** read below: important info (sorry if I got you excited for a new chapter)

a/n: Bonjour, and welcome to my story. Well, first off, this was relatively unedited so...yeah. If there are mistakes--as I'm sure there are--and if they really bother you then let me know in a review or pm and it shall be fixed, otherwise just ignore it. I just really wanted to get this posted so I'd stop procrastinating writing chapter two.

This story is of the slash-y persuasion that means relations between two males...menfolk, you know.

Rated M for language, some mild violence, implied rape, implied (child)abuse, hot man on man action (not graphic). I know that sounds bad, but none of it is graphic.

At this point I'm just rambling so on with the story.


Dirt On My Name

Chapter One: He's Just Not That Into You...Or Is He?

I stand with my face upturned towards the sky, my hands stretched above my head, feet planted firmly on the ground. Every muscle in my torso pulled pleasantly as I stretch, fingers reaching up to heights that they shall never attain.

The sun beams down and leaves my skin warm—no doubt, it'll be browner than it was yesterday. It's the first day we're getting real sun--the first day gym class is held outside since school started in the summer.

I can hear Coach Mills telling everyone to line up on the track. We, well...they, are doing laps today. I ignore him, and the other voices around me. This is just a filler class for me.

I bring my head down slowly and look out to where he stands in the soccer field watching as the students form groups at the starting line.

He's watching me, I know it. Not the coach, he has given up on getting me to participate. I've been back for months and Dustin hasn't said a word to me, but I always feel him staring. Does he even know where I've been the last six years? If I weren't so unmistakable I'd think he didn't recognize me. Spend eight years conjoined at the hip with someone and no matter how much they have changed physically there is still something unmistakable about their countenance.

As much as I do not want to think of him he keeps putting himself in the forefront of my mind. I can't see his face without feeling the hurt, that I swore I was over, resurface. No matter how I try to ignore it, I still feel his eyes making heat rise to my face. I'm lucky every time that the evidence of my blush can't be seen.

At the sound of Coach's whistle all thoughts of Dustin leave me as I make a speedy departure to the boys' locker room. I'm not in there a full minute before the rest of the boys, sweaty from their run, fill the room with all manner of noises. It is much too loud for my liking, and I make to change as fast as I can. A large group of the boys head off to the showers and I sigh as the noise follows them.

Just as I pull my shirt over my head I feel a light touch on one of the burns that mar my back. The burns blend in well enough that they aren't easily spotted unless you knew where to look. Only three people besides myself know they are there, and only one of them is in this school right now.

I didn't turn around, but I hastily pulled my shirt down all the way effectively halting his finger's movement. I couldn't help the remark as that simple touch brought back so much between us. "You shouldn't do that, Dustin. What would your friends say if they saw you?"

I turned then to see his reaction. His hand that had been suspended in the space between us dropped as my words sunk in. I could see his jaw tense, but he showed no other signs of hearing me. He brings his hand to the back of his neck and scratches before dropping it back down to his side with a sigh. "My birthday is tom--"

I cut him off. "I know, Dustin." I won't believe that he actually thought I forgot. "What do you want?"

His eyes are hard now, and I know I'm starting to get to him. "I'm having a party," pause, more neck scratching, "and I want you to come."

A disbelieving laugh escapes me. "Why would I do that? I haven't talked to you in eight years and you haven't uttered a word to me in the three months that I've been back, until now."

"I didn't think you would have wanted me to."

"Or maybe you just didn't want to. Tell me, Dustin," I looked him in the eye, letting him see how unaffected I was. Of course, it was a lie, but I couldn't let him see that. "Why are you asking me this now? What changed?"

He sighed. "My mom told me that I could have the party, unsupervised, only if I invited you so here I am." He has always been painfully honest, except about the one thing that ruined our friendship.

"Well, Dustin, for your sake I hope my acceptance wasn't one of the stipulations."

His eyes narrowed before we heard the sound of the boys returning from the showers. He took off without another word.

I'd stayed in there longer than I usually did and I hoped that Olivier wasn't waiting too long. I pulled my bag from the locker and ran out of the locker room. I didn't slow down when I made it to the main floor of the school; I ran until I could once again feel the sun's rays on my skin.

