St. Peter's Church

23

Paul's POV

Something is very, very wrong with me, inside a part of my head that I can't seem to connect with. What happened about one hour ago was a very bad decision.

I don't want to lead him on at all. It's wrong of me to behave this way. Very wrong.

I poked my head down from the top bunk and took a look at John, laying down below me, rolling a red ball back and forth between his hands. He must've been bored as hell.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked. I startled him for sure, seeing as how he jumped when he saw my head. "Jesus Christ, Paul... but yes, what's the matter?"

"Do you remember what happened last night?" I asked him cooly, as to not freak him out. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I remember me confessing that I loved you. I don't remember anything past that point, really."

I felt every bit of blood drain from my face. He didn't remember kissing me, me giving him head, or pounding my ass in the bathroom?

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Macca, what's wrong?

"You don't remember anything at all past that point?" I asked firmly. "No, swear on my life, I have no idea what happened after that," John responded, starting to look worried.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to freak you out," I said with a low and weak tone. "No, tell me, if I did anything I shouldn't have, I want to know," replied John.

I sighed shakily, knowing that John did have every right to know what happened last night. "After you told me you loved me, I let you kiss me. Then you wanted me to suck you off. Then we fucked."

John went pale at once. "Oh," was all that came out of him.

We sat in painful silence for about a minute, before he finally spoke up. "I didn't force you to do any'a that, did I?" "No, you didn't," I responded, trying to keep my voice stable. I wasn't going to lie to my best friend about that.

"I'm so confused," John stated, "You're straight, no?" I pursed my lips and looked away, hoping that would be enough of a hint for him.

"We shagged tonight, Paul. I took it up the ass. You initiated it. I'm a bloody queer and you know that. You can't just suck my dick and fuck me- not once, but twice- and then say you're straight. You're obviously not."

For the first time in a few months, hot, silent tears fell from my cheeks to my lap. I could see John just barely in the corner of my tear filled eyes, and he drew back a bit.

"I'm sorry," he said weakly, his voice sounding slightly broken as if he was about to start crying. I got up from his bed, going back to my own, not saying a single word.

I didn't want to talk to anyone for the rest of the night.