Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Proof ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

A/N: I took out most of the naughty bits; censored it a bit. So it might read a little different toward the end of the chapter.

UPDATE A/N2: Actually, I am copying and pasting off another site, so I'll fix this one up with the full content soon.

Chapter Three

Jake took over on Gone's lunch tray later that day, the younger teen content with picking at a bread roll. Dipping the pieces in the cheese sauce provided, the teen took over on Jake's milk while the other settled on a large bottle of Mountain Dew he'd found stewing in his locker. Gone also removed everything spillable from Jake's general vicinity and slapped a large handful of napkins down between their trays. He then reached up to brush dirt away from the other's shirt, Jake using his elbow to push him away with a complaint. Gone's maternal actions were things Bart had eventually gotten used to, viewing them the way that he had.

Seeing the somewhat larger, athletic teen, with looks that would have been appreciated if they weren't always mussed by injuries or carelessness, interact with the other would have led anybody to believe that he was simply a touchy person. But now that Bart knew, it made him want to clock himself. He was trying very hard not to look in their direction, their satisfaction and glee somewhat stifling as they interacted with each other. And here Bart was thinking how strange it was that the pair were so clingy, more so than the usual male friend relationships he saw around him.

“We had Chapman in our class again,” Jake was telling Gone, the younger looking at him with an adoring expression. It was enough for Bart to lose his appetite, sliding his tray away from him. “Drugs are bad, don't do drugs, drugs fry your brain. Ha, ha, he made an example out of those potheads. Oh, it was hilarious. That Officer Chapman, he's so learned. You're not going to eat, Bartola? Lemme have your hamburger. Hey, you ever do something mind-altering?”

Bart fiddled with the leather cuffs on his wrists. “No. Yes. Maybe.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Like maybe I don't know.”

“Like you were totally trashed and couldn't even remember?”

“Totally,” Bart said sarcastically.

“Holly Gellum was talking about you again,” Gone said, looking across the cafeteria, to where a sophomore sat. As he spoke, he raised his voice to an octave. “Says you are so handsome.”

“Ha! Ha! Holly Gollum,” Jake snickered to himself as he took a huge bite of his hamburger. He mimicked the Lord of the Ring's creature's voice, nearly choking on the food he'd been chewing on.

Bart rolled his eyes, changing his mind about pushing his food. He snatched the cheese sauce from Gone and reclaimed his food. Gone frowned at him, then tossed the rest of his bread at him, annoyed when Bart caught it with his teeth and ate it. Jake drank down the rest of his Dew.

“You should go out with her, B,” he then said, burping a moment later. “Tell me what those ti—”

“Holly's nice,” Gone interrupted loudly, giving Jake a warning look, daring him to complete his sentence. “I don't think that he should—don't tickle me! Stop!”

“Why don't you go out with her?” Bart asked sullenly, amidst the sudden scuffle across from him.

“Holly would eat G for breakfast!” Jake exclaimed, horrified, both hands visible again while Gone's face turned bright red. “We'd never see him again! That girl probably eats small communities for a snack. Or he'd get lost between her rolls.”

“You are such an asshole,” Bart told him.

“You admire me for it.”

With an impatient sigh, Gone reached over and snatched Bart's fruit cup, the teen glaring at him murderously. To make sure that it stayed his, Gone opened the plastic top and spit in it, earning a look of disgust from Bart. Jake only laughed, stuffing the rest of his hamburger into his mouth before looking up again.

“Christ. She's coming this way. Man, look at those titties bounce—”

“Stop talking like that!” Gone snapped. “Don't look at her!”

Before Bart could look up, the subject of the matter indeed sat down on their table, fair skin blushing as she gave them all a quirky greeting. Bart scowled at the kick he received under the table, Jake snickering.

“Hi, Barton,” she said cheerfully, turning all her attention onto him.

At five six, Holly painted her face with pastels, giving her a `cute' physical appeal. Overweight but comfortable with herself, considering that many of her classmates trashed her appearance behind her back, Holly always dressed fashionably. Today she was dressed in dark jeans and a low cut shirt, bountiful chest made obvious by the white material. Her multi-colored scarf hung loosely from her neck, seemingly framing her breasts.