I saw Olivier's car idling just outside the school's front gate. He doesn't come inside the school grounds because he remembers from his days at Carter-Mills High that it can take hours for the traffic to clear up. I slow to walk as I approach his car to appear less eager to see him.

I slide into the car and my senses are immediately assaulted by the smell of freshly baked baguettes and all manner of pastries. There was also a travel mug of a strong brew green tea. I went straight for the pastry bag and brought it up to my nose inhaling the lovely aroma. My mouth was watering.

He chuckled as he brought a hand up to my face to caress my cheek. "Hello, mon chou. Do I not deserve a kiss before the pastries?" His accent drove me crazy. No matter how long I've been with him I've never gotten over how sexy it is.

I smiled and leaned in to plant a tender kiss on his lips. Before he could deepen it I pulled back and buried my hand in the bag with a smirk. Before I could open one of the boxes he smacked my hand away. He had a devilish smirk on his face. "Not so fast, petit agneau. You will have to wait until after dinner."

I pout, but I know it'll do no good. He unfortunately is immune to my adorableness. The look he gives me only proves my point. I concede defeat.

We spend the ride home silent save for the occasional chuckle that escapes us. Even though my mind is still on my encounter with Dustin, I won't let it ruin my time with Oli. Olivier knows and understands my past with Dustin, and I thank every deity available that I have him to take the pain away.


The dinner was delicious, as I expected it to be, and the desert was magic in my mouth. My Oli's culinary skills are only surpassed by his skills of a more intimate nature; the skills that he just put into use in the shower.

I step out of the shower first, and wrap one of the giant, fluffy towels around my waist. Oli comes out after me and uses his towel to dry my waist length, auburn curls. When he's sure it's dry enough that it won't leave giant puddles on the floor he runs the towel down my back absorbing the droplets that have collected on my skin.

The towel then trails a path over my shoulder and down my chest until it hits the towel around my waist, which with a flick of his wrist is no longer an obstacle. He doesn't continue, however. He instead brings his hand up slowly, ghosting over my sides as it follows its path up to my face. There is an expression of pure concentration on his face as he leans in, which is difficult considering our difference in height, to bring his face level with mine. I would have met him, not quite half way if it weren't for his whispered, "Hold still."

He's so close that I can see the droplets that keep his long, dark eyelashes clumped together. Oli doesn't move any closer, and we stand there enjoying the intimacy of such closeness. He breaks the spell when his eyes drop to my lips then back up to my eyes. He didn't kiss me as expected. He forgoes my lips in favor of lapping at the wetness that collected around my mouth, my cheeks, and my eyes.

He, finally, works his back to my lips, and, god and/or goddess above, the door bell rings. Olivier makes a pitifully adorable whine. His head drops to audibly collide with my shoulder.

I laugh because as I've said, he's adorable especially with that pout, and at his age. "It's okay, mon grand. You stay, and fix your…um," I look down pointedly, "problem while I get the door. I'll be right back."

I left the bathroom and grabbed a pair of lounge pants from the drawer in our bedroom then headed towards the stairs. "Coming," I yelled at the sound of knocking. That elicited a loud groan from the bedroom. I couldn't help the giggle that slipped out. Before I hit the last stair, I grabbed Oli's shirt that he discarded in our haste to get to the shower.

I pulled the shirt on all the way as I opened the door to see Dustin's mom standing in front of me. I was shocked she would come at this time of night before I remembered why she was there.

"The cake! Shit, I mean, sorry. I completely forgot." Insert face-palm. "Come in."

She smiled as I opened the door then frowned at my slip of the tongue. She's always so motherly. "It's alright." She stepped into the house, and I shut the door behind her, motioning for her to go to the kitchen. She knows where it is from her many visits since I've been back in town. Unlike her son, she kept in touch after I left.

I walked into the kitchen as she was taking her seat at the island. "It's not ready, so it'll take a minute."

"That's fine. I wanted to talk to you anyway, and this creates the perfect opportunity." I stifled a groan as this would no doubt have something to do with Dustin.

I nodded, with a knowing smile, before walking over to the refrigerator and pulling out the cheese cake that I'd made this morning before school. "I would have had it ready before, but I got distracted," I'm babbling now. Anything to delay the inevitable conversation. "You know…homework and the like." Lie. That's a lie, but damn if it doesn't feel like I'm talking to my mom. It's always been that way with her.

