Chapter 2: (Part II)

I recalled the days of our communal kitchen raids. Not so long ago, it would seem, although much had changed without our permission or acknowledgement. I used to lift tiny Rico onto the counter because I was not tall enough to reach the sweets. There he would stand in his stocking feet beside the dish drainer and root through cupboards. His little frame was the precise required height to reach everything without bumping his head on the ceiling. Now, at fourteen, he was tall enough to find things up high while standing on the floor. I felt useless and a little waylaid although I had been having my dominance impeded on for years. He no longer needed me to be the ‘big kid’ for him. It still felt as strange as did I in my own skin.

My mother was slaving at work and my father was spending the night committing adultery in some hotel, as was customary for the weekend hours. Sandy had retreated to his bedroom and locked the door, as per usual, thus Rico and I were solitary soldiers. My mother trusted us implicitly to behave. She was a good woman in that way; a person who could set aside dress preferences and skin color for what ruled your actions. In our search Rico found the Chips Ahoy and set them on the counter with a probing shake. There were not many left in the package, by the sound of it. More pushing and shoving located a half-full tray of Oreos which were placed atop of the other cookies. I was in a chocolate mood, so we gathered glasses of milk and marched our hoard to my lair.

“Cookies, cookies, c-o-o-k-i-e-s!” Rico sang, grinning as he set our liquids on the nightstand.

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly and dumped the boxes on the floor before settling cross-legged in front of them. Rico joined me a moment later, snatching the Oreos and digging out four of them. The festive nature of junk food had been lost on us for a good decade just as most children will confess to.

“Dude, someday I’m gonna be Jabba the fucking Hutt.” I intoned, having already accepted this fate.

I said the same every afternoon and every afternoon Rico offered me something unhealthy in response. We munched and spoke with our mouths full, laughing as we accidentally flecked one another with ground Oreo. Rico tried to force milk out his nose but failed, as always. We became Germ Brothers for possibly the thousandth time, opening an Oreo and sharing the cream one lick at a time. The last joys of childhood were quickly vanishing but we were holding onto them rigidly.

“Okay, let’s do something really gross.” Rico advised, still snuffling and rubbing at his nostrils.

“Such as?” I responded, attempting to balance a cookie on my nose.

I discovered I was not a sea lion and thus poorly poised.

“Let’s chew up a cookie, spit it into our hand, and eat the others guy’s mash.” My best friend suggested as he popped an Oreo into his maw.

I frowned, my brow and nose wrinkling in disgust. His idea was certainly vulgar enough… but I wasn’t too keen on playing baby birds.

When I told him as much the glint of mischief came into his eyes, and he leaned forward until he was mere inches from my mouth. Petrified like a deer I stared into his gaze. He seized my chin and said not a word, instead his thumb urged my lips apart. His grimy little fingers worked at opening my mouth and I was completely slack with awe. Although we had a history of close encounters never had our explorations gone into any bodily orifices. Was he intending to kiss me? Oh, sweet desire, he was! My parted lips were met with warm breath from above like the wind of a dove preparing to land on the slats of a gutter. With a tilt of his head our mouths were nearly embracing and my heart was rhythmically plunging from my throat to my kidneys. He spat and I swallowed on impulse, choking on the pureed chocolate and saliva. And Rico started laughing.

“UGH! That was not cool, man! I don’t need your gingivitis!” I yowled, still hacking with the back of my hand to my mouth.

My companion played the nonchalant cat that ate the canary and leaned back on his hands. His posture betrayed him however; he was observing my reaction most attentively. Why, precisely, he was so curious I had a nasty inkling. I didn’t want to think suspiciously of my best friend and perfect mate, however. When you love someone you may do just about anything to abstain from finding them in the wrong.

“Oh come on, you wouldn’t do it unless I tricked you.” Rico teased, his smirk divinely disarming.

I received a pinch on the arm to accompany his (very true) remark. While rubbing the reddened skin where I had been attacked I retorted, “Yeah, case and point! What the fuck, dude!”.

“It was just funny, Dil. You know you aren’t gonna catch a dread disease.” He sighed, changing his position from leaning back to leaning forward.

It was not the health hazard that had upset me and we were both aware of it. I did not want to admit how badly I had been wanting that his and he refused to own up to wanting to see how badly I wanted it.

