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As they entered the store, Jeremy was low-key bouncing with giddy energy. The sight of rows and rows of costumes, makeup, props and candy made him feel like a kid again. Cat and Laila were just as excited, debating loudly whether their costumes should match or not. Jean, on the other hand, was predictably sour.
“This is so stupid,” Jean said as he glanced at the candy aisle, “We are not children anymore.”
“Oh, shush,” Cat said, perusing through a rack of costumes, “I don’t care if it is childish or whatever, it’s fun. Y’know, that thing you refuse to have. Besides, Brenda’s party is all costume, so pick one already.”
Brenda Roswell was a senior at USC and Cat’s friend. She dated one of Cat’s brothers for a while, and even after they broke up, she and Cat remained friends. Her parents will be out of town on Halloween night, so like a proper college kid with an empty house on a major holiday, Brenda is throwing a party. Moreover, she’s got a new boyfriend and Cat is dying to meet him.
“I could just not go.” Jean said.
Jeremy chuckled. As expected, he thought. “Jean, it’s your first proper Halloween. We cannot let it go unnoticed. Staying at home alone while your friends go to a Halloween party is just sad.” he said, picking up a plastic Roman helmet and examining it. Hmm. Not quite right.
Jean crossed his arms and clicked his tongue, disgruntled. Laila huffed softly, a warm smile on her face as she dropped a witch hat back on a display bin. She wrapped an arm around Jean’s waist and kissed his shoulder. “It’s okay, babe. We won’t force you to go. But give it a try, it might be fun. The rest of the Floozies will be there too, so you won’t be sitting alone.”
Jean huffed, but Jeremy knew Laila had already won him over. Jean squared his shoulders, “Do I really have to wear a costume?” he asked, sighing.
“Yes, but you get to choose it. You can wear whatever you want.” Laila said, giving Jean a small reassuring shake.
“Fine. I choose to go as a college student.” Jean shrugged and Laila laughed, letting go of him.
“A real costume, Jean. That doesn’t count.” Cat shouted down the aisle, voice a bit muffled beneath a bloody hockey mask.
“Oh, how about this?” Jeremy said, pulling a chef costume from a rack. “It’s kinda cute, right? And since you like to cook so much, it fits, don’t you think?”
Jean scowled, but before he could say anything, Cat chimed in, “Yeah, but I think it’s too boring. It’s Halloween guys! We need something a bit more—” she went off to the makeup aisle, returning with some vials of fake blood, “How about a serial killer chef?”
“No.” Jean shot down.
“C’mon, you’d look awesome. I’ve already got some cool names,” Cat grinned, putting a French accent on the names. “How about ‘Chef Bon-Voyage’? Or ‘Jean Morteau, the Butcher of Marseille’.”
Jeremy didn’t miss how Jean froze at the word ‘butcher’. His frame went rigid, his eyes wide as he stared into nothing. Jeremy felt his heart clench—another of Jean’s invisible scars bleeding through the cracks. Cat continued spewing suggestions, not noticing the change in Jean’s demeanor. Jean worked his tight jaw for a moment before interrupting her rambling, “I said no.”
“But—” Cat stared.
“It’s fine, Jean. You can find something else.” Jeremy jumped in, giving Cat a glare that said drop it. Cat sighed, but thankfully let it slide.
They each spread out through the store, checking costumes and testing props. Jeremy continued his search, eventually finding what he needed: an ancient Greek soldier costume. The details match perfectly: the helmet is in the Corinthian style, and the color is right—golden with red plumage on top; a golden breastplate, a skirt, a red cap and brown greaves complete the costume. It’s absolutely perfect, though Jeremy won’t need all of it. He puts the costume in a carrying basket and goes after his friends.
He found Jean going through a rack, putting the barest amount of energy on it. Jeremy smiled as he casually inspected some rubber masks. “Found something interesting yet?”
Jean grumbled. “Waste of time,” but kept on flipping through the hangers.
Jeremy fiddled with a Ghostface mask. “I don’t think so. I like Halloween. Dressing up allows you to be someone else for a night, no baggage or judgment. You can make a joke, or match up with a friend, or unleash a deep-seated fantasy. You can be and do whatever you like. So, yeah, it’s fun. Give it a try.”
Jean paused for a moment, turning his gaze to meet Jeremy’s. “Is your fantasy being in Diego’s place?”
Jeremy looked down at the costume in the basket he was carrying and laughed. “Oh, no, not exactly. It’s a bit different from his costume. I’m not going to use all of it, just some parts. You’ll see,” he said, lips curling in mischief. There was something thrilling about pushing the envelope—especially now that Jean would be watching.
Jean’s eyes narrowed. “Just some parts?”
Jeremy’s smile faltered under the weight of Jean’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if Jean understood what he meant. He was going to the party dressed up as Tommy Trojan, the unofficial mascot of USC, but unlike Diego’s version, which wore a complete set of armor, Jeremy was paying homage to the statue that sits at the center of the campus. A statue that wears only a helmet, skirt, and greaves.
Jean probably didn’t catch that part; he just shrugged and went back to the rack. A few moments later, he pulls a black robe from the rack. After seeing the white collar, Jeremy realized it must be a cassock.
“Oh, that’s… interesting,” Jeremy said. He didn’t know what to make of this. Yes, Jean wore a cross necklace and offhandedly mentioned being raised a Catholic, but he never came across as particularly religious. Given that he’s as openly bisexual (as open as Jean could be), his immediate acceptance of Xavier and Cody painted a non-practitioner more than anything. Then again, that could just be Jeremy’s biases speaking. He never had good experiences with religion. His parents didn’t visit the church frequently, but their rich and powerful evangelical friends did, so lip service and bigotry by osmosis were a common feature of Jeremy’s weekends as a child. The only high note he could think of was hooking up with the pastor’s son at the back of the church while his father preached to the congregation.
Jean examined the black robe with careful hands, turning it this and that way. His gaze grew heavy, fingers tracing the black fabric. He was silent for a few moments, and Jeremy could almost see memories flashing on Jean’s gray eyes. After a beat, Jean inhaled sharply through his nose, “When I was a kid, there was a priest who led the parish near my house. He was always kind to me.” For a moment he looked years and far away from here. He huffed and smiled softly, “I never paid attention to the mass. I just stared at the stained glass windows. The way the morning sun shone through them—it was so beautiful.”
“I will go with this,” Jean said, hanging the cassock over his arm. “It is discreet, I think.”
Jeremy couldn’t help but smile. The way Jean’s face lightened when he talked about his memory filled his chest with warmth. He was only beginning to understand the unbearable evil Jean had endured and survived. Jeremy was enamored—and inspired—by his strength: the way Jean survived horrible crimes and unimaginable cruelty, yet kept his heart big and kind. Jeremy could only wish he had the same strength. “Of course. It will fit you well.”
Then, the thought of Jean, with his taller figure and broad shoulders clad in a cassock struck Jeremy’s mind like lighting. Oh no, this will definitely not awaken anything in him. Not at all.
The two of them joined Cat and Laila, who settled for Daphne and Velma for their costumes, respectively. Cat gave a catty smile when she saw Jean’s costume, “Bless me, Father. For I will thoroughly investigate Velma tonight.” she said, pulling Laila to herself by the waist.
“Don’t start.” Jean scowled at her.
________________
Jeremy finished giving the last touches to his costume, which meant just tying the skirt, greaves and putting on the helmet. He took note of his reflection in the mirror: the helmet a bit too big on his head; his bare torso, well muscled and defined, covered in a sea of freckles; the skirt that barely covered a third of his toned thighs; the greaves hugging tightly at his calves. Half-naked, he felt his nerves on fire. A giddy, licentious heat bloomed from his skeleton and spread to his flesh. He felt utterly exposed, but in a way, also clad in armor.
Jeremy gave a satisfied nod and left the guest room, which became his unofficial personal space in the Lofts. As he entered the living room, Jabberwocky came like a flash, his toenails clicking rapidly on the hard floor. As he got to Jeremy, he tumbled on the floor and exposed his belly for rubs.
“Shameless,” Jeremy shook his head, but crouched to give his dog lots of tickles. He couldn’t help but smile. Jabberwocky was one of the best things to ever happen to him.
“He knows we’re leaving for the night,” Laila said, fixing her wig. Jeremy had no idea how she managed to tie her long curls to fit under that short, blunt bob. “Women’s sorcery,” he thought.
She then turned a glare to Jeremy, and all the warmth in her eyes was replaced with ice-cold disapproval. “We’re going to a college Halloween party, not a ‘costume’ party at a gay bar.”
Jeremy’s smile grew wider. Before he could answer, Jean stepped into the room, and Jeremy quickly rose to his feet. Jean’s priest costume was probably a number too small, but that made for a tight, tight fit. The black cassock framed his broad, squared shoulders, giving him an imposing silhouette. His cross necklace, which he usually hid under his clothes, was now fully displayed, hanging over his heart. There was an austere, sober air on the priestly Jean, and Jeremy felt his legs wobble a bit.
