Author's Note: Warning! Slight lemon in this chapter!


(10) Feelings . . .

"I don't believe that life is supposed to make you feel good or make you feel miserable either. Life is just supposed to make you feel." —Anonymous

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Cristóbal stepped forwards and gently cupped Jack's face in his hands—as he did in class—and kissed him! This was not just a close kiss, not just an "almost" kiss . . . This was the real thing!

Jack did nothing to respond to the kiss, although he did not push the Spaniard away either. He merely stood there, pressing his mouth against the other's lips. It wasn't really anything special, until . . .

Cristóbal began to vary the pressure of his lips against Jack's—first hard, and then softer, gentler. He coaxed the latter's mouth open and slipped his tongue inside, exploring the forbidden cave. He explored the cavern carefully, not sloppily, as some of Jack's former suitors had the tendency to do. It was as if he was caressing Jack with his tongue, putting all of his emotions and his feelings into the kiss.

Jack sighed. How long had it been since he had kissed so like this? A few months, at least. Since . . . since Ralph left. However, Jack had no time to feel sorry for himself, for just then, one of Cristóbal's hands left his face. But unlike before, it did not come to rest on his waist. No.

'You can stop me whenever you want to,' Cristóbal muttered against his lips before plunging his warm hand into Jack's trousers.

Jack immediately moaned and thrust into the warm hand, pressing closer to its heat.

Noting the apparent invitation, Cristóbal slipped his hand into Jack's boxers and began stroking the generous organ.

'Ohh!' Jack groaned, breaking the kiss and allowing his head to fall back against the tiled walls.

'Do you like that?'

'Yes!'

'Good.' Cristóbal's pulled his hand out and proceeded to unbutton Jack's school pants and slip them off of his hips and onto the floor; his boxers soon followed.

'What are you—? Ohh!' Jack's sentence ended in a deep moan as Cristóbal kneeled on the ground and took him greedily into his mouth. Then he sucked fiercely on the generous organ, producing a writhing teen above him. Oh, he was so close . . . But just as Jack neared his climax, Cristóbal abruptly released him and easily redressed him before getting to his feet. Then the Spaniard's strong hands took a hold of Jack's shoulders and pulled him into a hard, passionate kiss.

'We shall finish this later, Jack,' Cristóbal murmured silkily; then he unlocked the door and left.

Jack groaned with both unsated desire and pure shame from what had occurred. It wasn't like he could not give a damn after what had happened. The importance of the situation was being shoved rudely into his face!

'Oh no,' he murmured, crumpling to the floor . . .

And that was how Lee found him but minutes later.

'Jesus Christ, Jack, what the hell happened to you?' Lee demanded, taking in his friend's flushed features and raging hard on.

Jack's reply was very curt, yet it explained everything.

'Cristóbal.'

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Feeling slightly better after his conversation with the twins—although still slightly dazed—Ralph made his way home, wondering what his mother would say when he arrived early from school. About halfway there, however, he decided that he would not be able to deal with her inquisition at the present moment and opted to wile away time somewhere else, anywhere else. He just needed somewhere to chillax until school ended and he could return home at his usual time.

So, Ralph found himself combing town for a small restaurant or a café of some sort, a place that was out of the way and where he would not run into anyone whom he didn't wish to speak with. He eyes brightened when he saw the words "Joe's Diner" lit with fluorescent green lights. Feeling slightly anxious, he pushed the door open.

Ting-a-ling.

A bell above the door jingled softly to announce his arrival.

"Wow, this is just like the movies or something," he thought in spite of himself, looking around curiously. "Except . . ."

After having a quick glance about, Ralph noticed something—it was full of gay couples. Here and there, along the windows and at the counter, talking and paying, flirting and laughing, guys and gals, old and young, the gay couples went about their business.

Ralph swallowed, his anxiety growing.

"Of all the places to go, I just had to choose this one," he thought bitterly, "where everything is a reminder of Jack."

