Chapter 1:
"I'm real sorry I couldn't drive you out there myself, Carl, help you get settled in," Lois was saying, with a heaviness to her roughly accented voice, "I really would have preferred it over double-shifts at the hospital, I'll tell you that."
"It's okay, mom," Carl replied, with a light chuckle as he started up the steps of the apartment complex, "It's better this way, anyhow. How'm I supposed to be 'on my own' if my mom's 'holding my hand' the whole time? This way, it's like a real adventure."
"Yeah…" Lois lamented, then with a chuckle, "It's a good thing you had no trouble finding a roommate. I hear it's hard to find apartments in that city. I hope your roommate's nice…I wish I could have driven you out there to at least meet the kid…"
"Yup," Carl chirruped distractedly, "Look, Lola, I'm here, at the apartment, and I don't think it's a good first impression for my roommate…you know…me chatting on a cell phone when I arrive. So, I'll call you later."
"Yeah, well…just remember who's paying for that cell phone," Lois clucked, "Bye, Carl. And don't be late to check in for your classes! And don't drive your roommate up the wall! Oh, and clean up after yourself...and even if you don't likke him at first, try to get along and..."
"Calm down, mom, I'm in college now. Have a little faith."
Carl hung up, his mother grumbling something about "faith in him not being possible," and slipped the tiny phone into his pocket, pausing in front of the nice mahogany door with the golden "45" neatly drilled into the top. It opened before he even had time to knock and he grinned at the blonde haired boy standing in the doorway.
"You're late, Foutley," the boy commented in a sharp English accent.
"Or am I right on time, Blakey-boy?" Carl replied cheekily, and the other boy raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head and widening the door to allow Carl entrance, "Nice crib," Carl admired, waltzing into the apartment and giving it a once over.
It was a nice apartment, what with being a brand new complex and all. The entire place seemed to be white, white carpeting, white walls. The couch in the living room was white. The boy standing in the doorframe was white. It all looked very pristine. There was a houseplant beside the door, it's deep green standing out in the surrounding environment like a cockroach on snow, and the kitchen to the left was open to the living room. To the back was the hallway leading to the master bedroom, the guest room, the hallway closet and the bathroom. It was all furnished and decorated, everything was clean, spic and span.
"I had Winston give me a hand," Blake explained, leaning against the now closed front door, "I wish you'd been here days ago…it's so boring here all alone." Carl smirked, dropping his bags to the ground and coming to stand with his body flush to Blake's. His lips just barely brushed against the younger boy's ear.
"Well…you're not alone anymore," Carl whispered suggestively, satisfied when a blush colored Blake's cheeks. He turned, stretching, "Show me the bedroom."
"It's…b-back here," Blake stammered, flustered. He grabbed Carl by the hand, dragging the older boy down the hallway, and receiving no protest.
The bedroom was more befitting Carl's nature, with the walls painted a dark color. A large king sized bed pushed to the back wall, blanketed with large fluffy comforters, pillows, and a quilt. The window was covered with a curtain, and a few rather ghastly posters were hung on the walls. A few of Carl's things had already been brought to the apartment, and they were already set up. There was a door that connected to the master bathroom, and it was opened a crack to reveal the inside. It was just as clean as the rest of the house, and Carl noted with kinky interest the shower looked big enough to comfortably fit two people in with plenty of space to maneuver. There was a small television set up on a black entertainment deck with a VCR/DVD player, and a stereo. Carl grinned, crossing the room and leaping into the bed, leaving Blake in the doorway fighting the urge to smile. Carl pulled himself into a sitting position, looking around the room with a bright grin, and bouncing happily.
"You like it?" Blake questioned nervously, and Carl looked thoughtful.
"It's nice," he started slowly, before his smile became one of a more devilish nature, "But do you know what would make it way better?"
"What?" Blake asked, brow drawn together, a bit flabbergasted. He couldn't quite figure what could possible be wrong with the room. He'd made sure it would be particularly comfortable for Carl. Carl's grin widened, if it were possible.
"You naked."
Blake's eyes went wide and his face turned bright red. His mouth opened and closed several times, as he was completely disconcerted and couldn't figure out anything witty to reply to that statement, so he found himself gaping. Carl simply sat grinning at him, kicking his legs, hands pressing into the soft comforter.
"You…you are…irrepressible," Blake finally managed, "You are vulgar…obscene…"
"And you're still not naked," Carl calmly pointed out. Blake shook his head, his eyes closed, and Carl pulled himself up, sauntering over to the younger boy, curling his fingers in Blake's shirt and pulling him forward so there was no space between their bodies. Blake looked up into Carl's smiling eyes, "Come on, Gripling. Let's break this place in."