Jean’s stern, heavy eyes lay on Jeremy’s figure, making his skin burn. It was like God Himself was judging Jeremy and his slutty costume. An unwanted sting of shame made his cheeks color.
Jean lifted an eyebrow, “Your costume is quite… revealing.”
Before Jeremy could open his mouth, Cat’s unamused chuckle cut him off, “He’s at least dressed modestly this time around. Last year his entire costume was a red-horned tiara, red boxers, and red Converse. He was a ‘demon’, or something.” Cat said, making air quotes, “Are you even wearing underwear under that?” she pointed at Jeremy’s skirt.
“O-Of course I am!” Jeremy stammered, feeling his cheeks burn brighter. He clumsily tried to pull the skirt down a bit, but it just exposed more of his midriff.
“Jockstrap doesn’t count,” Cat smirked and redid the tie on her green scarf. “This thing is suffocating me.”
Laila gave a content sigh and pushed Cat’s hands away, “Let me do it,” she said, doing a proper knot on the scarf so it wouldn’t be too tight. “You look ridiculous,” she said softly. “And hot. Mostly hot.”
With the girls' attention away from him, Jeremy could now feel the crushing gray stare on him. When his eyes met Jean’s, he didn’t find the usual hunger and desire he came to expect when men looked at him (especially in such a libertine outfit). Instead, he found no hunger at all—just a quiet, careful question.
Jeremy could feel it. Jean wasn’t asking what Jeremy wanted to achieve with his sexy costume—that was pretty obvious. No, Jean was asking why Jeremy sought the male gaze with such desperation; why he craved this kind of physical validation.
Embarrassment bloomed on his skin like sick roses—he felt naked. And not the good kind of naked.
Jean’s gaze didn’t judge, but didn’t flatter either. It just saw him. And that was worse.
Jeremy wanted to turn away from Jean’s stare. He closed his eyes, but his traitorous mind decided to take him down memory lane.
Wearing slutty costumes on Halloween was a tradition for Jeremy that dated back to his senior year in high school. It was the tail-end of Leo dumping him for a car. He was completely wrecked. Hollow. Devastated. Drugs and alcohol weren’t enough anymore, not enough to drown the voices. He needed the touch of someone to smother the doubts, to stifle his self-hatred. Jeremy wanted to feel alive again, to be minimally desired, even if it was just carnally. He wanted, needed to prove to himself he was still desirable, that there would be someone who’d still want him, even if it was just for his body.
So he put on the smallest, tightest booty shorts he could find, a crop top and mid-calf socks and went to Rachel McAdams’, the school’s self-proclaimed queen, Halloween party. It was an ugly crash-out. Even now, Jeremy could barely piece together that night. All he could remember was the loud music, the burning of alcohol down his throat, mouths and hands. Everywhere, touching and kissing every inch of him.
For a moment, Jeremy felt like a king—like a god being worshipped. Then the night devoured him. He woke up the next day, head splitting open with a hangover, in a stranger’s bedroom, with three other guys on the bed with him. He didn’t remember how he got there or what happened that night. He swore never to do that again. That promise lasted three weeks.
Jeremy’s eyes returned to Jean. Jean was still watching him, head tilted, unreadable. Jeremy blinked. The room—and his own body—snapped back into focus.
Jeremy shook his head. There was no point in dwelling in that dark pit again. It was a part of him he would rather ignore, to shove into the back of his mind for as long as possible. It shook him to realize Jean could see right through his mask. And yet, a part of him was relieved that even seeing this ugly side, Jean didn’t turn away. Jeremy mustered all his strength to smile back at Jean. “You look good, Father Moreau.”
Jean’s inscrutable gaze faltered. He scoffed, but the corner of his lips tugged in a ghost of a smile. “Don’t call me that.”
“..and we’re done,” Cat said, giving Laila and herself a final once-over. She then turned to Jabberwocky, who was thoroughly thrashing his plush shark, “We’ll be out for just a couple of hours, baby boy. Yes, I know, I wish I could take you with us.” Cat said, using that silly, smothering tone like Jab was a baby.
They each took turns patting Jab goodbye. Cat took her purse that doubled as part of her costume and off they went, into the October night.
Luckily for Jeremy, the night was on the warmer side. With so much skin exposed, he was bound to feel the chill.
Brenda’s house was a few blocks away, close enough to go by foot. Jeremy loved the way the holiday dressed the neighborhood. At this time of the evening, mostly adults streamed through the street, the majority of them in costumes. Carved pumpkins, gravestones and skeletons dotted front yards, with some houses going for a more grim décor with body bags and vicious animatronics. Jeremy poked Jean and pointed at a bloody guillotine prop. It earned him an unamused huff.
As they walked, Jeremy could feel the glances hitting his skin like darts, sharp and endless, pinning him in place even as he moved. There were the obvious scowls of disapproval, the occasional shout of “Cover yourself!” or a loud whisper of “Disgusting faggot”. Those inevitably sapped Jeremy’s energy, but every now and then, he’d catch glances—those hungry, predatory glances—enough to make Jeremy’s skin tingle, his hairs stand on end.
Jeremy gave a satisfied smile when a guy dressed up as a vampire whistled at him. His smile only grew when he turned to see Cat, Laila, and Jean with very displeased expressions.
“You could have at least put on the cape until we arrived at the party,” Laila said, taking off her fake glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose.
“I could’ve,” Jeremy mused, knowing he would’ve never done that.
“You could be a bit more careful with your safety.” Cat said, a bit dismayed, “I don’t care if you want to be frisky with your costume, more power to you. But I care if it brings the bad type of attention to you. And I’m not just talking about shitty bigots.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed an accusing finger to Jeremy. “We know you attract creeps like flies. And we know you don’t always swat them off.”
Jeremy smiled gingerly and made a dismissive gesture with his hand, “You’re exaggerating.”
“Don’t put yourself in dangerous situations,” Jean said, and the furrow of his eyebrows gave Jeremy pause.
Before Jeremy could answer, a girl in a Catwoman costume crossed paths with the group. Her eyes were glued to Jean. “Bless me, Father. Come teach me to pray in my room,” she said lowly, breathy.
Jean’s eyes left Jeremy’s for the woman’s latex-clad body. Jeremy’s smile wobbled. Jean's eyes dipped, then quickly cut away—too quickly. His lips parted, a flirty retort strangled in his throat. Jeremy felt the pang before he could stop it. The gnawing urge to seal Jean’s lips with his own churned on Jeremy’s chest.
Jeremy feigned not noticing Jean’s drifting attention. He locked his hands on the back of his neck in a way that highlighted his biceps and pecs, “Oh, please. I’m the dangerous situation!” he smirked.
Like magic, Jean’s eyes were back on Jeremy, and for a moment they grazed Jeremy’s defined muscles. Then Jean caught himself and his eyes flew to the street ahead. “Watch your step, captain.” he muttered.
Jeremy should be feeling satisfaction. He managed to draw Jean’s attention away from that minx and back to him. Yet, shame licked his back and guilt stuck to his skin like sweat. How slimy, how vile of him to covet Jean’s attention like this.
Depraved slut.
The words echoed in Jeremy’s head, oily and familiar. He pushed it back with all his strength.
Laila’s weary gaze only added to the weight on Jeremy’s chest. The group fell into silence, only the clicking of their shoes on the pavement filling the awkward void. As Brenda’s house came into view, Laila drew a long, tired breath. “No drinking, Jeremy.”
Her tone left no room for argument. Jeremy sighed, “I won’t drink.”
His friends’ unconvinced glares were too much to face. Jeremy had to look away. He hugged himself at the unexpected cold breeze. He didn’t want to make promises he might break. But their eyes held him like a rope. “I promise.”
Above them, the waning moon hung like the eye of God—silent, burning and all-seeing.
They could hear the beat of music half a block away. Brenda’s house (or rather, her parents’ house) was a large, two-story single-family home, with a spacious front yard, a pool and a recreational area in the backyard. The front was decorated with orange and black streamers, fake bats and spider webs hanging from a tree. There were a couple of carved pumpkins, with at least one already stomped out by drunken feet. A crowd of dressed-up people populated the front yard, dancing and talking. Discarded red Solo cups and debris from costumes pollute the lawn.
Just the sight of it was enough to put a fire back in Jeremy’s soul. That’s what he loves: the horde, the mess; so many people that he can just melt in, be another one in a sea of bubbling bodies. The mess of sweat and laughter and not a single care in the world. To forget himself for a few hours. This is what he needs.
Jeremy and his friends move through the mass, greeting acquaintances and pushing the inebriated out of the way. The inside of the house was somehow even more crowded, the floor barely visible. The music was so loud that it was disorienting.
