He kissed him. He pulled Cody close and pushed slowly inside of him.
It was strange, because in his dream, Cody was like a girl down there, and Nate knew that wasn’t right, but he also knew he didn’t care. However things were fitting together below the waist didn’t matter nearly as much as how it made him feel. And God, it felt good. Cody felt good. Somehow in Nate’s dream, he was kissing Cody, but still seeing his face, seeing the way his neck arched as he threw his head back, feeling the length of Cody’s body against his, thrusting into him again and again—
It peaked far too soon.
The intensity of it woke him, breathless and panting, still pushing against his mattress as he came. He didn’t want to leave the dream behind, and he held on to the image of Cody underneath him. He lay there in the sticky pool of his own mess, his body still thrumming from the strength of his orgasm, remembering how it had felt to kiss Cody. It had felt like a miracle. Like an epiphany. Like a revelation.
It scared the hell out of him.
It was time to face reality. He rolled over and looked at his clock. It was 7:04. In a minute he’d have to get up and do something about his stained sheets before he went to school. And at school he’d have to deal with the Grove group. And Christine.
And Cody.
His dream left him feeling edgy and spacey and uncomfortable. He was halfway relieved when Cody continued to avoid him, but he found himself searching the rows of lockers again as he hadn’t done since the first week of school, hoping to catch a glimpse of his thick, black hair. Hoping to hear his laugh echo through the halls. Not that Cody laughed much at school, and if he did, it was bound to be at something Logan said.
Still.
He desperately wanted to see him.
Nate raced to his locker before last period, determined to get to social studies early so he could grab a desk next to Cody. Who cared that nobody switched seats in that class? He was sick of being stuck with the Orange Grove assholes. He swapped textbooks and stopped to check his hair in the mirror on the inside of his locker door.
“Hey, Nate.” It was Christine again. She moved to stand between him and his open locker.
“Uh . . . Hey.” He glanced toward social studies, trying to see if Cody was there yet, but couldn’t see much past the crush of people.
“Listen, about tonight. Jimmy’s mom changed her plans, so party’s off.”
That was something of a relief, actually. “Okay.”
“But I might go out to the quarry with Tom Watson and Lance Donaldson. You want to come with me?”
“I can’t. Really. Thanks for the invite.” He backed away, hoping she’d get the message and move so he could close his locker door. “I appreciate it, but I don’t really know those guys—”
“That’s okay. You could still—”
“Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m sorry. Maybe next time?”
“Oh. Sure.” She finally moved aside, letting him slam the metal door shut. “See you around.”
He raced for social studies, but it didn’t do him any good. Cody was already in his seat, as was everybody else. Nate’s usual seat was open. There were always a few open desks because there weren’t enough students in the class to fill them all, and Nate took one near the back, but on the opposite side of the room as Cody. It was the only open desk that allowed him to see Cody without turning around in his seat. He ignored the confused looks of the Orange Grove group as the bell rang, and class began.
They were studying the end of World War II, and Mrs. Simmons was babbling on about the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the Marshall Plan, but Nate didn’t hear any of it. He was two rows back and three over from Cody, giving Nate a side view of the back of his head. When Cody looked at his textbook, he tipped his head down, and his thick, black hair fell forward, hiding his face from view. When he was listening to the teacher, he turned slightly Nate’s way, allowing Nate to see his cheek and the shell of his ear. And when Cody leaned across the aisle to talk to Logan, his T-shirt rode up in the back, giving Nate a brief glimpse of the pale skin above his waistband.
Nate found that expanse of exposed flesh intriguing. He imagined touching it, maybe running his hand up the inside of Cody’s shirt.
Cody went back to listening to Mrs. Simmons, and Nate propped his chin in his hand, studying the lines of Cody’s neck, analyzing the way his shoulders hunched when the teacher looked his way, and the way they relaxed again when the teacher moved on. Nate thought about his dream. In the bright light of day, it seemed hazy and surreal, but he could still remember the exact look on Cody’s face as they’d kissed.