Dylan picks up the menu. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…I didn’t know if you would want to.”

“What? Date you?”

“I guess, yeah.”

A server comes over to get our drink orders. After she’s gone, Dylan says, “I wanted to see you. So I did.”

“Maybe not in class anymore though, right?”

His cheeks redden a little. “I can’t stop you from coming back to class, but…it might not be a good idea.”

The server brings us our drinks. We both say we’ll need a minute before we order, because I haven’t even looked at the menu.

“Then,” I say. “Guess I’ll drop the class.”

He shakes his head, “You shouldn’t have to do that either. I—”

“If it’s a difference between seeing you and not seeing you, then I’m dropping it.”

He sighs and looks at the menu. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” I look at the menu too. “I want you.”

He looks up at me with a smile and the server returns to get our orders. Once she’s taken our menus and she’s gone, we’re awkwardly quiet for a minute or two. I look around us. Troy is sipping what looks like sparkling water. Couples at other tables appear to be engrossed in their own conversations. No one’s paying attention to me. Or Dylan. But I feel funny. Like it’s difficult having my back to people.

“Can we trade seats?” I ask Dylan. He has his back facing a wall.

He looks at me funny, but then realization dawns. “Sure.” We trade chairs and when he sits he says, “I’m sorry, I should have realized.”

I shrug. “No worries.” I feel better now that I can see most everyone in the dining room.

“Have you started another painting?” Dylan asks quietly.

“Yeah. A few. I just need to finish them.” I take a couple sips of my soda. “So, am I going to get to see your new place after this?”

He looks surprised by my question.

“I mean, if you want to. Show me. That is.”

He blinks. “Would the, um, bodyguard come too?”

“He said I just need to tell him where I’ll be spending the night and he can pick me up in the morning.” I realize by Dylan’s face I’ve said too much again. “Not that I’ll be spending the night or anything. I’m sorry. I’m assuming too much.”

He reaches across the table for my hand. “You can stay as long as you want tonight.”

***

Dylan

Saying I’ve never done this before actually goes without saying.

I’m sure that Leander can tell. I feel like a silly unpolished virgin all over again. I’m not really a super experienced guy to begin with. Brynn is maybe the fourth woman I’ve ever been with in terms of penetrative sex.

So when I bring Leander back to my apartment, I feel like I’m doing everything wrong. Kissing, taking off his clothes. It makes me nervous, even though we’ve done this before. I guess it’s different now. There’s not really anything standing in our way.

But I’m pleased, so fucking proud, when I get him to come by jerking him off again.

“I guess you’re not freaked out,” he pants, afterward, laying back on the bed.

“No,” I reply, my voice muffled because I say it with my face buried in his neck, giving him kisses.

And the fact that I’m not freaked out by this? What does that mean? I don’t know if this is the time or the place to examine it considering I’d accepted not too long ago that I’m not one hundred percent heterosexual. And when I really think about that, I think that’s something I never even really considered. Whether I was completely straight or maybe a little bit gay. Is there a such thing as being a little bit gay? Would bisexual be the right word? I don’t have a distaste or disinterest toward the female body. All those times I did something sexual with a woman wasn’t horrible for me. It felt good, and I enjoyed it.

But, fuck, I am enjoying this too.

A lot.

Leander puts his arms around me, relaxed. I relax against him and look at his face.

We went right to the bedroom and jerked each other off. It was the easiest, quickest thing and I get the sense Leander is worried about me. Like he doesn’t want to rush me into things. And is it stupid to bring him back here? Is it too soon? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just know that I want to be with him, right here and right now.

His legs and my legs get all tangled together in the unmade bed, looping around and under covers. I find that a pair of hairy legs grazing against mine isn’t so terrible. It’s nice, in fact. Different. His back arcs as I kiss his neck again, his sharp jawline rubbing against my scalp. He sighs and I feel his pulse throb against my lips.

“Leander…” I whisper just because. Just because I like how the syllables of his name feel across my tongue.

