The Little Things [Book 1]

Chapter Seven: Ghost Goal

He feels lips run over his neck, all the way till they reach the spot right beneath his ear, where teeth start to nibble on the soft skin. He can smell the freshness of grass; the soccer field at his school. Thomas is almost sure he stands right there in the middle of the field, only for the steady wall behind him to disprove him. A body presses against him and something hard brushes over his length.

"Do you like how that feels?" a voice asks as lips continue to work on his neck. "Or is this better?"

Cold fingers wrap around him and he is clawing at the wall, Thomas can't do anything but hiss. His pants are gone and so is his shirt. The warmth from his neck goes away and almost in complain Thomas opens his eyes, but he doesn't.

"How's this?" A hot, wet tongue runs over his shaft and Thomas lets out a growl. Before he can process what is going on the tongue is replaced with a mouth and he cannot resist the urge to look downward. His hands grab ahold of hair and pulling back he stares into dark gray eyes.

Mark?

Thomas woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like crazy and a weird buzzing blocking his hearing. His eyes tried to focus on anything in the darkness of his room but they moved too fast. It took him a couple of moments before he understood it had all been a dream. But the calmness only lasted a second, as once again the dream flashed before his eyes and he remembered.

He realized many things at once. It was still night. He had woken up in shock. He had seen a dream where Mark had been... had been giving him a blowjob. And there was proof. Nothing could hide his hard-on, let alone his thin boxer briefs.

Checking his phone, he realized it was a few minutes before five in the morning and shaking off the sleep, he went and locked himself in the bathroom. He knew there was no way his parents would walk in on him, they had a bathroom in their own bedroom, but locking the door had become a habit from back when he shared it with Abigail.

The light in the room was way too blinding for the state he was in. Without looking in the mirror he turned to the toilet and bracing himself against the wall he started stroking himself. He needed it gone. He came, while biting hard his lips, as to not moan, and only after he cleaned himself up he dared to look into his image.

Dark circles hugged his eyes and his hair was a mess. What really shocked him, though, was how pale his skin was. He leaned down and threw some cold water on his face. He didn't know if he did it to wake up or to shake himself up. But as he straightened up again he could have sworn he saw the dark gray eyes from his dream stare back at him.

His heart started pounding again and he returned to his room. Not many minutes had passed since he had woken up and he was sure he would have been able to fall back asleep if he wanted to. But instead, he took his laptop and sat on his bed, on top of his covers.

With shaking fingers, he awaited for the laptop to power up and then for the incognito google page to open up. For a couple of seconds his fingertips hovered over the keyboard, and after gulping twice, he started typing. The question he had typed haunted him for a bit before he actually clicked on the search icon.

Am I gay?

He opened up the first quiz that popped up, trying to ignore the ever-so-persisting ringing of his ears.

Have you ever dreamed about another male in a sexual way? Yes.

When you watch porn what is the category you watch the most? It actually took him a few seconds to answer to that. The 'I don't watch porn' choice was quite appealing, but something inside of him judged him for being tempted to choose that. I watch anything with a dick in it- yes that felt correct.

A few questions down he froze up again. Do you like the thought of being with another male? Yes? A little? He wasn't sure what to answer. In the end, he decided to pick the 'a little' option. That wasn't so bad, right?

Would you be willing to have sex with a guy? He actually took his gaze away from the computer screen. He couldn't help but wonder. Would he? The image of Mark on his knees in front of him popped up before his eyes and without hesitating he chose the 'yes' option.

Have you ever kissed a girl? The options were plenty; yes; no; yes and I liked it; yes and I didn't like it.

Thomas thought back to his first, and only so far, kiss. It had happened two years ago, at a party, and to his memory it had been the most awkward thing to ever happen. Pure cringe. This girl, an old friend of Rachel's, had started talking to him and after a couple of hours of talking she had leaned in and he hadn't pulled back. It didn't feel right to pull back. Not with all his friends watching. Not with her being so sweet. He had kissed her back, but it wasn't- it hadn't been the fireworks kind of kiss. To Thomas the kiss had been empty. It had felt as if he had kissed a dead salmon. A rotten, dead salmon. With way too much lip-gloss on. And her tongue! Oh God, he had had nightmares about her tongue.

What had felt, though, even weirder had been his friends' reactions. According to both Dean and Rachel it had been one of the hottest kisses they had witnessed from up-close. Granted- they were barely sixteen at the time, but still it had been weird.

Nobody can fake passion like that. Rachel's words from earlier echoed in his mind. At that time he had been so close to yelling at her. But he hadn't. He hadn't realized how long he had been wanting to yell it out. I have.

Yes and I didn't like it.

Do you think you're gay?

"Maybe?" he muttered in a hushed voice and clicked on it just as he closed his eyes.

He didn't want to read the results. He didn't want it. But he needed to read them. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and stared at the brightly lit screen.

CONGRATULATIONS! You're gay, which means that you like guys, while you view girls as nothing more than friends!

He slammed the laptop close, his heart pounding harder than before and he stood up, suddenly the urge to move too big to resist. He paced in his room for a few rounds until he sat back down to his bed and opened his laptop again. He reread his results, more than just once, and then in the end he closed the page and his laptop. He started pacing again.

Air. He needed to air. Putting on a pair of sweatpants and a clean hoodie he grabbed his phone and walked downstairs. He was quiet up until he locked the front door behind him. From that point and on he started running as if his life depended on it.

It was cold outside. A given thing considering that it was January. He was glad there was no snow or rain, though. The sun hadn't risen yet. It would still be at least two hours before that. And judging from the clouds even when the sun did rise-

He was gay?!

How had he not realized he was gay? He had never felt attracted to a girl. He had never tried to get physical with a girl. He had never... he had never felt attracted to a guy. He had never tried to get physical with a guy. Those quizzes on the internet could not be trusted. He knew that. They were made by just anybody. They weren't accurate. Yes. Yes. Just because some test had said he was gay that didn't have to mean that he was. Yes.

No. It had been just a dream. A stupid, childish dream -childish?-. Dreams didn't mean anything. They were just weird imaginations. Things you had seen and experienced, all jumbled together into a mix of confusion. They didn't mean anything. Doors to the subconsciousness and all that bullshit. No. Dreams didn't mean anything!

This was all fucking Mark McGregor's fault. He and his stupid boyfriend; and his stupid girlfriend; and his stupid bruises; and his stupid handkerchiefs; and his stupid grin; and his fucking stupid eyes.

Eyes. Dark gray eyes. A devious grin. Lips swollen from kisses. Soft blond hair...

He stopped dead in his tracks, out of breath and whiplashed from his own thoughts. What was going on? What the fuck had happened to him? What had caused this? Fucking Mark McGregor.