As they are trying to find their footing in the house, Laila bumps into someone dressed up as Chewbacca. A short Chewbacca. “Sorry! My bad!” Laila apologies, holding the furry costume to keep the person from stumbling.
“Hey, watch it, bro!” the person shouted, voice muffled by the mask, yet unmistakable.
“Cody?” Laila asks.
Cody pulls the mask up, revealing their buzz-cut red hair and face swimming in sweat, an ungodly number of piercings adorning it. “Yo, guys! You’re here!” they said, grinning widely and brightly, waving at Laila. They had to almost shout to be heard. “Loved the matching costumes, girls.”
“Of course we came,” Cat said, pulling them into a hug, “Like we would’ve missed the best party of the year. Besides, I’m dying to know who Brenda’s new boyfriend is.”
“Hell yeah, dude! I see you even managed to drag Jean along,” Cody turned to Jean and offered a fist bump. “Nice costume, man.”
Jean awkwardly touched fists with Cody. “Are you a… dog?”
Cody laughed. “Yeah, I have to take you to watch Star Wars someday.”
Cody then turned to greet Jeremy, and their smile froze. “Heya, cap,” they said, taking in Jeremy’s skimpy dressing. The sparkle in their eyes dimmed a little, and something tugged at the corner of their mouth. “Tommy Trojan, right? Doesn’t he wield a sword and shield?”
Jeremy tried his best to uphold his smile. “I figured it would’ve been too cumbersome in a place so crowded.”
Cody nodded. “That makes sense.”
Cat must have sensed the shifting mood, because she wrapped an arm around Cody’s shoulder, “Hey, aren’t Pat and Ananya here too?”
Cody’s shoulders stiffened a bit, their flushed face coloring a tone deeper. “Yeah, they’re here. They went to grab some drinks, I think.”
Cat smirked. “I’m not even going to ask what costume they came in.”
Cody huffed and rolled their eyes. “Shut up.”
Cat laughed. She grabbed Laila’s hand and not-so-subtly bullied Cody towards the kitchen. “Alright, let’s go find Han Solo and Leia. I’m thirsty and you look like you’re about to pass out from heatstroke.” As she left, Cat looked back and gave Jeremy a knowing wink.
Jeremy shook his head and turned to Jean. Jean looked out of his element, stiff-shouldered and warily glancing around. His jaw was tight, working as he ground his teeth. Jeremy got closer, leaning in to talk closer to Jean’s ear. His shoulder pressed against Jean’s, and he felt the other man hold his breath. “Is it too overwhelming for you? We can find a quieter place.”
Jean’s eyes were sharp like a hawk’s, spearing straight through Jeremy’s core. He finally let a shaky breath, nodding. “Yes, I would like that.”
They thread through the rumbling mass, the bass thumping a second heartbeat on Jeremy’s skin. He could feel the floor trembling with so many people dancing. The mix of sweat, alcohol, makeup, and deodorant was an assault on the senses. Every few seconds, Jeremy greeted a familiar face—a guy from American literature class; a girl from theater class; a dude from a one-night stand.
But more than anything, it was the stray hands, ghost touches that poked and groped Jeremy’s semi-naked body that gave him chills. He heard, “Looking good, Jeremy,” and “Hey there, hot stuff,” and “Fucking tasty, J.” Each catcall and wolf whistle made his smile bigger and bigger. He relished in the praise, the attention. There he was: Jeremy Knox captain of the USC Trojans Exy team, the sunshine captain; the hottest guy at the party. The piece of meat everyone wants but nobody wants to keep. Perfect. Unattainable. Easy on the eyes. Slutty. Dirty. Fake. Disgusting. Unwanted. Piece of shi—
“Jeremy,” Jean shouted. Jeremy stopped. He felt something holding his wrist. He lowered his eyes to see Jean’s fingers closed around it—not hard, but grounding. Jeremy’s pulse throbbed beneath them, louder than the music.
He looked back at Jean’s face, only to be met by a worried frown. “Are you okay? You are almost running.”
“S-Sorry. I’m fine,” Jeremy apologized, a brittle smile on his lips. Jean didn’t seem convinced, his gaze bearing on Jeremy like a press. For a moment, it infuriated Jeremy. Why can’t Jean just take him for what he looks—a easy hook up. Why must he see past Jeremy’s mask, to peek at the ugly truth beneath.
As quickly as it came, Jeremy crushed it before it could grow teeth. It was not fair to blame Jean. Jeremy’s own carelessness was the culprit.
They reached a corner less crowded. Jean, still holding Jeremy’s wrist, relaxed a little. For a second he felt… tired. Jeremy opened his mouth to apologize, but Jean spoke first. “You don’t need to do this.”
Jeremy stammered. “H-Huh? Oh, it’s fine. It’s no problem for me to stay with you and—”
“I mean you don’t need to hurt yourself like this,” Jean said, and his heavy eyes bored holes right through Jeremy’s facade. Jeremy flinched like the words had claws. He looked away, blinking fast.
“I’m not hurting myself. I…” he said, but even he could hear the lie in his voice. Jeremy felt crowded. The speakers were on a room away, yet the music was unbearably loud. But it wasn’t enough to drown his thoughts. He needed to run—run from Jean’s gaze, which missed nothing.
Jeremy looked around and saw no one he trusted, just eyes and teeth of strangers. A sea of people, a tide of costumes. Vampires, ghosts, clowns, cardboard robots, cowboys, serial killers… everybody was in costume. Only Jeremy felt naked. He swallowed and his throat was painfully dry.
Fingers on his chin pulled him back to his body. Jean’s grip was firm but not bruising. His eyes had softened. “Jeremy,” he said, his accent giving Jeremy’s name undeserved softness, “Breathe.”
Jeremy drew a deep breath. He scraped every ounce of energy into the fakest smile he ever gave. “I’m thirsty. Do you want a drink too?”
Jean’s pained expression almost killed Jeremy. Jean was quick to scold it into his usual frown, but there was no anger on the furrow of his eyebrows or the tug of his mouth, but something else. Regret, Jeremy thought. Jean finally sighed, long and tired. “Yes, I would like. But nothing sweet, please.”
“Right away,” Jeremy nodded, and moved away, severing their touch. Jean opened his mouth, but no sound came. He quietly retreated into himself.
The ghost of Jean’s fingers still lingered. Part of Jeremy wanted to scrub it away. Another part wanted it burned into his skin forever.
As he walked to the drinks table, Jeremy smiled brightly. If he kept smiling long enough, maybe it would feel real again. Maybe tonight, it would.
Jeremy felt his heart race. He wasn’t used to someone seeing the whole mess and not recoiling. Hell, nobody ever bothered to even look at the mess. He didn’t know what to do with kindness that didn’t come with conditions.
The drinks table had a impressive variety. There was beer, tequila, vodka, whiskey, brandy, cognac and liquors. Temptation lined up in red cups. Jeremy could almost taste the alcohol, that tingling sensation on the back of his throat, comfort and oblivion just a bottle away. But Jean’s heat still lingered on his chin. That meant something, right? He promised not to drink alcohol tonight.
His hands trembled, and he clenched them to stop the tremors. He couldn’t afford to slip tonight, not when Jean had seen too much of him. Jeremy could feel the control slipping through his fingers like sand. He took a deep breath. He was ruining Jean’s first Halloween party.
Get your shit together, Jeremy.
Jeremy poured two cups of cranberry juice when a voice close to his ear almost made him spill them. “Hey, Jeremy.”
Jeremy turned to see Leonard Foster standing before him. He was dressed-up as Sid Vicious: his dark hair spiked up, a heavy chain with a locker around his neck. He was shirtless, wearing only leather pants and biker boots. He looked indecently delicious. His eyes were voracious, eyeing every inch of Jeremy’s exposed skin like a starved beast. Leo licked his lips, “Didn’t expect to see you here, Knox.”
Jeremy’s blood ran cold. His gut twisted, and his legs stiffened as if to run. He hadn’t seen this face in months. And yet he was, smirking like the devil at the door.
What was Leo doing here? He was far away from his house. He didn’t attend USC, unlike most people here. Was this some weird coincidence?
It's been a couple of months since Jeremy last visited the Foster mansion. The Exy season starting, helping Jean settle down and the countless disasters that peppered these last months left no time to hook up with his… former partner.
“Leo!” Jeremy said, mustering all he had to sound relaxed and casual—and totally not freaking out. “What… what are you doing here?”
Leo's eyes narrowed. He got a step closer to Jeremy, enough to Jeremy notice the alcohol on his hot breath. Leo huffed, “Is that how you greet an old friend?”
Jeremy gave a small laugh. “Sorry, you scared me.”
Leo laughed too, low and husky. His eyes kept going up and down Jeremy’s body, never meeting his own eyes. The hunger and desire emanating of them was enough to make Jeremy dizzy. “I should ask the same, Jeremy.”
