Jumping the fence with unsteady footing, Zack found himself once again in Milo Belloway’s backyard. He landed awkwardly, the night impeding his vision to the point of halfway blindness. A branch crunched under his foot, making him shiver. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t bother Milo on a night like this. Milo had no desire to hear his problems.

Biting his lip, he took a step toward the basement window. Milo’s lava lamp glowed on the inside, giving it the look of a demonic inner sanctum. The blinds were down, the music was blaring. Rob Zombie.

The chords of American Witch slowed his steps. Crouching down, he peered through the blinds, and a sudden thought stilled him. The urge. Some part of his mind, the part that was always under Milo’s watch, the part that was constantly looking for opportunities… questioned. What did he do without Them? Alone, in his room, with no reason to suspect eyes on his every move? Did he laugh the way he had laughed with Zack three nights ago? Did he even laugh at all?

Turning his head slowly, he leaned carefully to the right...

… Stop.

His whole body froze, and everything flooded in. What the Hell did he think he was doing? No one spies on Milo Belloway. Who the Fuck did he think he was? How could he even try such a thing? He felt dirty. Disgusting. What was he, some kind of voyeuristic freak? His eyes clenched closed, and his whole body was wracked with a guilty shudder.

Knocking first, he decided, was always the best option. His knuckles rapped lightly on the glass, and the music stopped almost immediately. Silence swelled through his ears like a bubble as the last sounds faded, and soon the window flew away from his fingers. “Viccar?”

Opening his eyes, he looked down to see Milo staring up. He felt almost brittle when Milo looked up at him that way. Like he was going over every molecule with a fine-toothed comb. “What are you doing here at one in the morning?”

His eyes widened at the sudden force of Milo’s voice. He wanted to say it. Spit it out. Better yet, leave Milo alone and let him have a night of peace. But his legs were suddenly very heavy, and his lips felt too exhausted to move. His throat felt lacerated, like he’d swallowed broken glass. All he could do was turn away.

Fingers brushed against his wrist and soon wrapped around his pulse. With his help, Zack slid through the window with very little grace, and quite a comparable amount of destruction. Books were kicked to the floor, a drink was spilled. He didn’t think about it. His mind was on a quick, steady derailment. Milo noticed (because Milo always notices everything), and it hurt knowing he was so easy to read.

“Wanna talk about it, Viccar?” The unbelievably cool dark-haired teen asked. “’Cause you’ve been actin’ damn peculiar lately.”

He didn’t even try to lie (because Milo can see through any and all bullshit). “My mom…” Was she really even his mother anymore? After all, a mother would never want to do anything to hurt her family. A mother would realize what was happening, and stop her stupid, selfish problem before it gets worse.

“What happened, Zack?” This caught his attention. It felt strange hearing his first name from Milo’s lips (because Milo doesn’t need to respect you to love you like his closest brother). Long fingers ran through his blonde tresses, other arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him toward the other side of the room, spilled drink forgotten. “What did the woman do?”

“She’s with my…” Father. Again. Steady, hot and heavy, just like it was before. Just like she always told him.

“Calm down.” Milo commanded, sending a chill down his spine (because Milo shouldn’t have to ask anyone to do anything, let alone command). “Sit. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath.”

The air was the only thing worth hanging onto. His skull seemed to clench around his brain at the thought of his mother, but Milo’s fingers wound through his hair, soothing that tiny part of him that still needed closeness. Tenderness. Sitting down on the bed, which sagged under his weight, he found himself bleeding into the closeness. Taking in the hard heat coming from His body, and relishing it.

“I don’t want to go home.” He heard himself say. Milo’s hand drifted from his hair to the nape of his neck.

“Zack, I need you to listen, and I need you to understand.”

Looking upwards, he met those dark eyes head on. He would listen, and he would understand (because Milo shouldn’t have to explain things twice).

“We’re never gonna be just friends. All of us, we’re all in something bigger than anyone else can see. We’re family, understand? More than that. We’re closer than family.”

Zack nodded. He knew this already. Being with Them meant having a family that knew each other in every way. No other family could know each other like they did. Not legally, anyway.

Milo’s eyes looked intense, smoldering with dark fire. “And you don’t need a mother like that, when you have us loving you more than she ever could. We just need you to take that step. Come closer to us, man. That’s what you’ve gotta do.”

He understood. If they were a family, he would be the youngest son. If they were a family, Milo would be their father. And Milo loved them all, and they all loved each other, and they all loved Milo. That’s how families work, isn’t it? Isn’t that how a real family worked?

