Pierced

When the water shut off, Paul handed Kyle his towel, still trying not to ogle. Kyle paused while drying himself and Paul realized he was examining his cock.

"Do you need a Band-Aid or something?"

"No, it's stopped bleeding. I'll just let the clinic take care of it." Kyle let out a heavy sigh. "I guess it doesn't matter that the ring is gone. It's not like I'm going to get it re-pierced after this."

If I ever get my hands on whoever did this to him, I'm going to fucking tear them apart. Once again, Paul tamped down his anger. Kyle needed him right now and he needed him calm.

Paul handed him his clothing one piece at a time and waited patiently while he slowly got dressed. He was obviously in a lot of pain and trying not to show it.

When he was finished dressing, Kyle started picking up his things and putting them into his bathroom bag.

"I'm gonna gather some of this stuff for evidence," Paul said, indicating the wads of tape on the floor. "Just wait here a sec, okay?"

Kyle nodded numbly. His eyes had glazed over making him look shell-shocked.

Paul hurried into the main area of the bathroom where he saw his toiletries still sitting on the counter. He quickly gathered his things, knocking the toothpaste into the sink and sucking the remainder off his brush before he stuffed it into his bag. Going to the first aid cabinet on the wall, he retrieved a pair of latex gloves. There was a small round trashcan near the door with a white liner in it. Kyle knew the janitorial staff kept the extra liners in the bottom of the receptacle. He grabbed one of those too.

Returning to Kyle, he slipped on the gloves and carefully gathered up all of the tape, placing it into the plastic bag. On a whim, he went to the nearest garbage and glanced into it. Sitting on top was a used condom.

"Ta da!" he said, pulling it out carefully and holding it up.

Kyle's face whitened.

"Sorry," Paul said. He quickly pulled his glove off over the condom and tied it shut, effectively sealing the condom and its contents in. He dropped it in the white garbage bag as well and went to Kyle who was still standing where he'd left him, leaning against the wall, slightly hunched over.

"Shall we drop your stuff in your room and then grab a taxi?" he asked.

"Yeah. We don't need a taxi though. I have a car. But ... can you drive?"

"Yes, sure."

Paul slipped an arm carefully around the other man's waist. Kyle clung to him, drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he shuffled slowly forward. It was obviously painful to walk.

Paul tilted his head and caught a whiff of coconut from Kyle's freshly washed hair. His lean body was flush against his, warm and supple. As he became aware of how attracted he was to Kyle, he had to remind himself: he doesn't need that right now, Paul—he needs a friend.

****

The eastern horizon was turning pink as they left the 24-hour clinic. The sky overhead was a deep, cloudless indigo, and the late September air had a decided chill to it. Paul shivered in his thin t-shirt, but Kyle's body was warm under his arm.

Kyle swayed and Paul tightened his grip. The smaller man giggled and grinned up at him. It was the first time he had seen the boy smile, and it almost stopped his heart. As if echoing his own thoughts, Kyle said, "You're gorgeous, you know that?" Then he giggled again and stumbled.

Paul pulled him around to the passenger side of his ten-year-old Prius and helped him slide in. Kyle winced as he eased himself shakily into his seat, but then he grinned at Paul again, his eyes slightly unfocused. He pulled his seatbelt out but struggled trying to get the clasp fastened.

"Here, let me," Paul said, squatting next to him and buckling the belt securely across Kyle's narrow hips. "Those pain killers must be pretty strong."

"Well, yeah," Kyle answered, his words slightly slurred. "Especially since I took three of them."

"Three of them!" Paul said in alarm. "How many were you supposed to take?"

"One every six hours."

"Kyle!" Paul wasn't sure why he sounded so shocked. Drugs were prevalent in Eastern Washington and many of his friends indulged in recreational drug use. Paul didn't, and for some reason he didn't want Kyle to either.

As if reading his thoughts, Kyle said, "I'm not a druggie or anything." His face darkened and he turned away from Paul, staring out the front window. "I just ... I just want to forget." This last came out in a whisper.

Paul's heart tore right in half. One minute it was whole and beating just fine and the next it was shredded in two and bleeding all down his chest. Kyle's eyes were focused on something far away. Paul thought he'd never seen anyone look so hurt and lost. He reached up and stroked his fingers down the side of Kyle's smooth cheek, bringing the other man's attention to him.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you," he said quietly. "But it'll be okay. You'll be okay." Paul so wanted to believe that.

The sun picked that moment to break over the horizon, bathing the car in a golden light. Kyle's eyes reflected it back, appearing to change color suddenly from warm brown to a beautiful green. Paul was spellbound.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Kyle's lips. His focus shifted to Paul's mouth.

He wants a kiss, Paul realized. The urge to kiss Kyle suddenly overwhelmed him, stronger than any desire he'd ever felt. He stood up abruptly, near panic. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth went dry. What the hell's wrong with me?

He closed Kyle's door and walked slowly around the car, trying to get himself back under control.

"Thanks. Thanks for taking care of me," Kyle said as Paul climbed into the driver's seat.

"It's no problem at all Kyle."

