"Dutchy, you stupid son of a bitch!" I can hear Sarah yelling from the staircase. I'm headed down to ask Dutchy if he wants to go to breakfast with me, but I figure maybe I better stay here, hidden, until the storm rolls by. It's eight-thirty in the morning and he's getting a tongue-lashing from a Jewish girl. Poor guy.

"Sarah, come on--"

"Don't you fucking tell me to fucking come on!" Oh boy. She's dropping F-bombs. For a Jacobs, that must mean she's pretty peeved. "I thought we had something here! And you're off in bed with some other--" oh shit... we're found out! "--girl? What kind of a sleaze are you?" Phew.

"Look, Sarah..." Dutchy sounds so small and terrified. I want to rush down and sweep him off his feet and carry him back to bed with me, but a.) he's bigger than I am and I probably couldn't lift him, and b.) Sarah might set me on fire with her crazy-girl laser-vision.

"Damn it, Dutchy! What about that night last year?"

What night last year? What is she talking about?

"Sarah, that was just a party... I was drunk, you were drunk, it just... it didn't mean anything. It just sort of happened."

"It didn't just sort of happen! I let you... and you... it meant something to me!" I hear the stinging noise of a hand on a cheek. It sounds a little bit painful. Note to self: kiss it better later. "You know, I really thought that you and I had something. A connection. I thought maybe I really liked you. But you're just a stupid, horny boy!" She stays silent for a few seconds, and I can picture steam coming out of her ears. "Oh, you will regret this."

And I hear her stomping down the other staircase.

"We aren't even really dating!" Dutchy yells this after her, but it is of no use as the only response it gets is a feminine huff and more stomping.

I peek around the corner and the coast is clear, except for Dutchy standing, dumbfounded, outside his door.

"Dutch?"

He turns to me. His right cheek is a little red from Sarah, but otherwise he looks relieved to see me. "Hey, Specs."

"You okay?" I walk over to him, putting my hand on his shoulder.

He laughs a little and shakes his head. "Hell of a morning."

"Are you hungry? I was headed down to breakfast."

"Yeah. Um, lemme get dressed though." I was so busy worrying about his altercation with Sarah, I didn't even notice he was wearing nothing but a pair of Happy Bunny boxers. Yum.

"Do you have to?" I grin mischievously.

He laughs as he steps into his room, leaving the door open. "Well, if we're goin' out in public, yeah. Hate to spoil your fun, but life is unfair." He tugs on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and slips on some shoes. "Okay. Let's go."

We head down to breakfast, where we find Blink and Mush. "Well, if it ain't Ellen and Anne," Mush says with a grin. "You have fun with your little bitchy beatdown this morning, Dutchy?"

"Shut up, Mush," Dutchy says, flinging a bit of scrambled egg at him.

Blink pipes up, his mouth full of chewed-up bagel. "Boy, I've never seen Sarah that pissed before. What the hell did you do?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"'Course you don't. But man, I was glad me and Mush escaped when we did. I was afraid she'd come after me, once she killed you where you stood."

"I might do it for her if you don't quit talkin', Blink."

"Well, aren't we testy this morning?" Mush smirks, taking a drink of his orange juice. "Is it that time of the month again, Dutch?"

These guys just don't quit. They're actually kind of funny. So I sit back, eat my bagel, and enjoy watching my boyfriend get picked on.

"Mush, I hate you."

"You should probably love us, Dutchy," Blink chirps. "After all, we are keeping your dirty little secret from being spread like wildfire. Although, Specs' neck is screaming stories all on its own."

I feel my cheeks heat up and put my hand on my neck. "Shut up, Blink." I through a piece of my bagel at him, cream cheese and all. It sticks to his cheek and provides the three of us who remain bagel-y unadorned with a laugh.

"Touche," Dutchy says, and finishes his eggs. "Specs, you done?"

"Yeah," I say, pushing away from the table. "You can have the rest of my bagel if you want, Blink."

Blink grumbles at me and gulps down some orange juice.

Dutchy and I are sitting on the floor of his room, attacking one another at MarioKart. Apparently bored with no sound effects but the violent banter between us over the video game, Dutchy switches on the radio. It's some classic-rock-modern-hits-adult-contemporary-what-the-fuck-ever station.

We sit and mindlessly absorb the music in silence as we play our game. But after a while, Dutchy starts humming along. It's a little annoying, but I smile and let him have his fun.

However, he takes it upon himself to start singing.

"Some people run from a possible fight..." I roll my eyes. He elbows me in the ribcage. "C'mon, Specs, you know the words."

I sigh. "Some people figure they can never win..."

"And although this is a fight I could lose..."

"The accused is an innocent maaaan!" Wow. Okay. Yeah, that was a little bit fun.

But then Dutchy breaks into an earsplitting falsetto. "I aaaam... an innocent man! OH YES, I AM! AN INNOCENT MAAAAN!"