The worst part was that Jeremy’s own traitorous eyes refused to focus on Leo’s face, rather going down to lick the planes and ridges of Leo’s torso. Jeremy discreetly dig nails on the back of his thigh to push away the temptations that warmed his groin.
“I’m… actually picking a drink for Jean.” he said, hoping that would save him from doing something stupid.
“Oh, the Raven boy is here,” Leo said, looking for Jean in the masked crowd around them. “I’d actually like to meet him. Even after that interview, he’s such a mystery.”
Jeremy’s mind screamed bad idea, bad bad bad idea. He needed to get out of here, now. He couldn’t, in any way, shape or form drag Jean into his dysfunctional world.
Jeremy always kept Jean separate from his hookups. Those sides of his life had to stay far apart. Jean had already glimpsed at that side back in Arizona, when Ivan Faser left bruises on his neck. That whole debacle led to Jeremy sharing about his past—his addiction, his family, his mistakes. That had thankfully shifted Jean’s attention away from his questionable… sex companions. The last thing Jeremy wanted was to see was those two aspects clashing. He couldn’t let his safe space turn into a knife that cut his heart.
He didn’t want Jean to shame him for his shitty hookups. He didn’t want Jean to become one of his shitty hookups.
No, Jean doesn’t deserve that.
“I think that wouldn't be a good idea. Jean is a very private person, he doesn’t like to be crowded and poked—” Jeremy began, but Leo’s arm wrapping around his neck killed the words in his throat. They were both shirtless. Their bare skin, hot and sweaty, touched with familial intimacy. It sent a bolt through Jeremy’s spine, sending goosebumps rippling down his body. He bit his lips to stifle a moan. His body reacted out of habit. His mind recoiled. It was terrifying, how easy old reflexes returned.
Leo’s grin widened. “I see. You’re hoarding him just for you, aren’t ya? I didn’t expect you to be so greedy, Knox,” he said in Jeremy’s ear, sending another shiver crashing down on him. Then, he laughed. “What am I saying? Of course you are.”
The more Leo’s body pressed against Jeremy’s, the more stupid ideas bubbled to the surface of his mind. He stomped and killed them as soon as they bloomed. This is no place for a hookup, he thought, think about Jean. Yes, Jean. He had to find Jean, his way back to solid ground.
“I have to go,” Jeremy said, pushing Leo off and reaching for the cups of cranberry juice. “Jean is waiting for me.”
“Oh, is he?” Leo smirked, pointing at the corner of the room.
Jeremy directed his gaze at that point. There, between the waves of people dancing and laughing, and enjoying themselves, was Jean. But he wasn’t alone. There was a girl with him. She was blonde, wearing an Alice from Alice in Wonderland costume, but her blue dress was so short that it exposed most of her thighs. She was talking excitedly with Jean, who was talking back with a smile. Jean said something, and Alice laughed. Her arm reached for Jean’s and began to gently caress him, flirting.
Jeremy crushed the cups of juice in his fists.
No. No. No. No.
“Aaand looks like the Raven boy is already making new friends.” Leo mused. He then turned a questioning look to Jeremy. His head tilted as his grin narrowed his eyes. “That’s news to you too, eh?”
Jeremy barely registered Leo’s words. His mind roared with static, his limbs stiffened in a fight-or-flight response.
Jeremy wanted to march there and drag that bitch away from Jean. I have absolutely no right to do that.
Jeremy wanted to turn away and pretend he didn’t see that. I can’t stand knowing he’s with someone else.
As if on cue, Jean’s eyes darted straight to Jeremy’s. Jeremy had to look away. He’d rather puncture his eyeballs than watch Jean with a girl. A girl. He could handle Jean flirting with a guy, but a girl was something he simply couldn’t compete with.
Jeremy’s heartbeat played a painful staccato on his chest. His skin felt raw, as if dragged on a carpet. The ghost of a boot to his spine ached as much as the phantom pinch of cold steel to his wrists. Jeremy’s eyes darted around the crowd, waiting for the cops to barge in and put an end to the ‘faggot orgy’. He needed to get out of here. He needed… he needed—
Jeremy almost jumped at the drinks table. He fumbled for a red cup, hands trembling, resolve in freefall. Just one shot. Just enough to numb it. Half the vodka was wasted to the table because of the shaking.
Jeremy downed it in a single gulp, like a man dying of thirst. The moment he felt the liquid burn down his throat, he regretted it. He fucked up.
Leo’s arms wrapped around Jeremy’s midriff, his pelvis fitting in with Jeremy’s ass like Lego pieces. It was instinctive to moan. It was natural for his skin to crawl. “There you are.” Leo said, his voice dripping with hunger and glee.
Leo reached for the table for a cup of vodka of his own, and Jeremy took that opportunity to break free from his grip. But in doing so, Jeremy bumped into another guy. It felt like hitting a brick wall.
“Hey, bro! What’s up?” he shouted, the slur and flare of the drunk coating his voice.
Jeremy began to apologize, but his brain then put a name to the face: Bryce Bishop, a USC Football team’s linebacker and regular hookup during the school year. He was dressed up as a pirate—eye patch, a leather vest, ripped trousers and boots. His angry snarl turned into a friendly smile when he recognized Jeremy. Then, it turned into a hungry smirk when Bishop took in Jeremy’s state. Jeremy could smell his alcoholic breath from a distance. “Shit, Jerry. You’re looking fuckin’ fine.”
Bishop didn’t wait for permission. His hands went straight for Jeremy’s hips. He pulled Jeremy flush on his body, who instinctively braced himself on the planes of Bishop’s muscular pectorals. Bishop must have mistaken the gesture for flirting, as he pulled Jeremy in for a kiss.
Jeremy tried to pull away, but Bishop was much stronger than him. All he could do was turn his face away, so Bishop planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. The vodka in his stomach threatened to come back up. “Okay, dude. Enough. Let me go.”
Jeremy tried to push himself out of Bishop’s grip, his hands sliding on the bigger man’s sweaty skin. Bishop laughed, as if this was all just a game, or worse, foreplay. A rush of panic rose to Jeremy’s throat, yet his mouth remained mute. Bishop’s hand drifted downward, cupping Jeremy’s butt under the skirt.
Jeremy’s legs wobbled. He wanted to thrash, scream, break way from this man’s sick embrace. And yet, his body betrayed him once again—Jeremy felt his cock hardening in his underwear.
Another hand caressed Jeremy’s hips. Leo’s body pressed against Jeremy’s back, effectively sandwiching him between the two men. Jeremy failed to stifle a groan.
Leo laughed lowly. His voice was husky, stained with desire. “Y’know, there a empty room upstairs. We can grab a few bottles with us. I even have a friend that can get us some more ‘fun’ stuff”
Jeremy knew exactly what “fun stuff” meant. No. He’d never do drugs again. He promised his family. His friends. Jean.
Jean.
He’d give anything to be with Jean now.
Jean, who was flirting with a girl.
Jeremy was staring into the abyss. One step away from falling again. He felt the hot breath of the two men around him—touching him, caressing him in. The heat of their bodies was almost comforting, like a cocoon around Jeremy. He could feel their erections poking his thighs.
Jeremy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. The party faded into the background. His body was acting by itself, sinking further into Bishop and Leo’s touches. Leo planted a wet kiss on Jeremy’s shoulder, and he shuddered. Jeremy needed to get out of there immediately. He never realized how easy it was to simply give in.
Bishop and Leo’s explored every inch of Jeremy’s body, groping and prodding without shame. Every shudder of disgust was smothered by a shiver of pleasure. Jeremy closed his eyes, not even bothering to hold back his moans. To be touched like this, to be the undoing of men—that was what Jeremy craved. Attention. Validation.
They are just using you, a voice echoed from the back of his mind. Not the usual voice of shame. This one had a French accent.
He’d done this before. The parties, the strangers, the body he threw to the wolves. If he let go again, it would be like spitting on Noah’s grave.
He wasn’t high. He didn’t have that excuse. This time, he’d remember everything. And if Jean walked away, it would be because Jeremy had handed him the door.
No. I don’t want this. I want to be—
“Let go of me,” Jeremy murmured. His voice had difficulties coming out, like he was drunk with sleep. His body was burning, heavy like it weighed a million tons. The loud music drowned his thoughts. It was so easy to just go with the flow.
Neither Bishop or Leo seemed to have heard him. Instead, Leo started pulling them away. “C’mon. Upstairs.”
No. Going upstairs meant the ultimate betrayal. This wasn’t who he wanted to be, not anymore. He saw his friends’ faces—kindness, trust. Then Noah, fragile and fading. A wound that never stopped bleeding. He saw Jean’s face, strong and kind, asking nothing but the truth. He could never betray that.
Jeremy created a fiction of himself to forget what he didn’t like about himself. He carved a mask of what little he had left, just to hide the void. He’d worn the mask for so long it had become his skin. But now it was choking him.
