As Ryan's hot palm moved up his ribcage, Jacky shuddered. He had never been able to imagine allowing anyone else to see him like this and still find him attractive. Even with his eyes closed he could clearly see the scars that radiated out from his shoulder, deep red against his pale skin. The dark twisted lumps and the puckered places where there had been stitches and more scars. He could see them as Ryan traced over them with a finger.
It was a good thing Ryan was pressing Jacky to his chest with his other arm because the way Jacky shook now, he'd probably fall down if Ryan let him go. He waited for Ryan to tell him he was gross and ugly and maybe Jacky was right, he should put his shirt back on.
When Ryan lowered his head and kissed him, and he broke.
Ryan held him the whole time he cried. It seemed to last a long time, but it probably wasn't all that long, and when he was at the point of sniffling and catching his breath, Ryan whispered, "Can I take off your pants?"
Oh, fuck. Jacky grinned and blinked and thought about unsexy things like how much homework he would need to do tomorrow and cleaning his room, because suddenly he was turned on again. He couldn't remember which boxers he had put on until Ryan's fingers popped the button of his fly and he saw the black waistband. Oh, thank god.
Jacky's hand was shaking too much to be much good at taking Ryan's pants off in the same smooth way. Most of the time he had trouble doing the same to his own pants, so he sat back on the bed in relief when Ryan swiftly yanked them down, revealing... tighty whiteys.
With even more of Ryan's skin exposed... well, they were the sexiest fucking underwear Jacky had ever seen.
What followed was a solid hour of rolling around on Jacky's bed, first above the covers, then under the covers – they both got cold despite the heat of their friction, until finally their mouths were raw and there was nowhere to go from here unless they wanted to take it to the next level, which neither of them were ready for.
In the morning, Jacky woke up and immediately felt the stump of his arm cold and hanging outside of the blankets. Moving carefully, he dragged the sheet up to his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Ryan asked.
"Uh, nothing," said Jacky.
Ryan pulled the sheet away and kissed Jacky's shoulder.
Jacky looked over at him. "You don't think it's ugly?"
"No." Reaching out, Ryan smoothed down Jacky's hair.
A knock on Jacky's door made them both jump. "Boys! I'm making breakfast!"
"Thanks, Mom," Jacky muttered, then he felt bad, because he still had a mother to nag him.
What followed was a lazy Sunday, in which Jacky's mom didn't make him do any of his usual weekend chores (he was sure she'd be on him about taking out the trash tonight) and the two boys spent most of the day outside playing soccer.
All in all it was a good visit, and a good week that followed, and another visit the next weekend, too. Of course Ryan hadn't done much more at school than say hi to Jacky in the hallways and maybe talk to him before class. But it helped that he didn't mind Jacky calling him almost every night.
With things settled, Jacky could concentrate on other things at school, like Cody's non-existent love life. "Where have you been?" Jacky demanded when Cody finally showed up at his locker with a bruise on his cheek. "Did your stepfather do that to you?"
"Naw," said Cody. The way he drawled the word let Jacky know he was baked out of his mind. "That was Matt."
"Matt—" Jacky lowered his voice. "Matt hit you?"
YOU ARE READING
Waiting RoomTeen Fiction
Everyone at school knows Andrew Jackson Jennings. Lost an arm in a car accident. Openly gay. Future school shooter. Everyone at school knows Ryan Sullivan. Football captain. Nice guy. Future valedictorian. When Andrew ends up in therapy after writin...