Gone glared at Jake, who hadn't looked away once from the sight. He deliberately dumped his fruit cup onto his lap, the older teen yelping in surprise as syrup and fruit splashed over his shirt, spilling over with an unappetizing trickle.

Bart grunted a reply to Holly, who hadn't yet looked away from him despite the commotion across from them.

“You look good today,” she added, blushing a little more, but her smile widened. “I don't know of anyone that could wear white like you do.”

He grunted and hoped that she didn't touch him.

“How do you keep so clean?” she asked, reaching over to touch his jacket with multi-colored nails. “I bet you keep a ton of those Tide pens on you, don't you? Oh, hi Jake. You wouldn't happen to know why Bart keeps so clean, do you?”

“Um, no,” Jake muttered, throwing Gone a dirty look as he tried to clean himself up.

“Where are you from?” she then asked Bart, clasping her hands together as she once again focused all her attention on the grumpy teen. “Are you Mexican?”

“No.”

When he didn't deliberate, Holly's smile started to fade a little.

“Italian?”

“No.”

“Stop being rude, Bart,” Gone scolded, embarrassed for him.

Jake slammed the mess of napkin and fruit onto his lunch tray, making her jump slightly as the loud sound caused looks from around the cafeteria. At the sight of his stained shirt and messy appearance, she cringed a little. “Do you want me to get some napkins?” she asked tentatively.

“No. I have gym coming up,” Jake answered, deliberating dumping Gone's milk into his lap. At the teen's screech of outrage, Holly cringed again. “Let's go change.”

“Okay, see you boys later,” she said, climbing away from the table and giving Bart another smile before she left.

“I swear, you two are so fucking immature. No one can take you anywhere!” Bart complained, heading to the trash can to throw his uneaten food away.

“I don't get how someone as grumpy as you can get a chick. And I'm not just talkin' about the yappy, fat ones, I mean all of them,” Jake grumbled, a little sore that the exchange had even taken place.

Bart snatched Jake's tray from him the moment the teen met him, throwing the contents in before Jake could dump anything on him. Just to be shitty, he shifted the trash can out of Gone's reach, the younger teen glaring at him in warning.

“Things would have been fine if fuck-head here didn't dump my food on me! I was going to eat that!”

“I told you to stop looking at her like that!” Gone hissed, out of ear shot of those sitting nearby.

“I can look at anybody I want!” Jake exclaimed loudly. The kids sitting nearby heard him, looking back at him in question. “You're not the boss of me!”

Bart growled. “GIRLS! Shit, doesn't it embarrass you two to act like this? Lookit this, no wonder all your crew thinks you're both a joke!”

“I don't care what people think about me,” Jake muttered, stomping out of the cafeteria, swinging his backpack on.

“No one pays attention to us,” Gone added, trying to shift his jacket a comfortable way as to not have his milk stain showing as they walked toward the gym.

“That's not what I heard,” Bart said. “I heard a lot of things about you.”

“You were so mean to Holly,” Gone countered with a mock scowl. “Your only chance to prove you're not gay, and you turned her away.”

“You shut up! Before I stuff you in that locker over there,” Bart threatened, pointing at a locker that someone had inadvertently left open in the haste of lunch hour.

“That involves touching me, and you don't want that. Fag.”

“I'm NOT!”

“Then go tell Holly what you are! You hurt her feelings!”

Bart sneered at him. “I don't have to do anything you say.”

“I have her in my next class. I'll just tell her that you aren't interested in girls. She'll be hurt, but—”

Amused, Jake watched Bart whirl and stomp back into the cafeteria. The pair of them watched as Bart told her something that made her perform a double take. The girls in her group tittered to each other when Bart turned and strode back to them.

“That wasn't so hard, now, wasn't it—ow! STOP!”

Jake flailed as he raced over, to keep Bart from shoving Gone into the open locker. Shoving them apart, he huffed. “Stop the violence! Damn it, can't you guys be friends with each other?”

“No,” they replied in unison. Then glared at each other for being in sync.

Jake shrugged. “Okay then. Whatever. We're going to change, Barton. I don't think you want to be in there while daddy's changing. You'll be changed for life.”

“Blagh,” Bart muttered, ducking when Gone tried to hit him with his jacket.