“That’s not the point! You manipulated me. I don’t like these games you’ve gotten into playing lately. My head is fucked enough without you giving it aggravation.” I nearly shrieked in frustration.

“Dillon, calm down. What are you so upset for? I mean, come on… you’ve held my dick while I pissed.” Rico attempted to soothe me with a hand on my elbow.

His superlative eyes were earnest now and free of whatever little adolescent devil possessed him to taunt me.

“When you were a little kid and it was the middle of the night.”

“Same difference. We just got a little bigger. Hey… are you alright? You seem really worked up.”

“I’m okay. I guess I’m just a bit moody. Stress, you know?”

“Come here.” He said consolingly, drawing me into the strength of his arms.

I could feel his hardened biceps against the soft flesh of my own and I relaxed into the embrace. His jaw pressed against the back of my head as he continued, “It’s okay, sweet pea. I’m here for you and I ain’t going nowhere.”

“I know you are.” I replied, although I questioned if he wasn’t going somewhere without physically leaving my side.

I could hear Nightwish wailing through the wall, like some symphony of abstract fairy tales gone wrong. The Finnish band had long been an adversary of mine because I found the operatic Gothic Rock to be highly depressing. We respected one another’s tastes by competing for whose stereo could shake the walls the hardest. I withdrew further against Rico and felt like a weak fool for dwelling on his chest like a child. I knew what frustrations Sandy entertained when he turned his lilting organ compatriots up that loud. It was his silent code for ‘I hate your choices’. There was a hole behind my bedframe that offered my brother a point to eavesdrop, once he removed the old t-shirt that was stuffed inside the fissure.

I shrugged away Rico’s lax arms and crawled toward my own stereo. If Sandy was going to revile me I would do the same. My best friend slunk onto my bed. He knew nothing of this private battle between siblings and the musical accusation was meaningless to him. I was surprised that his astute mind had not sorted out the pattern by this time.

“Stupid thing.” I complained, my left index finger assaulting the ‘play’ button on my battered stereo.

The large black box was deceptively complicated and extremely heavy, thus the reason I had had my father plunk the abomination to electronics atop a chair beside my bed. It was unprofessionally rude in its arthritic operation and had a tendency toward bursts of static, skipping, and pure refusal to function.

“You’d make a great dominant in bondage.” Rico commented from his place sprawled on my bedspread.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m just so good at spanking things.” I replied curtly, frowning as once more the rectangular screen read ‘Error’.

I was not outstandingly patient with finicky CD players… or anything modern, come to think of it. Even toasters hated me. Oh, my agony. The song in my brother’s set had changed and I recognized the tune curling from the plaster above my head. ‘Beauty And The Beast’. Thou dost protest too much.

“Spank me, baby!” Rico exclaimed lazily, tossing my black cat pillow in the general direction of where I was squatting.

I rolled my eyes and in tandem ducked the pillow. It had always annoyed me that the moment he hit puberty my best friend found a fondness for sexual innuendos. We unrequited lovers don’t like being teased.

“Go home and get spanked, you horny bitch.”

We shared a snicker like juvenile delinquents. Nightwish rose a notch.

At long last (and subsequent to much suffering) the CD whirred to life. I turned to cast Rico a triumphant grin and he smiled in return. The dusky boy was reclining on his side with one slender arm accenting the shape of his small, thin structure. I had never been one for scrawny boys; but Rico was so beautiful in his own right that I could only second-guess myself. I thought of Cleopatra and palm fronds with a heavy swallow and busied myself turning the volume on my stereo to 36.

“Why do you do that?” Rico asked presently, uprooting me from where I had been wallowing in distraction.

“Do what?” I asked, returning my eyes to him and rising to my feet.

This motion made me feel commanding, as if perhaps I could still win at wrestling the younger boy though I knew it was not so. Rico’s depthless eyes searched my features for something I was not saying aloud, a slight downward curve bending his pretty mouth.

“You try to hide that you like me. It’s not like I don’t already know.”

A sick feeling of rejection twisted inside me, though he hadn’t stated anything more than a fact. I did not allow the jagged lightning of dread to escape beyond my inner borders, however, and I played dumb.

“You don’t know, obviously, because it’s not like that.”