Bishop and Leo weren’t just guys wanting to do drug and have sex—they were demons, dragging Jeremy with them back to hell. Jeremy knew that once he let his hands off the controls, there was no reigning it back. He couldn’t go back to what he once was. He’d kill himself rather than lose himself again. He needed to be better.
For his family,
For his teammates,
For his friends,
For Noah.
“No… no! Let go of me!” Jeremy shouted, thrashing and fighting against the bodies that held him. His voice broke, but he didn’t.
“Hey, calm down,” Leo said, struggling with Jeremy’s sudden resistance. In his desperation to escape, Jeremy hit an elbow on his stomach, making Leo back away breathless. An opening.
Jeremy pushed himself away from Bishop’s body, his still weak legs not helping his mad dash. He trips on himself, but manages a couple of steps before Bishop’s large hand grabs his bicep with bruising force. He’s drunk and horny, a dangerous combination. His voice is so slurred it’s barely intelligible, “Why are you leaving?! We barely even started. C’mon, Jerry… let’s fuck.”
Jeremy pulled his arm, Bishop’s grip almost crushing his bones. “Let go of me! You’re hurting me!” he cried.
“Hey, Bryce! Calm down!” Leo wheezed.
Jeremy struggled to pull free, hot pain lancing across his arm. His heartbeat was a hummingbird, beating bruises in his chest. Panicked thoughts ricocheted like an Exy ball inside his skull. Every fiber of his being screamed Run!; every thought focused on stepping away from the edge.
Jeremy felt his joints pop. He was very close to getting injured. A hysterical part of him worried that it might impact his Exy practices.
Then, a fist came and hit Bishop straight in the face. With the impact, Bishop let go of Jeremy’s arm, making him stumble forward. Before he could go headfirst into the floor, an arm caught him. Jeremy instinctively struggled against it, but then his voice came.
“Jeremy! Breath,” Jean said, and it was like God was speaking to Jeremy. Jeremy clung to Jean like a man clutching a life raft. Jean’s warmth didn’t just ground him, it anchored him to who he still wanted to be.
When their eyes met, Jeremy felt like crying. Jean’s face was pure alarm and concern. A careful hand touched Jeremy’s cheek. Jean’s jaw clenched, but his hands were trembling. He barely holding it together—for Jeremy. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked, his gaze taking on Jeremy’s state, freezing at the bruise on his arm. It then shifted to righteous fury.
A few feet away, Bishop was recovering from the punch. Fresh blood was dripping from his nose. He tried to clean it with a hand, but only smudged it across his face. “You motherfucker,” he barked. Bishop’s voice was slow and dragging, drunk with alcohol and lust. “I didn’t know you were so territorial. There’s no need for that, I can share. I know Jeremy can handle more than one with no problems.”
Jeremy felt the heat of shame crawling on his back. In other context, he might been proud of such a statement. To satisfy others was the closest he had for a purpose. But here, as he wore this stupid costume, and in front of Jean? It was the same as writing WHORE on his forehead.
“I will kill you touch him again,” Jean snarled, his accent thick with rage, mouth twisted with fury. The party froze, all eyes locked on the fight unfolding.
Bishop smirked, then pounced. Jean was big, one of the tallest players on the team; arguably the best backliner in NCAA Exy. Yet he had very little chance against a linebacker. Bishop hit Jean square in the jaw, and Jean wobbled. If Bishop started linking punches, there was no stopping him.
Jeremy’s body moved before his mind. He tackled Bishop with all his might, putting all his weight to push him away from Jean. Bishop wasn’t expecting the collision, alcohol dulling his reflexes. Bishop fell to the ground, rolling away disoriented. Jeremy put himself between Bishop and Jean like a shield.
Bishop regained his footing, moving to charge Jean again. Jeremy braced for it, holding his ground as Jean tried to push him out of the way. But before Bishop could launch himself at the two of them, Leo and a guy that Jeremy recognized from also being on the football team pinned Bishop down.
“Chill, dude!” the guy said, “You’re ruining the party, Bryce!”
Bishop kept struggling against both men, eyes glued on Jean like a bull ready to charge.
“Man, calm down!” Leo grunted, using all his strength to keep the footballer in place.
Jeremy’s whole body trembled. Jean was still holding him upright, but Jeremy didn’t know how much longer he could stand—not from injury, but from everything else: guilt, shame, relief.
“What the fuck is going on here?” a female voice boomed. A girl stepped forward, dressed up in punk clothes and colorful makeup. Jeremy recognized her as Brenda. “Are you guys serious?! A fight, at my party?”
On Brenda’s heels came Cat and Laila. At first, they seemed just curious about the sudden fight that broke out, but the moment they saw Jean and Jeremy hurt, they darted towards them, pushing out anyone in their way.
“Who did this?” Cat’s voice was steel, eyes glued to the ugly bruise blooming on Jean’s jaw. Laila was already at Jeremy’s side, cupping his face, fury and worry bleeding into every movement.
“Those fuckers were harassing Jeremy.” Jean viciously glared at Bishop and Leo, voice ragged and chest heaving. His body was tense, ready to defend Jeremy from anything.
Jeremy’s heart clenched with conflicting feelings. The warm comfort of Jean’s body against his; of seeing Jean lose control and get violent, just for him. On the tail-end of that thought came utter revulsion. How selfish, how awful. How could Jeremy relish in making Jean hurt other people, even if he was protecting him. This whole disaster was all his fault. They were essentially like dogs fighting for a piece of meat, and Jeremy dragged Jean into this sordid ordeal.
“Babe?” Brenda asked in confusion, looking at Leo. “What does he mean?”
Oh. Brenda was dressed up as Nancy Spungen. Sid and Nancy. Leo was Brenda’s boyfriend. That son of a—
Leo had the decency to look embarrassed.
Jeremy’s vision was spinning. He couldn’t breath, there was cement on his lungs. He was naked. More than naked, skinless. Flayed within an inch of death. He needed to get out. Out. Out.
“Grab some ice and a piece of cloth. Bring it to the bathroom.” Jeremy said to Laila as he grabbed Jean’s hand and pulled him. He was surprised that Jean wasn’t resisting. No, he wasn’t surprised at all. Behind him, he vaguely heard Brenda expelling Bishop from her party. They pushed and shoved their way through the crowd of onlookers. He could feel every eye on his exposed skin, judging him.
Depraved slut
Attention-seeking whore
Filthy degenerate faggot
Jeremy rushed up the flight of stairs, his legs stumbling in his haste. The stairs led to a corridor flanked by door on either side. Jeremy didn’t know which one was the bathroom. The hallway blurred. Every step hurt, but not enough. He wanted to disappear into the floor, into the wall, into nothing.
He tried them one by one, panic mounting with each locked handle. Most were locked, but one opened to a bedroom. That bedroom. Jeremy slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame. Behind him, Jean remained silent.
Finally, he found the bathroom. He urged Jean in and closed the door behind them, using his body as a barricade against a crowd that wasn’t coming.
Jeremy’s heart was beating out of his chest. His mind spun, falling into a spiral of fear and guilt. His throat was so dry it hurt. He ruined everything, like always. Jeremy cursed himself and the moment he chose this stupid costume. His need to be desired and the embodiment of the Trojan way lured him into a perfect trap. His little “homage” to his college and team backfired spectacularly. Now everyone saw the true Jeremy. Even Jean…
“Jean,” Jeremy said, using that name as the safe haven against the turmoil that threatened to swallow him whole. “Jean, are you okay?”
Jean slumped against the tiled wall, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for hours. His hands shook, and he grabbed the cross necklace for a moment. He turned his gray eyes to Jeremy. For a second, they were nebulous and unfocused—like Jean’s mind was miles away. When Jeremy entered his field of vision, they refocused. “Jeremy?”
How cruel. Jeremy would never get used to how Jean’s accented pronunciation of his put a warm flutter on his stomach. Naturally, shame chased that good feeling away. “I’m sorry. I ruined everything,” he said, voice choked.
Jean used a vanity as support to push himself away from the wall. He looked divine, a black monolith in a mostly white room. Jeremy’s mind conjured the image of a priest in a church of white marble. A very, very hot priest.
Jean got closer to Jeremy. Jeremy didn’t have the strength to look into his eyes, rather keeping his defeated gaze on the cross over Jean’s heart. Renee’s gift, her reminded himself. It felt like a dagger to his heart. The touch of Jean’s fingers to his chin shook Jeremy to his core.
“You did not ruin anything,” Jean said, voice low and soothing. To think the same voice threatened another man’s life moments ago, yet here it was, delicate as sugar plums just for Jeremy, sent a chill down his spine.
“Of course I did. This is your first Halloween party and I ruined it. I chose this stupid costume. If I wore something… normal, none of this would’ve happened,” Jeremy said pathetically. He crossed his arms, futilely trying to cover himself. But there was no covering himself anymore. Jeremy was blown open, for everyone to see.