He turns his head so that our lips meet, and we kiss for a long time, sinking into this bed, like sinking into water. Warm, gelatinous water and I’m getting comfortable now. Too comfortable.

He rolls over top of me so I’m on my back, hard as steel and poking me in the side. He brings one leg over to the other side of my hip so he’s straddling me, part of his weight over the base of my cock, which has swollen up increasingly with each kiss he gives me so quickly after getting off.

He jerks his hips forward slightly, his hands resting on either side of my head, as he leans over me, kissing me deep and deeper, and my hips roll of their own accord, wanting friction. I reach up and place my palms on his back. I skate them slowly over his skin, feeling his shoulder blades, his muscles tense and coil under my touch until I come to rest at his ass. I grab him there, tight, and he groans into my mouth.

My brain is flooded with thoughts of fucking him. Uncontrollable flashes of him impaled on my dick, of watching my cock sink into him, his thighs open, his mouth open, and eyes slammed shut.

I break the kiss and look up at him, squeezing his ass tighter. His thumb brushes against the corner of my mouth as I say, “I want to be inside you.”

His lips part, like he’s going to speak, but he presses them back together, stroking my face.

I say, “I’m sorry. Maybe now I’m assuming too much.”

“Are you sure?” Leander asks.

“I’m sure,” I breathe.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. I lean up to kiss it.

“How do you want me?” he whispers, fingers brushing across my cheek. “Under you?” He leans down to kiss me, rolling his hips over me again, and I groan into his mouth. “On top?” He grinds his hips down again, then he leans down to kiss me again, but his lips stop short, barely touching mine. “From behind?”

Holy shit.

I groan again and dig my fingers into his ass cheeks.

He smiles against my mouth. “Looks like we found a winner.”

“No,” I say and he blinks as he pulls back to look at me. “Like this.” I grab his hips. “I want to look at you.”

He gives me a small smile. “All right.” He gets off me and slides off the bed. “Just give me a couple minutes to get ready, okay?”

“Okay,” I say.

He goes into the bathroom and I hear the shower cut on. I sit up on my elbow and watch the silhouette of him against the frosted shower door. Anxiety ripples through me, and I try to distract it by arranging the bed covers, smoothing out the sheets, and plumping up the pillows. I wonder if I should pose myself on the edge of the bed for when he comes out, but I decide not to do that. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, is a mild fear that Brynn will show up. I texted her the neighborhood I was moving to, but I didn’t give her my address. I wasn’t sure if I needed to or should? It’s irrational, because she’s likely out with her guy tonight.

And here I am. With…my guy.

Leander emerges from the bathroom. 

He sits on the side of the bed and rubs a hand across my chest. “Do you have any lube?” My heart rate ticks upward again, and it must be all over my face. “We don’t have to,” he whispers. “You can change your mind at any time. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” I say. “I’m…,” I try to figure it out, find the word or feeling that I’m looking for. But I’m not sure what it is. I look at Leander with his hair damp and brushed back, wet tendrils curling over his forehead and brushing against the bridge of his nose. I look down and see the pinched and jagged scar on his side. My chest expands with an emotion I’m afraid to name. “I’m fine.” I reach for him and pull him close to me. “And I want you more than anything.”

I give him the bottle of lube I bought and put in the nightstand drawer for just such an occasion. He coats his fingers and mine in lube. He situates himself over top of me and props himself up on his knees, guiding my slick fingers towards his entrance. I don’t want to hurt him, so I’m careful, breaching him with the tip of my pointer, but he slides a finger in beside mine and coaxes me to push in deeper. And fuck…he’s so warm and tight, his insides close around our fingers almost like a fist, his breath hitches and I look up at him. His head is pushed back, his neck and jaw visible to me, his chest rising and falling as I’m guided inside him even deeper. Then he slides his finger out, and tells me to add one more, and I do. Two fingers deep inside him, I groan at how he feels, and plunge my fingers in and out of him, pushing deeper each time, until he makes a noise, sort of like a yelp and I start to pull my fingers out, afraid I’ve hurt him.