It was a half-truth that skirted lying and I could have stomped my own toes if I hadn’t been trying to appear apathetic. It would be so much easier to plead ignorance than admit and possibly talk about it. The rigidity in his posture told me that he didn’t believe me.

“Here.” I grunted, retrieving the pillow he had earlier chucked at me. “Don’t throw poor Ebony around.”

“Fine then. Avoid the conversation.” Rico shot back with an arc like fangs.

I closed my eyes momentarily, trying to capture a reply amongst the whirling turnstile of my mind. He would never comprehend my complicated adoration. I scarcely grasped it myself. Rico was supremely intelligent but dysfunctional in the ways of the homosexual heart. Surely he judged me little, but that did not mean he could abstain from poking fun forever.

“Rico, please don’t bother me about it. I really can’t stand being teased.”

“I’m not teasing you.” He said soberly, his massive dark eyes squinting at me as if trying to peel away layers with his gaze.

I felt like an onion being stripped.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” I sighed, my cheeks puffing out with the force and pace of my breath.

“You know I kissed back.”

My hands, fussing the frayed edge of my black jeans, paused. My head came up, turning on its spindle to stare at him in bewilderment.

“Excuse me?”

Oh, brilliant reply, Dillon. You pickled faggot, pay attention.

“Kiss me.” An order, this time.

My stomach turned and I thought I might be ill on my already abused carpet. This was not due to butterflies but a sharp horror at the tone of voice Rico used. It was not caring or needy but authoritarian and technical. Like a convict ordering his neighbor down on his knees not out of lust but of physical demands. It was the first time that Rico had ever vaguely repulsed me. His eyes were inflexible like obsidian, sharp discs that were poised to be shot through my brow. I wet my lips unconsciously, terrified. He was larger than I was now… it could become a molestation situation. Oh for goodness sakes, what was I thinking? This was my life-long best friend! Whom I happened to be in love with.

“Now, Dillon.” The words hit like pebbles and I felt water break the skin of my underarms.

My mind was running reels of professions, love and want and otherwise. But beneath it my heart was that of a sparrow. Quick and frightened. I was crawling on my knees like an animal, pressing my belly against the hard frame of my bed, dipping my head as one hand cupped his chipmunk cheek. His lips were open and they vacuumed me in, stealing my breath as the lips collided. My spine felt paralyzed. This was no ordinary kiss; warm slick muscle fumbled over my tongue. He was inexperienced at tongue-kissing, as was I, and sometimes it felt too much like being thrust with a fist. I whimpered softly and pleaded silently to kiss me like he meant it. As if it mattered, as if I mattered. But my pleas went unnoticed.

Tears sprang to my eyes when he bit me, trapping my tongue between his perfect yellow teeth. My fingers flexed against his cheek but I could not withdraw. He had me by the leash. My tongue throbbed when he released it but I did not have time to nurse the wound. Our tongues were back to rolling around like dogs, mine submissive to every hard movement he made.

‘This isn’t right. This isn’t how I wanted it. This is all wrong.’ I thought despairingly.

I felt the fingers of his right hand sink deep within the hair at the nape of my neck. His thumb pressed hard where spine met skull and it caused my head to rock up against his own. As if he was a thief hastily grabbing the goods he pillaged my mouth as fully as possible, then released me. I fell backward onto my ass with a thump.

I stared up at him as he brashly wiped the corner of his mouth. Whatever his motives had been, they were not appearing in his eyes nor posture.

“I’ve got to piss.” Rico announced in a low, almost mechanical voice.

As promised, he swung one thin leg over the side of the bed and padded quickly to the door. He never looked back as he vanished into the shadowy hallway although he must have felt my gaze on his back. As the lock clicked behind him, I raised a quaking hand to my swollen mouth. I still felt like vomiting.

Later that evening Rico was cuddled inside my arms as if he were still my little friend in the Sunday suit. We lay on my bed and counted the glow-in-the-dark stars that littered my ceiling. We made up comical constellation names and told abridged versions of the stories behind them. He preferred anti-heroes and I favored martyrs. Now that my body had been jolted awake I found myself thinking more and more of reaching down a few inches, not far, and resting between his soft thighs. He did not seem to be in the least affected by anything but giggles over our stories and that hurt even worse than it being ignorant to his kisses.

Rise Against had come to an end in my CD player. Nightwish was on repeat.

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