Jean studied Jeremy for a moment, his thumb caressing circles on his skin. His gaze showed what Jeremy was beginning to understand as hunger, but a hunger Jean reigned in and bullied into submission with all his might. A part of Jeremy wanted Jean to just take him, but they both knew Jean would rather break his own hands than force himself on anyone. Yet, Jeremy couldn’t help but crave those rosy, full lips.
“You did not ruin anything, Jeremy,” Jean said again, trying to convince Jeremy he truly believed that. “If anything, those two asshole ruined the night for everyone. Your costume does not permit them to touch you, it does not matter how provocative it is. You do not deserve what you have been through.”
Jeremy laughed, low and pathetic. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”
Jean leaned closer, and Jeremy’s hands went instinctively to his chest. He wanted to touch every inch of Jean, so he twisted his hands on the black fabric to keep them still.
Jean’s hand trembled where it touched Jeremy’s chin. His jaw was set, like he was holding something in. Maybe fury. Maybe grief. Dark spots were blooming were Bishop’s fist hit his pale skin.
Jean’s face was mere inches from Jeremy’s. His hot breath brushed his cheek; his eyes were so intense Jeremy could feel the weight of them squeezing the air out of his lungs. There was a knot on his throat, butterflies in his stomach, and something hardening in his underwear.
“You deserve to be safe,” Jean said, a husky purr thick with his heart-melting accent, “You deserve to be cherished. You deserve to be loved,” he said, but then his voice stopped on his throat. Jean swallowed dry, debating himself if he should really say the next phrase. Jeremy’s eyes went from Jean’s bobbing Adam’s apple to his lips. They fluttered.
Jean wasn’t turning away. He wasn’t lecturing, or asking questions, or leaving. He was just here. Steady and warm. Offering the kind of safety Jeremy never believed he deserved.
“You deserve to be kissed, Jeremy. So hard that you can not remember your name.”
With that, Jean closed the gap between them. And Jeremy forgot who he was.
Jeremy was in heaven. Relief and desire and longing burst out like a falling dam. His heart hammered his chest open, heat spreading through his body like wildfire. His skin felt electrified, discharging lightning bolts as Jean gripped his chin. The point where their lips met burned like an erupting volcano. Jeremy was melting, undone by Jean’s words—by Jean’s touch.
He should’ve felt ashamed. But all he felt was warm. Held. Like, just maybe, he hadn’t broken beyond repair.
The kiss lasted a couple of seconds. Jean pulled out first, eyes wide and face flushed deliciously. They stared at each other for a moment. Jean swallowed and licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice was ragged and breathless.
“Sorry, I… shit, I should have asked—” he stammered.
Jeremy shut him up with his mouth. He didn’t need words, he didn’t need excuses or permission. What he needed was Jean’s lips on his again. Their mouths opened and their kisses deepened, tongues dancing sensually.
Jeremy let go of Jean’s cassock, only to reach for his back, pulling their bodies flush together. He felt the hard topography of Jean’s torso, then something even harder below. Jeremy moaned on Jean’s mouth.
As Jeremy’s hands drifted upward to grip Jean’s hair, the other man let go of his chin to grab his hips. Jean’s big, calloused hands dug into Jeremy’s flesh, extracting another noise from him.
Their mouth parted for a moment, and the words came out of Jeremy’s mouth in a rush. “I didn’t do it, I-I…” he stammered, “They wanted to take me to a room and do drugs, but I did want to, I didn’t… I said no—”
He chose to say no. Not because he felt strong, but because he wanted to be.
Jean quieted him with a kiss. “Shhh. I know. You did not go, and I am proud of you.”
And there it was. Jean smiled. Rare as a diamond. Just as brilliant.
Jean knew how it felt to be broken and still breathing. Maybe that’s why he didn’t flinch.
Jeremy stared at Jean, eyes sparkling. Those words sat on his heart like a balm. He couldn’t help but smile, then sealed their lips together again.
Jeremy was never kissed like this. He made out with countless men throughout his life—men he had even forgotten the name or face; none of them kissed like Jean. None of them stole his breath away and made Jeremy grateful for it. None of them made his soul sing and his body melt.
None of them made Jeremy happy. Truly happy.
A knock on the door made them both jump. They quickly stepped away from each other, as if someone was about to enter the bathroom.
“Jean? Jeremy?” Laila’s voice echoed from the other side of the door. “I’ve brought the ice.”
Jean and Jeremy quickly tried to fix themselves, with mixed results. Jeremy opened the door, and Laila gave him some ice cubes wrapped in a kitchen towel.
“Thanks,” he said, then pressed the ice to Jean’s jaw, who winced.
Laila watched as Jeremy took care of Jean. Jeremy tried his best to act normal, praying Laila mistook the color on his cheeks for shame or anxiety. Knowing Laila, she saw through his facade the moment he opened the door—but if she did, didn’t say anything.
“What about you?” she asked after a moment. Her gaze was on the darkening bruise on Jeremy’s arm.
Jeremy waved her off, “It’s not that bad. It’s not even hurting.”
Jean gently poked the bruise and Jeremy hissed. Laila lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “If I started betting on your responses I’d be rich by now.”
Before Jeremy could retort, Jean took the makeshift ice pack from his hands and pressed it to Jeremy’s arm. Pain laced from the point of contact, but Jeremy powered through it. Rather, he smiled at Jean. “Thanks.”
A few moments later, Cat came stomping her feet. “I can’t believe it, I can’t! How could Brenda date fucking Leo?! I mean, what?!”
“Tell me about it,” Laila murmured, “Talk about unfortunate coincidences.”
Leo’s presence in the party was less of a shock than the fact he had a girlfriend. Jeremy always thought Leo was gay, like him. He didn’t remember his former… companion expressing any interest on the opposite gender. Was Leo being pressured into a straight relationship by his family? Jeremy’s heart clenched at that thought. He didn’t want to give Leo too much credit since, first: Leo was willing to cheat on his girlfriend on her own house, during a party she was present; second: Leo harassed Jeremy, induced him to do drugs, knowing what that did to Jeremy; and third: everything else that happened between them.
Still, Jeremy couldn’t help but sympathize. God knew his own family was but a step from putting a gun to his head and marrying him to Laila.
“Though, I’m not so sure how long that relationship is going to last,” Cat said, grabbing Laila’s hips and pushing her closer. She gave a mischievous smirk, “Especially after someone spilled the tea about Leo’s past, uh?”
Jeremy’s mouth gaped. “Laila?!”
Laila shrugged, unapologetic. “No regrets. He shouldn’t have touched you.”
Jeremy was ready to argue about how this was wholly unnecessary, but Jean’s low laugh killed the words in his throat. That sound was enough to completely eject Leo out of Jeremy’s mind.
Jean was looking away, at the far wall. His cheeks were still faintly colored. He shifted a bit, and that dragged Jeremy’s gaze to his groin. A noticeable bulge was formed were the cassock overlapped with his pants.
Jeremy’s mouth watered.
Jeremy knew how this things went. Jean helped him, defended him, held him while he threatened to collapse. It was only fair that Jeremy repay what Jean did for him. It was his obligation to make Jean feel good.
“Jean? Do you need help with that?” he said in French. His pronunciation was still stiff and unnatural, but Jean startled gaze put a hungry knot in his gut. Jeremy wasn’t sure if it was the French or the proposal, but whatever it was, it put hungry sparks on Jean’s gray eyes.
Jeremy did his best to suppress a satisfied smile. With his face (barely) neutral he said, “I guess I’m done for the night. This costume wasn’t a good idea, in hindsight. We actually missed the opportunity to dress up as the Mystery Gang.”
“Oh, you’re right!” Cat grinned. “You as Fred, Jean as Shaggy, and—ohh, Jabberwocky as Scooby-Doo would be sooo cute!” she laughed. “Damn, we really dropped the ball!”
“Yeah, right. So, huh… I’m going home right now,” Jeremy said, already walking out of the bathroom.
“I’m going too. I am tired, and I am going to punch the next person who tells me ‘I’m sorry, daddy. I have been a naughty girl’.” Jean said, Jeremy cringed at how obvious they were.
Cat gave a hearty laugh, “Oh my, that’s gold right there. I can’t believe I missed that. Well, I guess this party is a bust. Let’s go home and—"
“Actually,” Laila interrupted her, “I’m not done giving people grief for their costumes, especially Pat, Ananya, and Cody—they’re sooo hopeless. Night’s still young!”
Laila hooked an arm on Cat’s shoulder, pushing her back to the party while winking at Jean and Jeremy without an ounce of subtlety. Jeremy wanted to lie down and die.
Jeremy and Jean pushed their way through the crowd and out of the party. Jeremy didn’t care about the glances and whispers as they passed. Jean was right behind him, and that’s all that mattered.
