Page 80 of Man On

"I wouldn't either," I mutter.

"Other than the nightmares, do you think he's faring okay?"

"He seems to be keeping up with his classes, but it's only just over a month in, so it's too soon to say. He doesn't really go out or do anything. I got him to watch a movie once, but he mostly avoids me."

"You didn't make him watch The Exorcist or some kind of horror flick, did you?"

"No..." My voice trails off. I didn't make him watch anything, and it wasn't actually horror or anything that bad.

"Noah..."

"It was The Rocky Horror Picture Show. But I think he liked it."

"I doubt that," Dad says with a laugh. "What about therapy? Do you know if he's been keeping up with it?”

I shake my head. "Sorry. I don't know."

"It's okay. Honestly, I shouldn't put all of this on you. You're not your brother's keeper."

Calling him my brother makes me cringe a little. "I don't mind. It's not like we could have ever guessed it would get this bad. And he needs someone. He needs me."

Dad looks at me strangely. I hadn't really considered my words. Would that be an odd thing to say about your brother, that you're definitely not constantly horny over?

My mouth opens and closes, eyes darting around to think of something clever to say to throw him off, but I know my behavior is just making it worse. I don't know what to say or do, and I feel like he can read my mind and knows all the dirty things I've done to Lane, or thought about doing. Hannah and Lane show up moments later, saving me from my ridiculous behavior.

Or not.

I stand too quickly, hitting the table and nearly knocking over all the glasses. Everyone turns to look at me, but I'm too busy looking at Lane. His eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot, and his skin looks paler than usual. It highlights the dark circles that he almost always has, but have been worse lately. He's obviously been crying, or trying not to cry, if I know Lane at all. But there's something different about him that I can't figure out. He looks lighter somehow. I hope that means the conversation with Hannah went okay.

Dad clears his throat. Lane scowls at me, looking me up and down like there's something wrong with me.

Fuck. I'm just standing here, staring. I haven't said anything. How long have I been staring at him like a goddamn idiot?

My wild eyes swing to Hannah, who has also obviously been crying. Her hair is mussed and sweaty, her eyes are swollen and puffy, and her little upturned nose is red.

"Are you alright?" I ask, stepping forward to hug her, hoping it looks like that's what I was standing for all along.

"I'm fine," she says to me, then looks at my dad and repeats herself. "I'm just going to freshen up a bit. I'll be back in just a minute."

Lane and my dad take their seats and catch up, while I sit here and contemplate all of my life choices for the past four years. When did I go from being the guy that Lane followed around with wide eyes, to nearly knocking over a dinner table to stare at him? Hannah rejoins us, and we finally put in an order, which I'm sure the poor server is thankful for. Hannah apologizes profusely to him and promises we'll make up for it. He's really cool about it, although who could possibly be mean to Hannah? She’s pretty much the nicest person alive.

Dinner is fine, although I can't keep my eyes off Lane. He's laughing at my dad's stupid jokes, and talking about his classes as if nothing out of the ordinary has been going on. But it doesn't feel like his usual avoidance. It almost feels like he's actually able to put everything out of his mind for once, and just enjoy the moment.

I can't stop staring at him. Dad and Hannah keep giving me odd looks. When Lane gets up to use the restroom before dessert, they both turn and ask me if I'm okay. Well, Hannah asks me if I'm okay. Dad asks what the hell has gotten into me.

"I’m worried. Is he okay?" I ask Hannah.

Her face falls into an expression that most people reserve for kittens and tiny piglets. "You are such a sweet boy, Noah. I hope you know how much I love you."

Well, shit, now I'm going to start crying. If only she knew all the sweet thoughts I had about her son's dick. And mouth. And ass.

I manage to keep myself together through the rest of dinner. We say our goodbyes, and Lane drives us to the apartment. We’re trapped inside the car together, unable to avoid whatever this is between us. There's tension rolling off him in waves, but not the kind that I'm used to from him. Maybe I'm delirious, or just ridiculously horny, but there is sex in the air and with every breath, I'm getting dizzier with lust. My eyes surreptitiously drop to his lap, and I see it. I mean, of course I see it. It's fucking massive. I can barely get it more than halfway in my mouth. There’s no hiding that it’s hard, pressing against the inside of those stupid church-boy pleated khaki pants that make me want to hump his leg.

My hand is resting on the edge of the center console. Sucking in a small breath, I hold it, and move my hand slowly closer to his side. He takes his eyes off the road for a fraction of a second to look over and see what I'm doing, but he doesn't react or say anything. His pulse is throbbing though, I can see it on his neck, and I?—

"Mmfff."

The startled sound that comes out of him when I lick his neck, pressing my tongue to that beating vein, has a wet spot growing in the front of my jeans. I inhale his clean scent and keep my face pressed to his neck, watching out of the corner of my eyes as he grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white.

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