Before Bart could swat him, Jake snatched Gone's collar and jerked him after him, the locker room ringing with Gone's protests. Bart hung just outside the door, itching to go in and do his job by making sure there wasn't any threat lingering around within the room, but unable to bring himself to do so when he heard Jake's excited yells. He couldn't stand the thought of walking in on something he wasn't supposed to see, sure that he'd be damaged for the rest of his life.

0o0o0o0

Everywhere around him, there was interaction of some kind. Everyone spoke with somebody, and despite the fact that there were social group systems in place, with the mixed classes, it was impossible to gossip without being heard.

During a rare break from Jake, the other intent on finishing a pop quiz, Bart glanced around the class. The high school rapport system was so different from the ones he knew on the streets. Out there the teens stuck together in situated groups based upon street cred.

Every one of them had been rejected in some way by society. Assaulted by family members, illegal minorities, illegal Aliens, drug-addicted, mentally disordered, unclaimed—every one of them had come to the group attached to nobody and to nothing. Bart had been content with sticking with himself, but found groups agreeable to his needs. Having been homeless for quite a long time, he learned to work the streets to his advantage. He learned to fight quick, gifted with the ability to read moves and to fend off attacks at a young age. Stealing, breaking and entering and manipulating had been his line of work until the age of eleven, when puberty hit. That was when those around him started to consider him a challenge.

His Superpowers had been a surprise; being gifted with superstrength, invincibility and regenerative abilities had suddenly made him valuable. The group he had been rolling with at that time were a mixture of Supers, and together, they worked to steal New Park's lower systems blind. For the first time in his life, he lived at a steady address, bought food with his own stolen money, and was introduced to style.

A boy in his group had taught him what had worked best with his growing frame, his ethnic features, and the tips had stuck. Looking back now, Bart had to realize that the boy had been one of `them'—but it hadn't mattered then. Because of his life, he'd been so indifferent to everything. It was the only way he could cope.

Then his abilities caught the eye of an underground school master, who led a school of martial arts for so-called street rats that were interested in stepping up their abilities; to be available for hire. The aged street warrior, a former East Sider who claimed to have been one of Samsara's old instructors, had been working with the street rats years long after the deportation of the East and South side.

It was because of this man, Edward Long, that Bart was able to see Samsara as not the terrorist that he'd been led to believe, but as a fighter. A true warrior that enjoyed the outcome of every violent match. Being taught all that he was able to take in, Bart took to the mixed martial style that he'd seen Samsara use in old video clippings. His weapons, the short swords, were introduced long after he proved himself in hand to hand. It seemed, back then, that the only thing Bart enjoyed was fighting.

Long had a collection of video clips that he shared with Bart in order to further his teaching. Bart was able to see how Samsara manipulated the very environment to her advantage—the way she pulled opponents in to compensate for her shorter frame. He'd find it completely enthralling the way she faced every fight as if she'd never been touched by defeat; but at the same time working the limits that she was physically restricted by. Watching those clips had him wanting that sort of life that she had—the glory of every won fight, the allure of a life where one could easily die the next day.

But even a Super such as herself had limits. Once he'd coped with the fact that every loss should be a lesson learned, Bart was able to refocus himself into a fighter that looked at and accepted every angle of his next match. He took the same lessons to the streets, and it was then that Long referred him out to those that needed his services.

From there, Bart had his foot in the quiet underground of New Park City. He was worlds above the street rats he'd grown up around, and whenever he'd see them on the streets, felt unable to reach them again. It was because of this separation that his apathy grew. Everything pit before him was a job and nothing more. He couldn't emotionally connect to anybody or anything. Even his previous love for the fight was nothing more than a profession.

He had never connected with anyone before—it looked as if he never would.

When he had been contacted for the biggest job he would ever take on, he hadn't thought that it would turn out the way that it had. His newest employer had Long around his/her finger; Long himself had been quite shaken by the request. Bart remembered him being dazed, his wizened features tight and strained, as if the man had encountered a ghost. Bart had been hired on by a voice that boomed robotic from Long's own lips.

When shown who it was he was to protect, Bart had felt a stirring of excitement; who knew that one of his idols had had a kid? Would he be like her? For the first time in his life, he had looked forward to doing something.