He didn't have to prod any farther as the younger boy, on tiptoe, pressed a kiss to his lips. And Carl wasted no time deepening it, leaning Blake against the doorframe and parting their lips gently with his tongue. He slipped his rough, calloused hand beneath the smaller boy's shirt, finding the smooth warmth of bare flesh, and smirking at how his touch caused Blake to quiver. For a moment his hand caressed the flesh there, and then in a swift movement, his fingers deftly undid the buttons of Blake's shirt, slipping it over the younger boy's shoulders. He paused, taking a moment to absorb the image of the flushed, panting young man before him.
"See, you're halfway to nakedness and the room already looks better," he remarked, and Blake opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was ready to say turned into a soft moan in the back of his throat, as Carl captured his collar bone, skillfully massaging it with mouth and tongue. Hand on Blake's waist and mouth never leaving the smooth skin, Carl led them towards the bed, letting Blake's shirt fall haplessly to the ground.
Blake fell, back down, onto the soft comforters and Carl, knees straddling the younger boy's body, positioned himself on top. He curled forward, starting another kiss, rougher this time. He took a moment to sit up and remove his own t-shirt, dropping it off the side of the bed and hastily continuing where he left off. He could feel Blake's fingers undoing his pants, and was all the more excited by the eagerness in those clumsy movements. Small hands traced along Carl's bare spine, and he shivered, shuffling their positions so that now Carl laid on his back staring up at the ceiling as the younger boy trailed kisses down his chest, each one growing with desperation the further down they went, until they were quick, eager pecks around his belly button, to the top of his jeans, just above his groin. Blake paused there, his mouth working in slow motions, as his hands slipped beneath the jeans and worked them downward. He felt a groan quiver from within Carl, and smiled against the dark flesh almost triumphantly when the older boy murmured, "God, Blake…"
The room was dark when Carl opened his eyes later that night, and the alarm clock next to him glowed '4:47 am' in bright red. A heavy weight lay over his chest, warm and soft, and Carl pulled himself up slightly. He smiled down at the blonde head resting on his shoulder, fingers curled against his skin, belly against his chest, the younger boy's nose nuzzling Carl's neck, soft breath tickling his skin, and he relaxed back down against his pillow.
Blake was at least two years younger that Carl, but was by far more mature. He was intelligent, which had resulted in him skipping a few grades ahead when they were in elementary school. He was small, slim, graceful, and eerily beautiful. His skin was milk white, his hair platinum, and his eyes wide and deep blue. He blushed easily, and making those cheeks turn bright pink was a favorite pastime of Carl's. His lips were light cherry red, and formed a pretty pout, and his subtle English accent made him seem cold and distant. It was one of the reasons Carl hadn't gotten along with him when they were children. That, and he had been snobby, arrogant, fake, and overly annoying.
Carl shifted the younger boy up slightly, so that Blake's body covered more of his. Not for the first time, Carl noted that their bare flesh felt nice against one another, and the younger boy smelled so good. He lay there for a moment in the silence of the dark room, listening to his lover's soft breathing, and running his finger's lightly up and down over the small boy's spine. But as sleep continued to pervade him, he grew restless, until finally he decided to put the few hours he had before he was supposed to wake up to good use. He gingerly rolled the younger boy off of him, laying Blake carefully against the pillow and tenderly tugging the comforter up onto the younger boy's shoulders. Then Carl searched the floor for his pants, pulling them on and heading out the door.
He ran through a routine of push-ups, sit-ups, a work-out that had become like ritual to him in his early years of high school. He let his mind focus on the movements, on his muscles, on his breathing. He hadn't run through the routine all Summer, but it was something to do with the energy left over from sex last night. Breathe in, breathe out, push up, push down. It was nice, to get his mind off things.
The morning he left Sheltered Shrubs had been a disaster. He'd gotten in a fight with his stepfather and taken off without waiting for Hoodsey. He'd already said his good-bye's the night before, but Hoodsey had still wanted to drop by to see Carl off. The fight didn't even seem important now, Carl realized, as he paused in mid sit-up, taking deep breaths. He'd gotten mad at Dr. Dave over something or the other being packed wrong. Dr. Dave had made a comment about how the object was "just a toy" and Carl was set off. The fight had lasted for nearly half-an-hour when Carl finally finished by snapping "you're not my father, anyways", which happened to be exactly when his mother walked in the room to see what the commotion was about. She said nothing and he took off. It was later that she called when he was well on the road, and their entire conversation had been pleasant, as though the whole event at the house had never happened.
Carl fell back, his hands pressed into the carpet, as he gasped for breath. He was dizzy, almost suddenly, having lost track of his breathing. There was stirring in the backroom, and he wondered if Blake was waking up. His young lover tended to do that, when Carl left the bed. It was endearing. He often joked, "did you miss me?" and the blonde would turn several delightful shades pinker. He smiled softly at the thought of the younger boy, falling to lay back on the plush carpet, sweat matting his hair and clothes and the wiry strands of white fabric sticking to his body. The door to the bedroom didn't open and Carl was almost disappointed. He rubbed his chest, to relieve a sudden pressure settling heavily there and wondered if he was getting sentimental. He had never worried about those things with Noelle.