They hit the sidewalk with a fast walk. By the time they were just a block way from the Lofts, they were running. It was awkward to run in greaves; Jeremy had to keep a hand holding down the helmet as it threatened to bounce away with every step. Jean’s costume didn’t allow much flexibility, either.
None of that mattered. They ran their little race, laughs echoing into the night. The moon gazed down at them, knowingly.
They reached the building out of breath, still laughing. Jeremy’s chest still hurt from more than just a run.
They hastily ran up the stairs and into their apartment. The sound of the door opening alerted Jabberwocky, who barked and ran to greet Jeremy and Jean, paws sliding on the polished floor. They petted the dog out of obligation, the tension between them so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Jean took Jeremy’s hand a led them to his bedroom. It had gained a few traces personality over the last months: postcards from Kevin and the cities the Trojans visited for away games pinned to a corkboard; a few examples of Jab’s growing collection of toys lying around; a potted daffodil by the window.
Their mouths collided before the door was even closed. Jean’s hands gripped Jeremy’s hips; Jeremy laced his arms around his neck. The touch of their tongues made Jeremy groan instantly.
Jeremy could hardly believe this was actually happening. He pined for Jean since the moment they met at the airport back in June. Even as their friendship bloomed; even as Jeremy learned to trust and rely on Jean; even after realizing his feelings might be reciprocal—Jean was off-limits.
Jean was betrayed and abused in ways Jeremy would probably never fully grasp. Jeremy would never forgive himself if he crossed a line and hurt Jean—but since where those lines were was so murky, the smartest choice was to make no move at all.
But now, with Jean making the move, it was just perfect for Jeremy. He could indulge Jean, make him feel good without fear of overstepping it.
Jeremy’s hand slid down Jean’s wide chest and the ridges of his abs, finally reaching the bulge in his pants. He gripped it tentatively, and Jean grunted.
“What do you want me to do?” Jeremy murmured as he planted kisses along Jean’s neck.
Jean was panting, his hands trembled as he held Jeremy’s hips, as if his legs might give in at any moment. He tried to speak, but only a strangled noise came out of his throat.
Jeremy giggled, gently kissing Jean jaw. “I can do whatever you want. Anything you want.”
Jean swallowed. His pupils were blown wide, mouth parted in a ragged breath. His cheeks were pink like peaches. “T-Take everything off,” his voice dark with lust, “Minus the helmet.”
Jeremy grinned and did as told. He unlaced the skirt and the greaves, discarding them useless to a corner. His boxers went next.
Jeremy stood naked before Jean, and the other man audibly gasped. His gray eyes drank Jeremy’s exposed form with such voracity it sent a shiver down his sun-kissed body.
“You are so beautiful,” Jean muttered, almost disbelieving. His hands reached for Jeremy’s body, his touch electric. His fingers caressed and prodded Jeremy’s muscles with almost religious reverence. Each touch pumped more and more blood to Jeremy’s cock.
Jeremy’s gaze went to Jean’s pelvis. The sight of the bulge throbbing with need made Jeremy’s eyes sparkle. He grinned at Jean.
“Do you want me to ‘handle’ it? Or rather, blow it?” he growled seductively.
When Jean struggled to form a coherent sentence, Jeremy picked what he judged the most pleasing for Jean. He slowly went to his knees and looked up, waiting for approval.
Jean looked so fucking hot from this angle—monument of muscle, beauty and strength, clad in saintly black. Breathtaking. Delightfully sacrilegious. A gift from God.
At Jeremy’s questioning eyes, Jean nodded. Jeremy pulled the cassock out of the way, then undid the belt, button and zipper from his trousers. Jeremy pulled them down to reveal Jean’s black boxers straining over his hard cock, a wet spot growing around the tip.
Jeremy gave it a experimental lick, and Jean groan loudly. His hips buckled instinctively, almost shoving it on Jeremy’s face. “S-Sorry! I-I…” Jean stuttered.
Jeremy shushed him. “Don’t ever be sorry for that, babe.”
Jeremy could barely hold himself. The size straining against the underwear's fabric put the devil’s hunger on Jeremy’s mouth—long and thick in the right measure. Not the longest or thickest Jeremy had ever encountered. Just perfect.
Jeremy pulled the underwear down, and Jean’s cock sprung free. It was veiny, uncut, a bead of pre-cum glistening on the rosy tip. Now this is a beautiful cock, Jeremy thought.
“May I?” Jeremy asked, glancing up at Jean. Jean who looked so deliciously undone, hands gripping Jeremy’s shoulders like a man dangling over a precipice. Jeremy gave Jean’s cock a teasing pump. Jean’s shudder was full-body.
“Please…” he groaned.
Jeremy didn’t need to be told twice. He swallowed Jean whole, the salty taste of the back of his throat like an arrow. Jean cursed loud in French. Jeremy held his length as deeply as he could, lips brushing Jean’s trimmed pubes. When he pulled out, a bridge of spit connected his lips to Jean’s dick.
“Fuck!” Jean exhaled, panting like he was just out of a long game.
Jeremy grinned, licking the underside of Jean’s shaft. “Delicious, Father,” he hummed, leaning in to take Jean’s balls in mouth.
Jean tried to reach for Jeremy hair, but his fingers caught the helmet. Jeremy could hear Jean’s nails scraping at the plastic, exasperated and vicious French spewing from his mouth. Jean’s pleasure—desperation—only fueled Jeremy’s lust, his own cock aching between his bent legs.
When Jeremy took his cock on his mouth again, intuitively lunged his hips forward. His head hit the back of Jeremy’s throat like a battering ram. Jeremy gagged.
Jean tried to pull out, stammering apologies, but Jeremy held him in place. His hands dug into Jean’s thick, muscular thighs. Jeremy looked up, grinning around Jean’s dick, and begin to blow him in earnest.
He used every trick he learned over the ears: swirling the tongue over the head and underneath the shaft; hollowing out his cheeks; sucking when going in, letting go when pulling out. He put his everything into driving Jean crazy.
One hand slid under the cassock, to the taut, hot skin of Jean's abs. He could feel the muscles of his six-pack, the light brush of his happy trail. All of this was about Jean. Jeremy wanted nothing more than to make Jean feel as best as he could; to please the man that had smitten his heart. The man that was everything he wanted, everything he needed…everything he could never have.
“Wait… Jeremy, wait!” Jean shouted, frantically tapping his shoulder.
The sudden stop made Jeremy dizzy with whiplash. He must have gotten in his head went overboard, crossed a line. Jeremy mentally cursed himself. Of course he was ruining even this.
“I’m sorry! Did I hurt you, o-or did something—” Jeremy stuttered, growing panic tinting his voice.
“No, you did not do anything wrong,” Jean spoke quickly, as if trying to soothe Jeremy. He swallowed, sounding embarrassed when he spoke again, “It is just that… I am really close to cumming.”
Oh. Jeremy laughed, his panicked thoughts dissipating in a mist of relief. “I see. You don’t want to end this yet.”
That was the best kind of compliment Jeremy could ever want when it came to sex. It meant he was fulfilling his role properly.
Jean looked down at Jeremy, sweat beading from his forehead. “Yes, but… what about you? I want to cum with you. What do you like? What do you want me to do?”
Ah. What?
What does he mean by that? What Jeremy… liked?
“That’s not how it works—” they come, use me, get off, then leave “—I-I never thought… what I like?”
Jeremy hit a brick wall. What was the right answer? He never thought about what he liked—no one ever asked. He was a service top. It was his role to get others off. His own pleasure was incidental or a mere consequence of that. Nobody ever—
“Tell me what you want, Jeremy,” Jean asked again, more firmly. Genuine.
And Jeremy genuinely didn’t know how to answer.
Wanting didn’t matter. Surviving did. And surviving meant being needed—even if it hurt.
“I-I…” he stammered, his mind scrambling for an answer that would put Jean back on the focus. The spotlight was burning his skin. He put on the brightest, most fake smile he ever had. “I’m game for whatever you want.”
Of course, Jean saw right past that. He slowly crouched to face Jeremy. The flame of lust wasn’t completely gone, but it was supplanted by concern and… grief. Jean cupped Jeremy’s cheeks in his hand, and Jeremy almost crumbled.
His gaze fell to the dark bruise on Jean’s jaw—a remainder of everything that went wrong this night. All his fault. And here he was, ruining the only good thing to happen to him in a long time.
Congratulations, Jeremy Knox, you fucking suck
A rush of hysterical self-hatred rushed to his throat with bile. When he was going learn he wasn’t suppose to have good thing in life? When he was going to learn that the debt for his sins could only be paid with his—
“They really hurt you.” Jean said. His eyes were dark, but not with lust—but it wasn’t censure, either. It was perfect understanding.
Jean swallowed hard. His eyes shimmered with pain—for Jeremy.