But upon meeting Jake James, Bart had been rocked off balance. Here was a teenager that was free with his emotions, throwing them around as if they were everything and anything. Here was a sheltered teen that had a very caring father and environment, who didn't even know how to handle a gun, whose worse crime was being hyperactive.

Bart had thought it was going to be one of those easy jobs—Chuyuri wasn't that big of an opponent to him, but he'd been struck down by a man that had essentially disappeared from the Underworld with a trade for the good. Hautta James had made easy mincemeat of the three Aliens, and had caused a big shift in Bart's world.

Seeing him decimate the Aliens as if they were nothing at all, Bart had to admit that the physical aspects the man held, even at his age, were still admirable. He had been reluctantly pulled into a state of respect for the older man that he hadn't quite shown anybody since Edward Long.

Those around him had quickly become part of Bart's world: the loud Bellows, with their characteristic voices and tangents; the Daruns with their dysfunctional displays; the James with…well, everything and anything he'd only seen on tv. The Highlands community was nothing like the world he grew up in—the city had been eons different from the wooded and sun-starved world.

It had been a difficult shock to the system.

But he adapted, as he was able to do. He found himself changing, just slightly, to fit in with the teens. Taking on their carefree actions with nothing more than indifferent attitude. But yet, even as he hemmed and hawed over various injustices that were done to him by them, he found himself continuously drawn into their untroubled world. Completely at a loss as to handle their emotional throwbacks, his employer had suggested he watch the Lifetime channel.

As such, he found himself addicted, searching for answers to his problems as if it were a reliable source of information.

It was a little disconcerting to Bart, how his life had changed upon taking this job. If his employer hadn't taken notice of his age and abilities when they had, if Long hadn't set him out there on his miscellaneous jobs, he would have never landed himself this bodyguard business in Highlands, Ore. He would still be on the streets of New Park, taking on jobs with his usual indifference and never growing the way he was now.

But still, he wasn't even sure how to connect with the others—with Jake's constant shift of carefree actions and emotions; with Gone's surliness and insecurity; with Chase's loud mannerisms and want to branch out with others. How was he supposed to connect with these completely innocent characters, who never knew what it was like to be mistreated, hungry, and to resort to rock-bottom deviances just to live another day to repeat it all?

Jake slammed his pencil down on the table and declared that he was done.

Bart watched him recheck his answers, protesting when the teacher snatched it from his hands with a lecture on being quiet while others were working. When that happened, Jake looked over at him and shot him that carefree grin, as if he didn't care what the man had said; he was just happy being done.

How would it feel to be that way?

0o0o0o0

That night, flipping through the scrapbook Jake had made of his mother, Bart half-listened to Gone and Jake discuss the finer points of the Bourne trilogy. Chase was involved with basketball practice, and Mr. James had made a trip into Portland earlier that day, entrusting that the teens would fend for themselves for a couple of hours.

It looked like a quiet evening so far—but Bart had enough experience with the teens to know that it didn't last very long. They were lounging in the den of the James' household, with the holoset up at loud volume and snacks littering almost every available surface around the couch and chairs.

He glanced up as Jason Bourne went through his routine of slapping his pursuers around. Bart then frowned when he realized that Jake was trying some of those moves on Gone, who protested.

He returned to flipping through the scrapbook. Jake had added a whole new section involving the soldier, Ian Peters. He examined the new stuff with some disinterest, wondering why the man was included. He figured he'd rather not ask; hearing Jake talk about his mother for hours was something that only made his head spin. There was too much emotional baggage, and he didn't know how to deal with it. Without looking away, he used his right foot to upend the coffee table so that it landed surface down onto the easy chair; not even a moment later Gone hit the floor with a thud, Jake pouncing on him without pause.

Without shifting too much, he used his left foot to keep Jake from slamming into the end table, preventing any sort of injury. He absently batted aside a thrown pillow and winced when Gone cursed fluidly. The house rattled with more scuffles, and he checked to make sure that nobody was dying—Jake had Gone in a chokehold and the younger teen was pulling at his braid to try and get him off. Satisfied, Bart returned to the scrapbook and mulled over a picture of both Samsara and Yoshida, her partner. The red-haired drug addict was skeletal and dressed in trampy attire—but a look into those hazy blue eyes told Bart that even then the former soldier was in control of whatever action she was taking at that moment.

