Page 32 of Deviant Need

I look at him. “Sure.”

“Have you ever fucked someone?” He shifts to look at me properly, eyes searching my face.

I blink. The flush spreads up my neck fast, heating my cheeks.

“Uh, what?”

“Have you ever had sex? Or kissed anyone? I mean, I’ve never really thought about you wanting those things. Have you kissed anyone besides me? Besides that night on the roof when we were teenagers.”

My lips pull together tightly.

That night. The kiss that made me realize I was in love with him. The memory hits me all at once, vivid and painful and exactly as intense as it was eight years ago. Pushing it away, I bite my lips and shake my head.

“No.”

He takes another hit of the joint, the end glowing orange in the dim light, and glances over at me. “But you want to? Fuck someone, I mean.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

I don’t know how to explain that I’ve never wanted anyone except him.

He goes quiet for a moment, processing this, then looks over at me and puts out his arm. I hesitate for just a second before curling into him, letting him pull me close and wrap his arms around me. He reaches for another joint and lights it up, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling.

He glances down at me, and my eyes find his blue ones. His golden family pendant dangles down and touches my identical one, the metal warm against my skin. Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the contact, at how close we are, at how natural this feels.

This is so messed up. Neither of us has friends outside of each other. We’re trapped in this loop where I try to step back, and he doesn’t just follow, he runs after me. Always chasing, always pulling me back in. I tell myself I’m protecting him by creating distance, but he won’t let me.

“I could help you find some girl if you want,” he says, and the words sound forced even to my ears. “Set you up with someone.”

I freeze, eyes closing against the wave of nausea that hits me. If I were to be with anyone, it would be a man. It just doesn’t feel right to me to be with a woman. I’d want someone big and strong, someone who could pin me down and make me feel small in a good way.

“Oh,” he suddenly says.

Opening my eyes, I look at him in confusion. His expression has shifted into something I can’t read, eyebrows pulled together like he’s putting pieces together.

“That’s what they meant,” he says quietly, more to himself than to me.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you like men?” The question comes out blunt, and his eyes lock onto mine, waiting for an answer.

My eyes go wide, and I try to pull away, but he grabs my arms, holding me in place. His grip is firm, enough to keep me from running.

Oh fuck.

“Um.” I can’t get the words to form properly. My tongue feels clumsy and useless. “I think so.”

He opens his mouth and closes it again, processing. Then he rolls onto his side to face me fully, still holding onto my arms. “You know I wouldn’t care about that, right? I stood up for Alexei when he came out. We all did. Father can go fuck himself with his outdated bullshit rules.”

“I know.” My throat feels tight, words struggling to form. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?” His thumbs rub circles on my arms, probably without him even realizing he’s doing it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because you’re the reason I know.

“I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“We tell each other everything. Or at least I thought we did.” The hurt in his voice is unmistakable, cutting through me like a knife.