'Hey, kid, you want to eat something or what?' the forty-something-year-old woman standing behind the counter asked (rather rudely, in Ralph's opinion, so why the hell was she involved in customer service?). She looked him up and down with indifferent eyes, snapping the pink gum in her mouth.

'Yeah, whatever,' he replied indifferently, sighing. 'At least the chances are slim that someone will see me here.'

Having heard what he said, her expression became curious, but she did not mention anything.

'So . . . will there be two of you then?' she questioned automatically. After all, only couples really came to this place.

'No. Just one,' he said, his dark mood deepening.

'Right. Here's your menu then,' she said, holding out a menu for him.

'No thanks. I'll just have a coffee—black.'

'Right,' she said again.

Ralph sullenly seated himself on one of the high barstools lining the counter, trying not to pay attention to the happy couples around him.

'Here's your coffee, kid.' The woman carefully handed him a steaming cup of said brown liquid.

The teen reached into his back pocket for his wallet, but she held up a firm hand.

'It's on me today, okay?'

'Oh, thanks,' he said, taken aback. 'But . . . why?'

'I've worked here for years, kid, and I must admit that it gets pretty depressing for me at times. You see, I'm straight, so hitting on the guys here is bloody useless.'

Ralph hoped that she would get to her point soon, because it was dull listening to her tell him about what she thought of her workplace.

Apparently, the woman appeared to have read his mind because she said, 'Anyway, my depression ain't nothing compared to yours. In all the time I've worked at this dump, I ain't never seen anyone walk in looking as desolate as you do. Paying for your coffee is the least that I can do.' She blew a bubble until it popped and slipped the sticky substance back into her mouth. 'Not that it's any of my business or anything, but did you love 'em?'

'Who?'

'Whoever it was that broke your heart.'

To be spared from answering, Ralph picked up his cup and—after raising it to her in a silent toast of gratitude—took a sip of his coffee.

That seemed to be a good enough answer for her, for she left him alone to go and make another pot of coffee.

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Well, the good news was that Mrs. Macpherson did not suspect that anything had gone wrong at school, for the teen had arrived home at his usual time. (Indeed, she was even doing her usual routine of washing the dishes, which she always happened to be doing when he returned.) However, the bad news—

'I'm home,' Ralph said quietly, entering the clean kitchen to greet her.

'It's good to see you home, Ralph, dear,' she replied, turning slightly from her task to glance back at him.

—was that Ralph's mother was still worried about him. True, it had only been a day, but she couldn't help but notice that her son looked a bit peakier than was normal. Call it motherly instinct. When she said, "It's good to see you home", what she really meant was, "I'm glad that you didn't have the mind to commit suicide".

'Mm,' was his reply to her two-toned greeting. He immediately went to the refrigerator to retrieve a soda. Then he popped the top off and

began to take long gulps, allowing the burning liquid to sear down his throat.

Mrs. Macpherson pursed her lips slightly from his response, but immediately excusing it because of his obvious bad mood.

'Did you have a fine time at school today?'

'Yeah.'

'Anything . . . interesting happen?' she asked carefully.

'Not really,' he said, tossing his now-empty can into the trash bin.

'Oh . . .' She finished washing the last dish and set it on the plastic rack to dry.

Almost immediately, Ralph came up beside her and began drying the dishes with a cloth.

Smiling gratefully, Mrs. Macpherson said, 'Thank you, Ralph, and . . .' She placed a gentle hand on his arm, causing his eyes to hesitantly meet hers. '. . . please, come to me if you need someone to talk to, or just someone who will listen. I will always be there for you.' She kissed him softly on the cheek and made to leave, intent on running a load of laundry, but his voice stopped her.

'Wait.'

Ralph's mother turned around expectantly.

'Yes?'

Ralph hung his head with shame.

'Last night, I know that I wasn't exactly the . . . the nicest person or a son . . . that you could be proud of. And I just wanted to say . . . I'm sorry.'

She smiled gracefully.

'Apology accepted.'

Then the cloth fell out of Ralph's loose grip and the dishes lay forgotten as mother and son tightly embraced.