“No,” he stops me. “No, that wasn’t pain. That was…fuck…that was my prostate.”

He guides me back in and I finger him again. Then without him asking me to, I add a third finger. His legs start to shake.

“Okay,” he breathes.

My cock is as hard as steel and he arranges himself over me, taking my sheathed cock in his hand, and I hold onto his hips as he starts to sink down, taking me inside him.

His eyes close. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. He’s so hot and tight, to the point where I worry I’m going to hurt him, but he sinks down, and I close my eyes to feel him fully, and listen to both of our breaths hitching and gasping as I feel my cock slowly being engulfed in tight, slick heat.

Then he’s sitting on me, laying a hand across my chest to balance himself. I open my eyes to look at him, and his eyes are still closed. Pleasure mixed with strain flickers over this features.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, rubbing my thumbs over his hip bones, and accidentally brushing against his scar.

His eyelids flutter open. “Yeah,” he breathes. He looks down at me. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

He licks his lips and leans forward a little, the angle changing something inside him that makes us both groan at the same time. He pulls up a little, slow, only about an inch or so, then sinks back down. He groans again. I put my hand over his and grab his hip with the other. He whispers my name as he starts rocking forward and back, up and down, in a steady pace that I try my damnedest not to interfere with. My dick knows full and well I’m having sex as I feel it harden and swell inside him with each movement he makes, but my mind is a little bit slower. It takes my mind longer to consciously realize that I’m having sex with Leander, that I’m inside him, that our bodies are joined together and he’s over top of me, groaning softly each time my cock moves inside him.

I get a flash of him at the art gallery, standing next to me, asking me if I liked his painting. Asking me if I was insatiable. I conjure up every detail of him that night from how he was dressed to his yacht cologne, and here he is now, naked, and riding my dick. Then I think about him showing up late to my class, about him coming to talk to me after, and then like a shard of broken glass, I think about him laying there on the sidewalk, bleeding.

My hand involuntarily touches the scar on his side, above his hip. He doesn’t seem to notice as his breath gets louder and harsher, and I shift my hips upward to meet him moving downward. He leans over me and kisses me and I kiss him back. Then I put my arms around him and flip us so he’s on his back and I’m on top of him. I push his knees up and over my shoulders, opening him, and fuck into him as deep as I can. Every thought about him before, every thought about anything, starts to fade away, until the only thing I’m aware of is him and me, me inside him, and his grunts and groans while I thrust into him, his hands sliding down my back to my ass to push me in deeper. And I lose complete control over myself, fucking into him harder, faster, deeper, until I’m shuddering and releasing and he makes a noise, says a word that sounds like yes.

I get so lost in my orgasm that I almost don’t feel it, the warmth pooling between us and when I look down, see him coming.

“Fuck, Leander, fuck!” I thrust into him two more times while his cum gushes between us.

His body stiffens then relaxes, and my arms buckle as I rest across him. I didn’t realize how fast my heart was racing or how much I was sweating, but I’m a mess. The nape of my neck and forehead damp.

His body relaxes beneath me, and his arms slide around me. We lay there like that, still, until our breaths slow and our lips find each other. I’m drained. Any words or any thoughts at all seemed to have left me when I came.

When I came inside him.

“Oh my god,” I moan into his neck.

He slides a hand over my neck, rubbing. “You okay?”

“Better than okay. You?”

“Same.” He nuzzles his cheek against mine.

Something I’ve already known this whole time rushes at me right then, like a fucking stampede of emotions. It ripples and rushes through me, making me feel overwhelmed again. Because it’s true: I’ve never felt this way before. My whole life, years and years have gone by, and I haven’t felt this way. I haven’t felt this way about anyone. Ever. Not even Brynn. It’s a realization that hurts as much as it overjoys, and I pull Leander into my arms, holding him as tight to me as I possibly can, because he’s given me this.

He’s shown me this. And he’s the center of it. He’s the cause and the effect.