Bart wondered what had happened to Yoshida. No one knew what had become of her after Miriam was declared dead.

He then held the book up to keep them from slamming into his lap. With a sweep of one arm, he shoved them both from his privacy bubble. He closed the book and glared at them for intruding upon his thoughts.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Will you two knock it the fuck off?! I'm not a fuckin' babysitter! If someone dies while I'm sitting here, I'm going to make you both regret it.”

“Okay, dad,” Jake said with a laugh, pulling away from his boyfriend. “Listen, I have a question—”

“Don't even go there. I've had it up to here with your questions.”

“Answering a question won't kill you,” Gone said with an annoyed drawl, propping his head upon a hand, still lying on the floor.

“I don't got any answers to his damn questions,” Bart snapped.

“But I just wanted to know about your parents,” Jake said, sitting down on the couch.

Bart's expression turned guarded. “There's nothing to know.”

“Aren't they around?”

“Dunno.”

“You live in New Park all your life?” Jake pressed, facing him.

Bart thought about the merits of revealing such information to him. But he couldn't think of a negative; Jake, from the start, was so concerned over families and family situations that Bart knew he'd be asked about his own. He acquiesced to the question, scratching idly at one pierced ear. “Nah. Originally from Oahu.”

“…Kansas?” Jake asked with a befuddled look.

“Idiot! Hawaii!”

“So you're Samoan!”

Bart sighed heavily.

Gone brushed himself off as he rose from the floor, carefully arranged hair now in ruins as he set the coffee table down and settled into the easy chair. “Were you adopted too?”

“Spent time in some ghetto orphanage in New Park before I made it out onto the streets. Had no need for a parent.”

“I bet you were really lonely,” Jake said, giving him a pitying expression.

“`Tch. `Lonely.”

“No brothers or sisters?” Jake asked. “Did you hang out with anybody on the streets?”

“Here and there. Now quit asking. Nothing in my life's that important to know,” Bart said, sitting back in the chair and frowning heavily at the teen he was supposed to protect.

“That ain't true. I wanna know all about you. Hey, when'd you lose your virginity?”

“Stop asking those kinds of questions!” Bart snapped, throwing a pillow at him. Gone threw Jake an expression of warning. Reminded of this afternoon's class, Bart felt squeamish.

“It's okay. We're men. What happens here, stays here,” Jake said, waving his hand about to indicate their closeness.

“Maybe. I'll blab to everyone I know,” Gone said with a grin.

“You don't talk to anybody, you snob!”

“I have—! Acquaintances…”

“Liar! Nobody talks to you!”

Gone laughed. Jake caught himself smiling goofily because hearing Gone laugh because of him was always one of the high points of his day.

Bart shifted uncomfortably in his chair, having caught the look. “Just so you know? Whatever you two do in your private time ain't no business of mine.”

Jake slurped down the last of his soda and gave him a look. “Private time? Whatever. Hey, another question…about your Southern Pacific-ness…”

“I mean it. I…I know about you two. It's pretty obvious, if you're trying to hide it,” Bart continued, feeling a wince pull at his facial features as the topic grew uncomfortable for him. “I don't care, it's just—”

“He's Hawaiian, you idiot,” Gone snapped over Bart's words. “Stop being stupid.”

“Isn't that in the Pacific? Duh.”

“I know you two are gay!”

“And stop calling me stupid!” Jake added, flinging a pillow at Gone, not hearing Bart's words.

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Gone said, ducking. He used his best Forrest Gump voice, Jake frowning at him.

“That's it. Eat carpet,” he said, diving onto the younger teen, immediately smashing his face into the floor.

Bart growled. “Stop ignoring me. I know you two can hear me.”

“Wait, what?” Jake looked up as Gone shoved him away. “What'd you say? You know?! Wait, know what?”

Bart's fingers itched to curl around his neck. “I said, I know you two have some sort of thing going on with each other.”

Jake looked momentarily stunned for the moment, quickly shoving Gone away from him while trying to think up something that would distract Bart from the talk. Gone spoke up quickly, nervousness making his heart race. He glanced at Jake before saying lightly, “I think you're just imagining things. Perv. You've been eyeing his ass all day.”