He starts to go on with the song, but I throw down my controller and jump on him, knocking him flat on his back. Clamping my hand over his mouth, I shake my head. "Shhh. One can only handle so much Billy Joel."

Dutchy mumbles a muffled sentence into my hand, only succeeding in making my palm feel icky and wet. I remove it. "What?"

"I said you don't know what you're talking about." He grins. "Billy Joel is greater than God."

I roll my eyes. "You're ridiculous."

He just wrinkles his nose at me in a quiet laugh, then cranes his head up and looks at our position. "You know, last time we were like this, it did not end well."

"Au contraire, my dear. It ended very well, just not that night."

"I love a man who knows Spanish."

I laugh and kiss him. For the first time since our relationship "officially" began, I am initiating the kiss.

It goes on, as our kisses do. As all kisses should. As it deepens, Dutchy tries to roll over and take control, but I refuse to let him. It's my turn.

We continue longer and go farther than I would've expected. We've been going at it for a good half hour when we break for air. Dutchy's face is red and his hair is messed up, and he looks so amazing. I managed to wrestle his shirt off of him, as well as his shoes and his belt. He's much better at the clothing-removal game than I am, and has me down to my boxers. I'm impressed.

"You okay?" He's panting, and has my weight on his chest, probably can't breathe very well, and he's asking me if I'm okay. I love him.

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic, thanks." I grin and nip a little at his collarbone. He makes a small noise somewhere between a giggle and a moan, and it makes me very happy. "And yourself?"

"Never been better, thanks." And he pulls me in for another kiss.

This goes on for a while before I finally get the guts to go for the gold and start unbuttoning his pants. As I'm sliding them down his hips, he pulls away. "Um... Specs?"

I blush. "Yeah."

"Are we still taking it slow?"

"I..." Sighing, I rest my forehead on his shoulder. "We should, yeah."

He puts his hand on the back of my neck, running it in a slow line down the length of my spine. "Um... I don't think I want to."

I lift my head, eyes wide. "What?"

"I want this."

I'm silent.

He speaks again. "Do you want this?"

Looking from his face down to the straining fabric of my boxers, I hang in indecision for a moment. "Are you sure?"

Dutchy looks me straight in the eye. "I'm sure."

Somewhere in the midst of our hormonal frenzy, we managed to make it into Dutchy's bed. We lay there now, exhausted, but completely satisfied, if I do say so myself. Dutchy is on his side, facing me and trying – mostly failing – to fight off sleep. He moves a little to find a more comfortable position, and winces.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs and nestles his head onto my shoulder. "It's worth it." And he drifts into a light sleep.

I pull the blanket up around his bare shoulders and smile a little. Then I start to think.

We full-on disregarded all the so-called bases and went straight from the dugout to home plate. (Yes, I'm gay and I know about baseball. Shut up.) I begin to wonder if that was a mistake. I mean, in theory, he could still be teetering on that line of confusion about his sexuality. And I could've just totally thrown him off-balance.

Will I be okay with that in the long run?

I sigh and look over at the clock. It's eleven o'clock. God knows where Blink and Mush are. I gently shake Dutchy's shoulder. "Dutch," I say, softly.

He grunts at me. "Specs, I'm tired."

I press my lips to his temple. "I know, but we need to get dressed. We don't know when Mush and Blink are gonna come back."

Dutchy grumbles but eventually clambers out of bed with my assistance. He takes his time getting dressed, which I guess I understand, while I watch. He must not feel good at all right now. At least in one sense.

I'm still wondering about so many things. There are a few questions I have left for him, but I don't think there will be any decent time to ask them.

I decide to quit worrying about it and just look at him. The tousled, shaggy blond hair, fair, European skin, bright blue eyes and that tall, toned body I've really learned to love in these past few days. He's so... well, despite my preference, I never thought another guy could be beautiful, but the word doesn't do Dutchy justice.

He notices me staring. "What?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

"You're looking at me funny."

Laughing nervously, I shrug. "Sorry."

"What's on your mind?" He fastens his belt and sits painstakingly back down on his bed. "And don't tell me nothing. You're a bad liar."

I sigh. "Well..." I slump down onto the bed beside him, staring at my feet.

"Come on, out with it."

"Sarah's the girl, isn't she?"

Dutchy looks over at me. I try not to look at him, but I can still see him out of the corner of my eye. "Sarah's what girl?"

"The girl. You know..." I swallow the huge rock in my throat. "Your first."

He sighs and falls back onto the mattress. "Yes. Okay? It was a mistake, a stupid, drunken mistake, and it's not going to happen again. Can we stop bringing this up now?"

"I'm sorry. Yeah. Sorry." I scrub my hands over my face, and then lay back beside him.

"Are you okay, other than freaking out about little things?"

"I'm fine. Just, you know, being a pansy-ass whiner."

He laughs. "Well, you're good at that." He takes my hand and holds it, just holds it, like we aren't just a couple of overly-hormonal teenagers.

Everything is good.