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Another day of school. Another boring day of school. Another fucking boring day of school.

Well, at least one thing made it more interesting (that is to say, different from usual) for Jack Merridew—he had to firmly stay away from a certain Spaniard . . . or was it stay close to? Jack really hadn't decided yet, for both circumstances held appeal. On the one hand, staying away from Cristóbal would be easier because then Jack would be able to keep his . . . desires at bay.

"Because that's all they are," he reasoned with himself. "Desires, only desires . . . right?"

On the other hand, if Jack was near to Cristóbal at the . . . er, ideal moment, then they may be able to finish what they had started.

"Translation: what he refused to finish," the teen thought bitterly, sighing.

Of course, he had been unable to avoid Cristóbal during homeroom—computer class. He had spent the period pretending to pay attention to Ms. Levington (since he remembered to do so this time) and ignoring messages from the Spaniard . . . and John, Fred, and Lee as well, for that matter. It wasn't until Lee kicked him brutally (and repeatedly, I may add) under the table that he finally opened up the window.

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Leeeee says: itz bout tyme, u fukn pussi! (It's about time, you fucking pussy!)

Jack-in-the-Box says: wtf u want? (What the fuck do you want?)

Leeeee says: i unno, wut u wan? (I don't know, what do you want?)

Jack-in-the-Box says: nau hoo's bein a pussi? jus tell me, jakass (Now who's being a pussy? Just tell me, jackass.)

Leeeee says: .. (. . .)

Jack-in-the-Box says: Lee?

Leeeee says: u shud treet me w/ mo respect, bro (You should treat me with more respect, bro.)

Jack-in-the-Box says: y? (Why?)

Leeeee says: i got u a job (I got you a job.)

Jack-in-the-Box says: ur shittn me, ryte? (You're shitting me, right?)

Leeeee says: rong (Wrong.)

Leeeee says: tho I cudn care reely less bout da ralf ting.. (Although I couldn't really care less about the Ralph thing . . .)

Jack-in-the-Box says: g, thx, bud (Gee, thanks, buddy.)

Jack-in-the-Box says: rolls eyes

Leeeee says: hehe, jks only, man (Hehe, jokes only, man.)

Leeeee says: ..ne weh, mr. B felt kinda bad (. . . Anyway, Mr. B felt kind of bad)

Leeeee says: (hoo no's y) ((Who knows why?))

Leeeee says: n he decided 2giv u a p-t job brown cow (and he decided to give you a part-time job at Brown Cow.)

Jack-in-the-Box says: .. (. . .)

Jack-in-the-Box says: thx, Lee (Thanks, Lee.)

Leeeee says: np (No problem.)

Jack-in-the-Box says: u kno wut? (You know what?)

Leeeee says: wut? (What?)

Jack-in-the-Box says: on sum days, ur NOT such a big pussi..u stil r, but not as much as u r on most days (On some days, you're NOT such a big pussy. You still are, but not as much as you are on most days.)

Leeeee says: a, go scrw urself (Ah, go screw yourself.) (1)

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Once first period had ended, Jack had been able to evade Cristóbal once more . . . until drama class, that is, in which Jack was afraid to leave the classroom for fear of once again being . . . molested? But, no, it wasn't a bad thing, what they did in the lavatory. The only "bad" part about it was that it hadn't been completed.

"Stupid Cristóbal," Jack thought cynically. "Just once more stroke and I would have gone over the edge. Of all the rotten luck!"

Unfortunately, luck was not on Jack Merridew's side on that day either.

'Jack, Cristóbal,' Mr. Raconte summoned them, after having received a brief telephone call. 'Would you two mind collecting some of our new wooden sets from the art class?'

'Wooden sets, sir?' Jack inquired.

'Yes, Jack. They are to be the backdrops of the play that we will be presenting to the school, remember?' he said impatiently. 'Anyway, the head art teacher called me and asked for two strong boys to go and retrieve them.'

'So why us?' Jack questioned, glancing pointedly at his slender—although still muscular—arms.

