Chapter 106

Scooter wasn’t above cheating; he licked his lips, then sucked the lower one into his mouth, denting the skin with his teeth. Using the back of Andy’s leg, he flicked one ancient sneaker off and rubbed his foot against Andy’s thigh, teasing until he got an angle on Andy’s stiffening prick, pressing lightly. “Hey there,” he said, soft.

Ohhhh, that felt nice. Andy let his eyelids flutter shut for a moment, rocking into Scooter’s touch. He redoubled his efforts; there were times he wanted to draw this out as long as he could, see just how desperate he could get Scooter, but not this time. The possibility of getting caught was a fun added adrenaline rush, but actually getting caught was slightly embarrassing and also rude as hell to the people who hadn’t wanted to be involved in their sex life. And the longer they were in here, the more likely it was that someone would come looking.

Andy pulled off, just long enough to gasp, “Come on, baby, come for me, and then you can take me upstairs and make me scream, hm?” and swallowed him back down, even deeper, hand sliding between Scooter’s thighs to cup his balls and press gently just behind them.

Andy fucked Scooter with his mouth and Scooter returned the favor, cupping one hand behind Andy’s head and sliding in and out with deep relish. “Jesus,” he whispered, then lost the ability to speak at all, his mouth working but no sound coming out. He thrust twice, hard, almost gagging Andy, then stiffened. He raised one hand to his mouth, bit down hard on the meaty part of his palm, just under the thumb. His cock jumped, twitched inside Andy’s mouth. Scooter convulsed once, violent, and came, thick streams of it, spurting into Andy’s willing throat.

Andy swallowed and swallowed again, and kept licking and sucking, softer, until the last weak pulses were spent and a tiny whine of overstimulation slipped from Scooter’s throat. Andy pulled back and very carefully tucked Scooter back into his underwear and pants. “That was awesome,” he said, just to hear the rasp in his voice. He nuzzled at Scooter’s fly a little, then climbed to his feet. “We are sodoing that again.”

“Holy shit, Andy,” Scooter said, low and reverent. He tried to stand up and fell back weakly against his desk, knocking over the jar of pens and pencils. He rubbed his thumb over Andy’s lip, then along the side of his jaw. “God, you look well and thoroughly molested.”

Andy grinned. “Good.” He leaned in to kiss Scooter, feeling a hundred times better than he had before. “Come on, let’s go finish cleanup so Kat and Jason will go away.” 3

Eleanor Howard pushed the door open slowly. She hadn’t been here for a while, but every time she stepped into her son’s room, she forgot that so much time had passed.

Twice weekly cleanings had kept the room dust free, but her orders to the housekeeping service had been exacting. Nothing was to be moved. Andrew’s room must stay exactly as it had always been. He would want it that way, would want to be comfortable when he came home. Would want his things exactly as he’d left them, his father’s child in ways neither of them wanted to admit.

Sometimes, Eleanor could pretend he’d never left; that it was only a few more hours until he would be home from high school, flinging his backpack onto the bed and vanishing into his computer programs until she called him to dinner, and then he would come reluctantly downstairs to eat and report to Charles on his studies.

The air in his room, still and unlived in, told a different story. It spoke of arguments grown out of control as Andrew tried on the mantle of his growth and Charles attempted to push his son back into the place designated for him since before his birth. Of heated words and raised hands.

Eleanor sat on Andrew’s bed, her hands spreading the lines of her dress into tidy folds. She could never look anything other than her best; that had been trained into her for years before she married, and enforced by a husband who wanted—and deserved—nothing but the best.

The room had aged; the colors were faded. The collectors’ figures were contained in their boxes, neat and unopened. They were valuable, but the movies had faded from importance. Perhaps Andrew would want to sell them. He was a man grown now.

Eleanor got to her feet, all grace and ease, even though her heart was beating furiously. She had not seen her son, not even pictures in…more time than she wanted to remember. She had to check the calendar. The one in Andrew’s room was still turned to March of 2011, the very last time he was home, that Easter before he’d—

She was gasping, hand pressed to her chest. Underneath her dress, her heart was racing. She staggered a step and fumbled at her bracelet. It had once been a fancy engraved watch, but she’d convinced a jeweler to remove the watch components. Under the watch face was a tiny compartment that held three pale peach tablets. She considered them for a moment, then dry-swallowed two of them, waiting for her medication to calm her.