Some things mothers don't need to consciously know about, and what myself and Olivier just did is one of those things. She knows I'm gay, of course, but I'm pretty sure she didn't think our relationship is an actual relationship, never mind a sexually active one. No matter how obvious it is. If I thought my 17 year old, sort of son was fucking his 24 year old guardian, I'd be in denial too. Maybe she's waiting for me to turn 18 to acknowledge it.

"...said he'd talked to you."

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear a word she said. But instead of asking I decided to wing it and hope for the best. "Yeah, I talked to him before I left school." I arranged one of the cakes on the cake stand before going back to the refrigerator and took out the homemade banana whipped cream and strawberry and banana glaze.

Mrs. McDowell's look prompted me to continue. "He invited me to his birthday party." A layer of the whipped cream went onto the bottom layer of the cake. I mostly did it as an excuse to keep my eyes off of Mrs. McDowell.

She nodded. "He told me you turned him down." Her tone made me look up from what I was doing over to her at the island. She sounded angry which confused me. "Why won't you go?"

Seriously? "Well, for starters, he only asked because you told him to. We, also, aren't friends anymore."

"I think you should reconsider." The nerve of these people. I couldn't overtly laugh in her face, but I was very tempted. My eyebrows, however, found a new home in my hairline. "I miss my boys together. I think you should be friends again."

"He doesn't think so or else he would have asked me on his own without your prompting." Fresh cut strawberry and banana go on top of the layer of cream. The other cake which is slightly larger than the other one in pan gets carved out of the crust. As the top layer of cake the crust isn't really needed, but was a necessary evil to bake correctly. I place the newly trimmed layer on top of the cream covered fruit.

"He misses you more than you think; he'd never make the first move. You've always been the more responsible one." That's true.

I heard a familiar shuffle in the hall leading toward the kitchen and a moment later strong arms wrapped around my middle. "What's keeping you," Oli whispered in my ear. Apparently he didn't notice Mr. McDowell when he came in. She cleared her throat and I felt Oli stiffen behind me. If she didn't know we were together before she definitely does now. He snickered before letting me go and dropping a kiss on my cheek.

He turned to her with his 1000 watt smile in full effect. "Madame McDowell, it is lovely to see you again." He kissed her hand then took a seat across from her. He's such a charmer.

After Olivier settled down, she continued our earlier conversation. "If you try this one time," she said as I drizzled the fruit glaze over the top layer of cheesecake, "I won't ask again." When I didn't immediately respond she added, "For me, please." And I knew I couldn't say no.

I put the glass cover over the cake stand, and carried it over to her. I looked at her for a moment and thought about how she would react if she knew what it was that ruined mine and Dustin's friendship. Would she see him the same? I won't tell her, but until she knows, she will never understand why Dustin and I can't be as close as we were before.

"I will go," I sighed at the relief she held in her eyes, "but only for you."

She stood and took the cake form my hands. I walked her to the door, and opened it for her. She stepped outside then turned and planted a kiss on my hairline. "That's all I ask." Then she was gone.

I closed the door with a sigh. I knew, in the end, this wouldn't end well.

I banged my head against the door a couple of times before I heard Olivier clear his throat behind me. I jumped then spun around to see him standing in the doorway to the dining room, arms crossed over his chest, and his jaw muscles were working overtime.

"You're not going," he said, his voice hard. Damn.


a/n: So, what did you think? Whether you liked it or not I'd love to hear form you, so leave a review.

My French sucks, but since Olivier speaks French I kind of had to go back to my high school days and remember what I learned, which wasn't a lot. My Spanish is infinitely better, but that's neither here nor there. If you speak French, sorry I suck at it, and I could use your help. *puppy eyes*

French terms/ phrases:
mon chou- sweetie, sweetheart...something like that
petit agneau- little lamb
mon grand- big guy (That's not the literal translation in case you were checking these on Google translate.)

I believe that's all.

That cheesecake Joshua made is so good. Who else likes cheesecake?

reviews = sweaters with love in every stitch

**update 2/15/2010: The warnings section was amended. I was thinking of a totally different story when I wrote that. That's what happens when you write like twelve stories at once. Also, chapter two will be up Tuesday or maybe late on Monday (today). You get two chapters this week because I took so long to update, AND subsequent posts will be every Saturday.