'Because I asked you to, silly,' the professor replied with a slight chuckle. 'And . . . er, because you two are the only ones who are able to hear me over this racket.'

That was pretty much true. The students were sitting in a large circle on the classroom's plush carpet (which was where the audience sat while a play was being performed on the erected stage). Much to the former's irritation, Jack and Cristóbal were seated next to each other, their backs leaning casually against the teacher's desk.

Their assignment for today was to practice monologues for a brief assessment the next day. And not just any monologue. No. Mr. Raconte had been quite specific. According to him, their monologues had to show anger, jealousy, frustration, or any other "dark" emotion. The teens translated this into their own vocabulary in this manner: loud. So, an entire class loudly practicing their monologues created quite a ruckus.

'Be sure to count them before you bring them back,' Mr. Raconte yelled to them over the noise. 'There should be two of each kind.'

'And how many kinds, sir?' Cristóbal asked.

'I am not entirely sure, so it would be best if I simply didn't tell you what I thought.'

'That many then?'

With a sly smile, Mr. Raconte said, 'Maybe. Yes, I think so.'

Sighing, the two teens dragged their feet out the door of the classroom, where a not-so-light (literally!) fate awaited them.

'So what kind of sets do you think they are?' Cristóbal asked his companion casually.

'I don't know. It doesn't matter,' Jack said, shrugging.

A short pause passed between them.

'Jack, are you angry with me?'

Jack stopped his progress midway through the corridor to glare at the Spaniard.

'No, where would you get that idea?' he responded sardonically. Then, without taking the time to explain himself, he simply turned away with his nose in the air and power-walked (2) to the Art Department. He arrived there not two minutes later, which was quite a feat, since the drama room was located on the other side of the not-so-small school. But it did not come without its price. Jack was now slightly out of breath and his calves hurt.

'Jack? Are you all right?' Cristóbal said, catching up to him without breaking a sweat.

"Damn, he really could last for a while," Jack thought. "AHH! Bad thoughts! Get out of my head!"

Ignoring both Cristóbal and his thoughts, the teen knocked on the door.

'Excuse me? Who are you here to see?' the pleasant-looking lady in the head art teacher's smock (i.e.: the head art teacher) asked them curiously.

'We're from Mr. Raconte's drama class,' he explained. 'I understand that there are some sets here that we need to pick up.'

'Oh, yes, Mr. Raconte's students.' She opened one of the classroom doors and indicated a monstrous heap of anvils . . . uh, sorry . . . sets (with the apparent weight of anvils, upon Jack's later discovery) positioned neatly along the side wall. 'You may need to take a few trips, dears. I do not want you hurting your backs with those darn things.' She smiled.

The two teens smiled back, although theirs were slightly more forced. The same thought had run through both their heads when they set their eyes upon the new backdrops: "Holy shit".

'Thank you, ma'am,' Jack said, holding up on of the sets to test its mass.

"Well, it isn't too bad," he thought, slightly reassured. "But I have a feeling that my arms will fall off after we finish with all these. Oh well. I'm a man! I can take it . . . hopefully."

'Just take care not to break them,' she warned. 'Mr. Mann, the shop teacher, will have a fit if he has to build anotherone. I know that I myself will have a fit if I have to help paint another one of those bloody things!'

'Yes, ma'am.'

Then they started their work.

It took a while for Jack and Cristóbal to heave the first set of . . . well, sets from the art classroom to their drama classroom. When they arrived at their classroom, Mr. Raconte had a look of glee upon his face.

'Oh, good! They're here!' he exclaimed.

'Yes, sir,' Jack and Cristóbal replied in unison.

'And have you checked to make sure that there are two of each?'

'Sorry, sir,' Cristóbal said. 'We forgot to, but we will when we get back.'

'Make sure you do.'

And they were off again.

Upon their return to the art classroom, they ran into one of the young A-V guys (3). The latter was rolling a large cart in front of him, laden with computers and speakers and other . . . stuff.

'Hey, where'd you get that?' Jack asked, staring down at the freshman.

'W . . . what?' the poor kid stuttered shocked to see that an older student was speaking to him.