The thought of his ex brought Carl to his feet with a deep frown and he trudged towards the bathroom. It was still a bit early to shower, but he figured he would take nice, long, hot and cold ones. Cold first, to chill his exhausted and overheated body, then, of course, hot.
It was the beginning of high school, freshman year, four years ago. September, 2001. Carl walked with Hoodsey to the school campus, to the high school his sister now attended in her Junior year, to the high school he would now attend. Noelle sat on the front steps, legs crossed, eyes closed, hands laying on her knees palms up. As the boys got closer, they distinctly heard the ominous humming of "om". Carl smirked, leaning down to peck the small girl on the cheek, and Hoodsey shifted uncomfortably, nodding to passing peers giving the tiny redhead odd looks. She blinked, before turning bright eyes up to the two boys hovering over her, lips pursed together and unmoving.
"You've interrupted my morning meditation," she immediately pointed out, sounding all too annoyed. Carl simply shrugged, smirk never faltering. "Now my entire aura will be…" she began, and while Hoodsy seemed to listen interestedly, Carl sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring disgruntled out at the student body passing and pressing around them. He'd heard his girlfriend's rants far too many times. He'd have them memorized if they didn't change every time, but the gist was still the same. If he kissed her during meditation, she'd rant about her aura being screwed up for the day because he'd interrupted her ascent to nirvana. If he didn't kiss her when they came upon her, she'd rant that he was unhappy with her and that her aura would be screwed up for the day because his dark mood clogged her chakras. No matter what he did, he was always wrong.
Carl could easily identify the new freshman at the high school. It was a small town, so he'd gone to school with all of them since kindergarten. It was not something that comforted him. He noticed with slight interest that Polly Shuster had developed a nice rack over summer vacation. He wasn't the only one to notice, as she was surrounded by a flock of boys feigning affinity for birds. She didn't look impressed, but then she didn't look bored either. Junior and Junior Sr. were amongst them. Carl had never really been in any classes with the two boys because they'd been in the developmental classes all their lives and he hadn't, but his mother had dated their father, Buzz, for a very short while.
He frowned when his eyes landed on Blake Gripling and Brandon Higsby standing together and chatting quietly, looking scathingly out at the passing students, by the far wall. They had befriended one another somewhere in middle school, being the two outcasts in the class and to Carl, there was something disconcerting about seeing his two greatest enemies in commune. He tried not to think about it.
Terrance was walking up the sidewalk towards the steps. He'd finally gotten out of fourth grade, but he also towered over his peers. He was big, dumb, and aiming to try out for the football team. A few girls, more on the popular end of the social ladder, really liked that about him. And the fact he could already drive and was incredibly ripped probably didn't hurt either. Carl nodded in acknowledgement to the lumbering hulk as he passed.
"…in any case," Noelle was wrapping up, "Do you really want to be responsible for the repercussions caused by…"
"You're right," Carl interrupted, spreading his hands out before him, "I'm a complete moron. Selfish and inconsiderate," somewhere during the rant, Noelle had lifted herself to her feet to stand staring up at him, and he wrapped his arm over her shoulders, leading her towards the school entrance and she promptly fell into an irritated silence, "I'll try harder next time not to disrupt your mojo, babe."
"Aura, Carl," Hoodsey put in, receiving a harsh glance from his best friend, "It's…aura…" he stammered, trailing off and eyeing the cement.
"Whatever," Carl muttered disinterestedly, "Let's go make-out, Noelle." The small girl pulled from his clutch, turning her petite nose into the air.
"I have homeroom to get to," she remarked curtly, "Hoodsey, I believe our classes are in the same hall."
"Oh…coming," Hoodsey hastily followed the young woman, subtlety glancing back to his abandoned friend sheepishly, trying to discern how betrayed Carl was probably feeling by that abrupt departure.
But Carl simply shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets and turned away towards his own homeroom, frowning at the tiled floors and the people he passed. He slipped into the classroom and took a seat. The bell wouldn't be ringing for at least five minutes, so the room was relatively empty save for the teacher who nodded at him in acknowledgement behind an open newspaper. Carl laid his head down on the desk in front of him trying to gage how he felt about his best friend and girlfriend just turning their backs on him and leaving him in the hallway with five minutes to bell ring. For a fleeting moment, he wondered with irony, if maybe they were having a romantic affair. He chuckled slightly at the thought, receiving an odd look from the teacher. But even as he laughed at the notion, a pang in his chest marked the unsettling realization, he didn't really care.
He hadn't really been passionate about anything those past few months…or had it been years since he'd last felt the thrill of an adrenaline rush, or even the raw feeling of a fierce, gut-wrenching emotion of any kind that had been usual to him in his youth? The door opened and Blake and Brandon waltzed in. Nausea and disgust settled into the pit of his stomach. He thought, unhappily, at least he could count on them to make things stir inside him. They paused to look at him and he glanced away, choosing to stare darkly at the chalkboard and bury his face in his arms.
Oh yeah. It was going to be a long year.