“I'm not—! I have not!”

Jake laughed, clapping his hands together. “See! Told you! You're totally fag!”

Purpling, Bart rose from his chair. “I'm NOT! I'm saying you two ARE! And I'm just saying if you're trying to be all quiet about it, it ain't working! You can't pull that drama over my head!”

“It's okay if you imagine Jake doing something dirty, Bart. There's no need to be ashamed of your thoughts,” Gone said with a slight giggle. “That's just what fags do.”

“You—! Shut up! Shut up, I am not! Stop talking like that!”

“What am I doing in those thoughts of yours?” Jake asked curiously, blushing modestly.

“I don't imagine anybody! Doing anything!” Bart shouted.

“I bet I'm wearing something naughty and indecent,” Jake mock-whispered to Gone, who giggled once more.

“Eek, he probably has your `board all up in there as well.”

“Bart, you're a kinky sonofva bitch,” Jake declared with a laugh.

Bart just managed to wrap his hands around Jake's neck when the front door opened, Mr. James walking in with a heavy briefcase and several rolls of paper under one arm. Seeing the scene, he frowned.

“What is wrong with this picture?” he asked aloud, all three teens looking over. “You are being paid not to kill him.”

“Mr. James. The mouth on this insolent fool is just—!”

“All part of your psychological training. Nothing said should drive you to kill,” Mr. James said simply.

Bart purpled again.

Jake laughed, giving his bodyguard a friendly whap on the shoulder. “It's okay, old dude. I'm making you into a better warrior.”

“Such rigorous training it is!” Gone agreed, still shaking with mirth.

Mr. James frowned at them both. “I see. What's the reasoning behind this mess?”

Jake winced, looking around the living room and observing the mess they'd made. “Well, uh…I was just trying out some of my moves that Go taught me. On Gone.”

“Should be much easier with a cooperative sparring partner. Bart should teach you.”

“No—!” Bart protested, rising to a stand.

“Yes! C'mon, B, seriously. You could teach me a few things. It'll be awesome,” Jake added, reaching out to grip his shoulders. “You, me, and the living room floor…wow that sounds kinky.”

“Get OFF me!”

“Don't get too excited over it, Bart,” Gone warned, rising slowly to pick up their mess. Snickering, he added, “It might get difficult later on.”

“You shut up!”

“Oh my god! Bart has a crush on me!” Jake cried, slapping his hands over his cheeks with mock embarrassment.

“No I don't!”

Mr. James shook his head and left the living room. His house was filled with the shouts and laughter of teenage boys; it was a comforting sound.

0o0o0o0

Later that night, after Bart had gone home, Jake and Gone secluded themselves into his room. Mr. James was busy in his work office, citing a headache from all the shouting that had occurred earlier. After hearing him shut and lock the door (a common occurrence, citing his need for `space' from his overactive son), Jake had pounced upon his boyfriend without hesitation.

Coming up for air, Gone pushed his hair from his face, trying to concentrate on his next thought. It was hard to do so when Jake had his hand down his pants. He pushed away from the older boy to lie on his back, Jake giving him a frown as he pulled his hand away.

“Do you think Bart really knows?” Gone asked him, keeping his voice low. He didn't protest as Jake unbuttoned his jeans, giving him a shake of his head. He shifted out of his pants as Jake pulled at them, leaving them settled against his knees just in case he had to pull them back up in a hurry. Jake did the same, hastily shoving his jeans down, Gone unable to resist reaching out to touch him.

“He's just saying stuff. We're not obvious. Here, touch me, too. I've been wanting this all freakin' day.”

Abashed, Gone followed suit with the breathless order. “Would he tell somebody?” he then asked, waiting for an answer.

Frustrated that Gone wanted to talk about such things in the midst of playing with each other, Jake frowned at him. “No. Why would he? Stop talking. Let's just do this.”

“But I want to know,” Gone insisted, pushing at him again.

Jake sighed in annoyance, reaching down to adjust himself. Despite his want to talk over his worries, Gone reached down to adjust himself, then paused, pulling away from the other once more, kissing exposed neck around the material of Jake's shirt. When Jake grunted a negative, wanting to continue his earlier actions, Gone shifted away, grabbing his hands and entwining his fingers through the other's to catch his attention.