'That cart. Where did you get it?'

'The A-V . . . office . . . There are a whole bunch of them.'

'Can you get us one?'

The youngster shrugged.

'I guess so.'

'Great. Thanks a lot, kid,' Jack said with a smile.

'Yeah, thanks.' Cristóbal said in turn, clapping him on the back and causing the youngster to stagger slightly.

'Uh . . . I'll go get it then,' the A-V guy said. 'I was just on my way there, anyway.' And he was gone, dragging his loaded cart along behind him.

'Okay, what's up, Jack?' Cristóbal inquired, staring at his companion. 'Why the hell are you mad at me?'

'Why do you think?'

The Spaniard thought about it for a moment.

'Actually, I cannot think of a reason why you would be angry with me. But if I have done something to wrong you . . .' He trailed off (for the time being) and placed a gentle hand on Jack's lower back, causing the other to shiver slightly. '. . . then I am sorry.'

'What are you sorry for?' Jack asked softly, pulling away. 'If you didn't do anything wrong, then you have nothing to be sorry for.'

'I—'

Just then, the same A-V guy returned with an empty cart in tow.

'Here you go,' he said, wheeling it to a stop in front of them. He looked rather proud for having completed his task, for seniors! (Oh my goodness!) 'Did you need any help at all?'

'Nah, we're good,' Jack said, glaring at Cristóbal from the corner of his eye. 'Thanks again, kid. We'll return it to the A-V office when we're through.'

'Okay!' The youngster looked at them adoringly for a few moments before finally turning away and leaving.

'Let's get this over with,' Jack said, sighing. He wheeled the cart into the room and began to pile a few of the sets onto it.

'Please, Jack,' Cristóbal was practically begging now. 'How have a wronged you?'

Jack ignored his question, although he took the time to bitterly mutter, 'We have work to do.'

'Listen to you—you sound like a child. Like, "If you don't know, then I won't tell you".'

"Ignore him," the other teen firmly told himself, carrying on with his task. "Just ignore him and maybe he'll just go away."

Wrong.

Cristóbal approached him and wrapped his arms around Jack from behind. Even when the latter tried to move away, the Spaniard did not release his hold. If anything, he tightened it further.

'Let go,' Jack commanded. 'You're hurting me.' It was a lie, but whatever. Cristóbal didn't have to know that.

'Not until you tell me,' was the stubborn reply.

'Fine!' Jack sighed in defeat. 'It's because of the blowjob!' After he said that, his eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe that he actually said that! Sure, he was mad. But . . . why didn't he lie and say something like, "It's because you're so damn sexy and you're taking some of my fans away" or "It's because you're getting higher marks than me in drama". Of course, those lies were not very good, but anything was better than talking about the blowjob!

'I see,' Cristóbal said slowly. 'What? You no like?'

'What would it matter?' Jack growled, shoving the other teen away with his elbow. 'Just drop it.'

'No.'

'I said, "DROP IT!"'

'No, I will not drop it, not until I know what you meant by that.'

The Spaniard's teasing tone did not slip past Jack, and the latter angrily narrowed his eyes.

'Fucker,' Jack said, although with much less conviction than he had originally intended.

'Oh, I sure hope so,' Cristóbal responded. Then the teen grabbed a hold of the cart and skillfully wheeled it closer to Jack, effectively pinning the latter between it and one of the large wooden sets nearby.

'What the—?'

But before Jack had opportunity to complete his sentence, Cristóbal leaned forwards and planted a bruising kiss on his mouth.

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(1) Okay, I know that Jack and Lee call each other "pussies" a lot. Sorry about that. I watched the "Stand By Me" movie recently and that was their BIG insult. It kind of got stuck in my head. Oh well.

(2) Hehe, Jack power-walked. I know it's supposed to be healthy and all, but actually seeing people power-walk is kind of funny sometimes.

(3) "A-V" means "Audio-Visual". These people are usually in charge of technological stuff for school assemblies or whatever. Well, the ones in my school are, anyway.