“I don’t want to go home tonight, Milo.” He said it slowly, matter-of-factly, looking into his eyes and making sure he understood. The dark-haired boy frowned in confusion.

“What do you want from me, Viccar?” He asked, voice a soft whisper.

Something felt uneasy within him now. Unsure. What ever he did now, it would change something very important. Something he had no idea about. Something much bigger than him, if only for the sake of Milo’s ego (because Milo has every right to be arrogant).

And part of him knew. He knew what it was. And he had to make it worth it, so he would do everything he could to give Milo what he was really starving for. After all the highs, lows, and deep dark pits this pathetic world had granted him, he needed something unbearable. He needed something to make his time worth it.

And he would do anything for Milo (because Milo is everyone’s everything).

“I want that closeness again, Milo.” He said his name again. In that way that sent a shiver down the listener’s spine, if that listener wasn’t Milo himself (because Milo doesn’t shiver, and Milo’s made of stone). Milo had taught him that voice. Inadvertently, of course. He picked it up watching him, and kept it in the back of his throat until it was ready to be used.

He looked at him strangely, but Zack had expected it. No one could speak like Milo could. Zack prided himself in the thought that he had come pretty close.

Again, he spoke. Milo’s voice, Zack’s words. “From Rage Night.”

The light came to Milo’s face, and his eyes went dark like melting chocolate. He held himself steady, keeping the dangerous ground on which he’d stood. Hell, he’d backed down too often. In public, Milo had separated him from them, choosing him as a clear favorite. Someone who was going to begin when it all ended. Someone who could come out of the shadows, and do it all again. But now, they were all alone. And he was tired of not pushing. He knew his destiny, and it was time for a taste.

Taste the dangerous places (because Milo has a week of danger left).

Milo could see it. Or maybe, he only saw half of it. Because that first half does distract from the second half if you’re not thinking about it right, and who says it should be a thought-about thing, anyway? Maybe Zack wanted…

Maybe Zack wanted to be in control this time…

… If only because he needed to learn…

So, when Milo’s eyes went solidly dark, and he began to lean in close enough to touch his face, Zack quickly backed away. The confused lapse of understanding made up for everything, just everything, when it showed itself plain as day on Milo’s furrowed brow. But it didn’t last long, because he was leaning in, cupping Milo’s pointed chin, and rasping low against his lips as they brushed together.

“Let Me…” He breathed, finally scraping gentle fingernails against Belloway’s cheekbones, and breaking the rules with a kiss.

… Let Me Release You…

There are two types of intimacy. He realized this the moment he fell into bed three nights before. The moment he closed his eyes, and saw the smirk that could haunt him forever. There was the intimacy most people thought of. Sex. Two people, losing complete control, and falling into absolute nothingness together. While no less passionate than the other, it was truly a very boring intimacy, where no one could claim cause. It was truly the cowardly form of intimacy, and the world was full of cowards.

The other, this, was the tricky one. This was the one you could hardly ever come by.

Milo’s Intimacy. The Brave Intimacy.

You can come about it any way you like. The trick is, one person has to lose control. And one person has to gain it. This was the intimacy of Give and Take, Selfless Selfishness. To offer for your own greed. To watch for your own power. And to have them know, even as they’ve completely lost their minds, that someone could see everything. Their darkest side. Their weakest side. And they had complete self-reserve. They could choose to stop you as they wished.

The Control. That was the Intimacy.

How could Milo hold onto that control for so long, without someone to take it away for awhile? The relief, the relaxation of having a total absence of mind…

Their lips slid and meshed together, so Zack bit down hard on his bottom lip, if only to feel the pulse between his teeth. To know Milo’s heartbeat (because Milo doesn’t need it to live). The groan that vibrated against his teeth made him smirk, and he stole Milo’s move, pushing him down onto the bed and rolling the t-shirt over his head.

Milo still wore boxers, and Zack was still in everything, including shoes and jacket. He was almost there. The way he wanted it. Yanking at the brown curls, he pulled away from the kiss for a moment, before pushing himself further past his own limits. It was only him. And only Milo. No one else could see, or hear, or feel. Perfect solitude. His lips puckered around the slight patch of skin that ran thin between Milo’s neck, chin, and earlobe. The surprised intake of breath and the squirming beneath him only encouraged a use of teeth, lightly sucking and nibbling on the side of Milo’s neck, before returning to the original place.

