The Fault in Our Shooting Stars

Chapter 9: Father Frank, Full of Grace

The next few weeks followed in a similar kind of pattern. I saw Mickey every few days, maybe a little more spread out when I had doctor’s appointments.

It was always the same, we’d chat a little, act like we had the first few times we’d hung out, and then it would progress to frantic pawing at each other and ultimately my lips around his cock.

I’m not saying Mickey’s selfish in the orgasm department, I always get mine, but he seems almost scared of doing anything other than using his hands.

And not scared like the rest of the population, not scared of ‘catching the cancer’ from the sick kid, but I think he was scared that doing anything else would mean he was actually into guys.

Though I have to say, being that eager to have another guy on his knees in front of you and taking two fingers up the ass as well as he did… sort of exceptionally gay.

I didn’t push it though, as much as I would love to do more with him, as much as I wish he wouldn’t look at me like he was about to kill me when I even looked at his lips for too long, he has his boundaries.

I mean, I am not complaining, not in the slightest. This is the first time in a long time that anyone has even looked at me twice – in a good way.

It’s been going well enough that I didn’t want things to change. I wanted things to stay on a level playing field, no bumps, no ditches, nothing. That’s why I didn’t say a word about my birthday.

Seventeen, finally.

We’re having some kind of family celebration in the evening, mostly drinking and dancing and the likes. Not for me obviously, like Fiona would let me do too much of that, even on my birthday, but Debbie did promise to make a cake when she got home from school.

I think Carl said he could steal some candles, and I know Fiona had a problem with that, last thing anyone needed was Carl having quick access to candles and lighters or anything even remotely flammable.

Anyway, birthdays make things weird. I’ve always found them weird and I can’t explain it. Maybe for me it’s because everyone acts like it’s such a huge feat to have made it through another year. I guess it kind of is, but I don’t really want to be reminded that no one expected me to achieve it.

I was hanging out with Mickey and Mandy in the morning, shooting up some cardboard cut-outs under the tracks again. It was nothing special, and I had done everything possible to keep my birthday a secret, until Lip had to go and ruin it all.

He was riding a bike past the tracks when he saw us and thought it would be an awesome idea to come over and say hello, which was his way of making sure I was keeping out of trouble, namely of the Milkovich variety.

“You don’t always have to check up on me Lip,” I said as he dropped the bike and walked over. “What are you doing down here, don’t you have school?”

He shrugged, “Make up test for all the douchebags who don’t know shit about basic algebraic equations, English quiz, chemistry lab report that I already turned in… I think I’ll be fine. You worry about me too much little brother,” he grinned and I just rolled my eyes.

“Lip, yeah?” Mickey said, looking him over.

Lip nodded and did the same, the two seeming to size each other up and it seemed clear that while neither of them had anything against one another necessarily, they would probably argue over anything that came up in conversation.

“So what are you doing down here?” I asked again.

“Looking for Frank,” he said. “Got a call from Tony this morning, something about drunk and disorderly… I don’t know, the usual shit.”