“What if he does,” Gone said, wrapping a leg awkwardly around Jake's thigh to keep him from moving around. “What if he does, what do we do?”

“Criminey. Can't you just—talk about this later? Jeez…”

“No. I want to keep doing this, but I need to know what to do if Bart tells somebody that we have this—this thing.”

Jake scrunched his face up with thought. “He won't,” he then said, pulling one hand free to prop himself up. “He won't do it. I mean, I can talk to him, but then that means we'd have to tell him what's goin' on. I don't know, are you ready to do that? You ready for someone to know?”

To reward him in participating in the talk, Gone reached down between them.

“If it's just him, I don't think I'd mind,” Gone admitted quietly. “He'd keep it a secret if he had enough incentive to. I mean, why would he tell anybody?”

“That's what I said,” Jake said between gritted teeth, leaning down to bite Gone's collarbone, making him yelp and release him.

Jake kissed him to keep him from furthering his talk. He had been roughing Gone up all night just to have the excuse to touch him, and in the midst of it had built up sexual tension. He wanted to release as soon as possible, before his dad could interrupt them.

He felt Gone wrap his skinny arms around his waist, drawing their bodies closer, fingers slipping underneath his shirt just to touch more of him. It still excited him to know that someone wanted to touch him.

He felt that now familiar feeling of orgasm coming, his movements becoming more frantic as he groped for more sensation. But then Gone pulled himself away once more, causing him to utter a strangled growl as he reached out to catch one arm, keeping him from escaping the bed.

“You need to talk to him,” Gone demanded breathlessly, his face as red and sweaty as Jake's.

“Stop…talking…stop…!” Jake growled, unable to form coherent sentences as the frustrating and almost painful feeling of a halted orgasm caused his lower body to tremble.

“I mean it. You have to. If he tells Mr. James about this, what would your father do? I don't want to forced away from you, Jake!”

Catching his breath, trying to breathe in a slow, deliberate manner, Jake frowned at him. Since Gone looked sincerely distressed, he nodded. “Fine. I'll talk to him.”

“Promise me you will.” Gone touched his shoulder, then curled his fingers into his shaggy hair, pulling him down for gentle kisses. “Promise me you will.”

“I will! I will, as soon as this is…like, over.”

“What are you going to say to him?”

“GAH! Stop talking!”

Gone tightened his grip on his hair, pulling fiercely enough to make Jake curse as they bumped heads. “This is a serious matter.”

“Goddammit, my dick is a serious matter!”

“What are you going to say to him?” Gone asked again. He tugged hard enough to make the other wince. “What?”

“You are such a fucking asshole. I hate you. I friggin' hate you. You need to let me hump your fucking ass after this, you fucking bastard. Fine. I'll just…like…I don't know! I don't know how to go about it!” Jake then growled, throwing an arm up into the air.

“Tell him that he's right. Pump up that little ego of his. Then let him know that what we have is a secret,” Gone said quietly.

“Fine, fine!”

“Tell him that if he tells…I'll do something really nasty to him.”

“Like what?” Jake asked quickly, looking at him with a frown.

“Just…well, you know how sneaky I can be.”

Jake sniggered, reaching holding Gone tight against him. “Yeah, yeah. I'll tell him. I'll do it tomorrow, okay? Dad will get all suspicious if I'm on the phone all night.”

Gone squirmed at the unfamiliar feel of Jake's fingers creeping into his crevice. He shimmied away, only to still as Jake used his weight to hold him in place. He watched his boyfriend's face, his own growing hot and embarrassed as Jake touched him there, feeling out the area with a gentle draw of his fingers.

Jake then grinned at him, shifting them around. Gone opened his mouth to talk, getting into the action as much as Jake was. Before he could say anything, Jake paused to press his forearm against his mouth.

“Don't you dare talk. Don't you dare interrupt this, I'm so close, I swear to God—!”

Gone grinned at him, pushing his hips up in impatient action. “I was just going to tell you `harder'. `Faster'.”

“Freak,” Jake murmured before he kissed him, tonguing his warm mouth with possessive action.