Before Jeremy could make a further fool of himself, Jean sealed their lips. He didn’t seem to care where Jeremy’s mouth was just seconds ago. Jean’s hands pulled Jeremy closer, like he wanted to protect him from the entire world. His hands wandered his back to the hair under the helmet. There was not lustful urge on his touch, but a careful, reverential tenderness.
Jeremy fought back the wetness in his eyes. He endured all kinds of demeaning and degrading acts on the bedroom (or anywhere that gave the opportunity for a quickie). He did a lot of stuff he wasn’t proud of, things he only did to get people off. But crying during sex was the bottom of the pit, even for him.
He wanted to be needed. He wanted to be loved. And if he had to be essentially a disposable sex-toy to get a facsimile of that, so be it.
And here was Jean, asking him what he liked.
How cruel.
It was just cruel.
“I don’t know,” Jeremy murmured, defeated. “I don’t know what I like.”
Jean sighed, and he sounded so pained, so full of grief, that Jeremy lost the battle with his eyes. A tear streamed down his freckled cheek. Jean kissed it clean.
“You deserve to be wanted, Jeremy. Not for what you give. Just for who you are,” Jean said low, husky. “You are such a beautiful man, capable of almost infinite kindness. You fight against the darkness in you with such a ferocity. You always strive to be better, be it on court or outside it. You are like a—”
Jean’s met Jeremy’s with utter adoration. “—like a saint.”
Their mouth closed in a deep kiss, and Jeremy’s eyes fluttered. He moaned softly on Jean’s mouth, clinging to him like the last pillar of light in a all-consuming wave of darkness.
“Let me worship you,” Jean said on Jeremy’s lips.
Jeremy didn’t have words. So he offered everything—his body, his need, his trembling hope—and prayed Jean wouldn’t shatter him.
Jean would never hurt me, he thought, and he was sure of that like he was sure of the sunrise the next morning.
Jean helped Jeremy to his feet. His touch was light as a feather, gracious. His eyes roamed Jeremy’s body with hunger, yes, but also reverence—the same way one admires a work of art in a museum.
“I love your body,” Jean said, and Jeremy’s heart skipped a beat. “I love the constellations that adorn you.”
Jean guided Jeremy to the bed, laying him down with care. As Jeremy’s head fell on the pillow, the helmet escaped. Jean’s hands touched and explored every inch of his body, planting gentle kisses along the way.
Jean gave himself the mission to kiss every freckle on Jeremy’s body, and he pursued it with vigorous dedication. As he went, he showered Jeremy in praises—at first in English, but then switching to French.
“Your skin is bathed in gold. The sun pales in comparison to the beauty of your bronze. Your smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky combined. Your eyes are the color of the sea kissing the sand. No ancient hero is as strong as you; no golden muse as beautiful and shining; no saint as kind and selfless.”
Jeremy lived and died at those words. His skin was on fire, each touch and kiss from Jean sending shockwaves across his body. He writhed at each lick and soared at each praise. His hands twisted on the mattress. His soul was melting. His cock stood painfully erect.
Jean kissed and worshipped his way down Jeremy’s abs and navel. He now loomed between Jeremy’s toned thighs, face inches from his aching member, his cross necklace hanging between them. When he spoke, the hot breath was lighting bolts on his sensitive skin.
“My Sol Invictus. My Apollo. My Sun.” he prayed, and swallowed Jeremy whole.
Jeremy threw his head back, mouth agape in a blissful moan. Jeremy had been sucked before, and Jean was obviously inexperienced—but fuck, nothing could have prepared him for this moment.
Jean’s mouth was warm and tight. He took Jeremy slow and careful, doing his best to avoid the teeth. He couldn’t take more than half of Jeremy’s length, but that didn’t matter at all.
Jeremy was shot up to the highest heavens, an apotheosis of pleasure and fulfillment. He felt bigger than life, capable of moving mountains with a single flick of his fingers. He felt like he graced something bigger than himself.
His hands instinctively grabbed Jean’s hair, but Jeremy held himself not to grip too tightly. He didn’t guide Jean as much as he grounded them both. He fought the urge of his hips not to thrust upward into the hot wetness of Jean’s mouth.
He let Jean find his own rhythm. He began to bob his head up and down, swirling his tongue on Jeremy’s head. Saliva coated his shaft, spilling onto his sack and the mattress bellow. Jean’s slurping and gagging noises mixed with Jeremy’s loud moans and grunts into heavenly symphony.
“God... Jean!” Jeremy groaned, breathless, “It’s good… so good! I’m close!”
At those words, Jean pulled out of Jeremy’s cock with a wet pop. Spit and pre-cum coated his swollen lips, his pale face flushed with color. His hair was a mess were Jeremy was holding for dear life. He looked deliciously disheveled.
Jean got up took out the cassock, then his pants and underwear. The sight of Jean’s naked body gave Jeremy pause. He’d grown spectacular this past few months. Broad shoulders and large pecs, long limbs that shot balls like missiles. His chiseled abs ended in a delectable V-shape; his developed thighs thick and sturdy as tree trunks. His cock was somehow even harder, throbbing achingly and oozing pre-cum.
Jean was the most beautiful, most perfect man Jeremy had ever seen.
Jean then covered Jeremy’s body with his own, sliding their cocks on the other. The cross necklace shone between them. “Let’s go together,” he said, breathless.
Jeremy nodded. He grabbed Jean’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. He tasted himself on Jean’s mouth and groaned.
Jean wrapped a hand around their cocks and began to pump. Jeremy swore. Sweat made their skin shine as they fucked each other like nothing else in the world mattered.
They moaned and groaned each other’s names on their joined lips. They rutted and grinded their cocks together, chasing delightful friction that turned their thoughts into static.
“I’m gonna cum,” Jeremy warned.
“Cum with me,” Jean retorted.
A few more thrusts and they finished off, thick ropes of white spilling between them. It was like a short-circuit. Jeremy came so hard his mind went blank for a second.
Like a runner after a marathon, Jean collapsed over Jeremy, avoiding crushing Jeremy with his weight by only an elbow on the mattress.
They stared at each other, chests heaving. Then, Jeremy laughed. And Jean joined him.
They were both wrecked, lips swollen and flushed red. A mess of fluids coated their abs. A lot of assumptions they had about each other were shattered, and they couldn’t be happier.
It felt like waking up and realizing the dream was real.
Jeremy raised a hand to caress Jean’s cheek. He still couldn’t believe it. Jean’s eyes smiled back at him.
“I…” Jeremy began, but then stopped. This was usually the moment he’d gather his clothes and leave. He played his role, even if the script deviated from the usual. “…should I—”
“Stay,” Jean must have seen something change in his eyes, or his smile falter. Of course he was seeing past Jeremy’s mask like it didn’t exist. Jean picked the beginning of a spiral and cut it clean. “Stay with me for the night.”
Jeremy couldn’t say no to that, even if he wanted to. He smiled and pulled Jean into another kiss. He pushed all his doubts and anxieties from his mind—he would freak out about it tomorrow. Tonight what mattered was Jean and the place Jeremy found in his arms.
They lost themselves in each other’s arms, but had found themselves also. Jeremy finally understood what he wanted.
Jeremy wanted Jean, needed Jean—more than he needed air.
Jeremy wasn’t healed. But in Jean’s arms he wasn’t hurting. And for tonight, that was enough.
________________
Jeremy woke up the next day with a pleasant ache. The last night’s activities hanged on the back of his head like a veil.
He looked to his side and found Jean, still fast asleep. The morning sun streamed from the window and bathed Jean in golden light. The usual nightmare that plagued Jean’s sleep hadn’t come this night. He looked so peaceful, so beautiful.
Jeremy felt a pang on his heart. He loved what happened last night, absolutely loved. But that didn’t mean it would happen again. Sex doesn’t equate to feelings, as he knew well.
His cellphone chimed on the nightstand. Jeremy didn’t remember putting it there. By the notification sound—a sultry sax hit—one of his hookups was reaching out. Jeremy flipped the phone open to see a message from Bishop:
srry about last nite
I fuckd up
Jeremy sighed. Yes, Bishop was intoxicated, but that didn’t excused how he behaved or what he did. Jeremy wasn’t sure if he wanted to forgive Bishop, at least not now. Maybe in a few weeks he’d think about it again and—
“Block and delete their numbers,” Jean’s rough voice rumbled. “All of them.”
“Why?” Jeremy asked.
Jean opened his eyes. His hungry, fierce gray stare pierced straight into Jeremy’s soul.
“I do not share.” Jean declared.
Jeremy’s breath hitched. His heart fluttered. This thing between them—whatever it was—wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.
It wasn’t a pipedream. It was a promise.
Jeremy turned back to his phone as scrolled down the contacts list, heart on fire. Block and delete. Each name that disappeared from the screen made his smile grow bigger and bigger.