“Christ, Viccar!” Milo hisses, and it turns into a low growl, which Zack can feel against his lips. Zack takes it as a compliment. Part of him, the clear, not so determined part, warned him that he was getting nervous. His palms were sweaty, and his body was a little shaky, but he refused to let on. Absolutely refused. If he was nervous, some control would be left behind. He didn’t want that. He wanted all the control Milo has ever had to bear (because Milo needs to stop doing everything for everyone, anyway).

He runs his fingers down the dark man’s taut stomach, and he can feel the quaking astonishment in his system. It was crawling through his bloodstream now, turning his veins with the nervousness Zack knew so well. It felt good, because he never expected Milo to be nervous (because Milo is never nervous). He felt the ripple of his breaths throughout the skinny man’s stomach, placing his palm a little above his navel and letting his fingers linger between elastic and skin.

When he moves away from Milo’s neck, there’s a mark where none has ever been. And screw it all, because it looks good there. It brings some color to the alabaster, which had never, to Zack’s knowledge, looked so white. He could feel the sticking sweetness of Milo’s skin, heated with expectancy. Eyes opening slowly, Belloway looked at him with fevered interest, and insistent impatience. As though he didn’t know whether to beg or command.

“Viccar…” He sighed, as though he wasn’t sure what to say. “Your clothes…”

Resting his lips against the other’s chest, Zack listened to the heartbeat he had felt before. Lazily, he let his hand stroke down his stomach, lingering at the patch of russet curls that began just below his navel. “My clothes, what?”

“Take them off before I rip ‘em apart.” He growled salaciously. Zack felt laughter peeling its way through his throat, but stomped it before it reached the surface.

“Say please.”

The look on his face was enough to make Zack cheer inside. Astounded indignation, heat rolling through his skin as his body seemed to squirm against the thought of begging anyone, as well it should (because Milo doesn’t beg).

But Zack was ready for this. Dropping a hand between his legs, he lightly tantalized the boxer-covered flesh, hand wrapping around it as his thumb rubbed the fabric over the wetness of pre-cum. His back arched off the bed, eyes opening wide.

“Please…” He whispered, giving into the small lowering of pride.

Silently shaking his head against his chest, Zack brought his hand back up, sliding up and down the fabric-imprisoned bulge. Milo bit his lip, and Zack decided he hadn’t gone far enough. Gripping the elastic, he pulled it down, slowly. Painfully slow, he knew. Just what Milo needed. And soon, his boxers were on the floor. The stiff erection, now released, touched the air in all its glory.

He didn’t take off his clothes, even then. Because taking anything off would mean vulnerability. And, in the Give and Take Intimacy, only one partner can be vulnerable. And he would not be vulnerable tonight.

Making sure his eyes met Milo’s, he grasped the erection softly, sweaty hand running over it only slightly smoother than a dry hand would. The mangled groan that escaped Milo’s lips made his body go warm. He let his hand wander lower, rubbing a thumb over a fleshy sack he found there. Milo’s groans became more insistent. Soon, his body was completely on top of him, hands running intricately teasing designs over his heat, and cupping his balls whenever he felt the need for variety. The sounds Milo made were destructively aggressive. The way he writhed, panted, cried out beneath him only made him feel higher than high. He could feel it. It was soon. Milo’s eyes were agonizingly lustful, his sounds were becoming louder, and his whole body felt tense. Like a gun was to his head.

He wanted to close his eyes, break the gaze, and Zack knew it. So he made sure his stare turned deadly. Because he felt the unbarred howl as it was sliding up his throat, and he felt the heat spill into his hand, and he watched as Milo tried not to fall into that beautiful state of bliss, but wound up falling anyway.

Then, slowly, he stood.

Breaking away from Milo, breaking away from the act he’d just committed. He knew those half-lidded eyes watched as he stole a tissue to wipe his hands, and threw it in the trash. He was about to climb out the window, when he heard him.

“I don’t want you around on the Twenty-Third, Viccar…” He sighed, taking a breath. “Get as far away as possible.”

“I know.” Zack sighed, looking over his shoulder as he climbed out the window. “I pick up where you leave off.”

The shock on Milo’s face made him smirk. It felt good. Oh, that’s right… He chuckled inwardly. I’m naïve little Viccar. I’m not supposed to know about the Twenty-Third, or Paulette, or any of the other shit you so kindly keep from my eyes…

“I have two ears, you know.” He sighed, giving Milo another shocker. “And a brain somewhere in between. Amazing, huh?”

And, with that, he was out the window.