I'm really tired. That's why I'm losing it like this. He'd spent the better part of the last four hours dozing in an uncomfortable chair in the clinic's waiting room. He had talked briefly to the police and handed over the evidence bag, but otherwise his wait had been uneventful.

His stomach growled loudly, letting him know that if he was going to stay up all night, he needed fuel.

Kyle laughed, and it sounded like a key unlocking the door to Paul's happiness. He smiled at the young man as Kyle said. "You're hungry. I'm starving too. Can I buy you breakfast? It's the least I can do for helping me out."

"You don't owe me anything."

"Oh, I think I owe you way more than the price of a breakfast. Come on, let's stop at Joe's Diner."

Paul's stomach rumbled again, putting in its whole-hearted approval of the suggestion. "Are you sure you're up for it?" Paul had started driving, but he spared a brief glance at Kyle. His left eye was puffy and the red mark on his cheek was deepening to an angry purple. He thought perhaps his lower lip was swollen too, but maybe it was just naturally sensuous. Stop that! his brain ordered.

"Yes. If I don't eat now I'll have to go down to the Northside for something soon, and I'd really rather not."

"Joe's it is."

*****

As they entered the restaurant, Kyle leaned heavily on Paul, giggling and stumbling.

"Take it easy there soldier," Paul admonished him.

The waitress shot them a glare. She probably thinks we're drunk. Paul guided Kyle to a table and helped him slide into the booth. He was wobbly but didn't appear to be in any pain.

"Coffee?" The waitress had instantly shown up at their table. She started pouring without waiting for a response. Paul chuckled at her attempt to sober them up.

He'd already decided to skip his 9 a.m. class. He didn't have another until after lunch, and he planned to take a long nap when he got back to his room, so coffee probably wasn't such a good idea. He stifled a yawn. Well, maybe half a cup.

Kyle was already slurping his down black. Paul suppressed a shudder as he doctored his with cream and sugar.

The young man smirked at him as he added his third sugar packet. "Having some coffee with your sugar?" he asked.

"I don't see how you can drink this stuff straight. It's like kerosene."

"It'll put hair on your chest," Kyle responded. "Of course, I've been drinking it like this for years and it hasn't done a damn thing for me."

That comment brought back the memory of Kyle's smooth bare chest, tapering to a slim, flat stomach. Paul drew in a sharp breath. Kyle chuckled softly, and when Paul glanced at him, he winked at him. Paul knew his face was usually an open book. Did Kyle see what I was thinking about? He felt his cheeks blush a hot red. He quickly buried his nose in the menu.

When the waitress returned a few minutes later, they ordered: Paul the country breakfast with eggs over-easy and sausage, and Kyle, strawberry waffles with a side of bacon.

They carried on an easy conversation throughout breakfast. Paul found out that Kyle was a sophomore—he had guessed freshman because he looked so young. He was majoring in computer science and wanted to go into game design. Paul looked at him with new respect as he listed off his classes, heavy on high-level math. The boy must be pretty smart, Paul thought. He told Kyle about himself: he was a junior majoring in animal studies so he could help his dad out with the ranch. He admitted that he usually struggled with math. Luckily he'd already gotten most of his non-major classes out of the way. The animal classes were always pretty interesting, and he was looking forward to the hands-on sessions that he had coming up.

Kyle was obviously feeling the affects of all the painkillers he'd taken; he laughed often and flirted with Paul unashamedly as they ate. Paul's emotions ping-ponged between concern for Kyle and giddiness as he flirted back—something he'd never done with a guy. Paul thought that he'd blushed more during that meal than he had in the past year. He hoped that Kyle was so high he wouldn't remember later.

Kyle finished with his meal, pushing his plate away and leaning back with a sigh. Paul glanced up to see him worrying the gold ring in his lower lip with his tongue. His tongue snaked out and pushed the ring this way then that. Paul couldn't take his eyes off of it. A vision sprang into his mind of that tongue playing with a Prince Albert piercing in Paul's own cock. Oh God! His jeans were suddenly much too tight. What would it be like to have such a piercing, and how would it feel to have Kyle tongue it like that?

Kyle's tongue disappeared into his mouth and his lips spread into a broad smile.

Oh shit! Paul met his eyes and saw that Kyle had caught him staring at his tongue.

"You want some?" Kyle teased, sticking the tip of his tongue out and running it quickly back and forth over his lip ring.

Paul suppressed a groan. Oh yes! I want! He tore his eyes away and focused on his plate, once again feeling his face grow hot.

"How about some of my bacon?" Kyle's voice was low and seductive. "You have to come and get it." Then Paul had to look at him. Kyle was sticking his tongue out and balanced a long piece of bacon across it. His eyes were twinkling with mischief.

Before he had a chance to reconsider, Paul leaned across the table and snagged the bacon with his teeth. "Mmmm, bacon." He tried to match Kyle's sultry tone, but with bacon between his teeth it just came out growly. The bacon broke and half of it fell onto his plate. He quickly sucked the rest into his mouth, but he was laughing so hard he could hardly chew.

Suddenly it occurred to him what it must have looked like, him taking bacon off of Kyle's tongue. He glanced around the restaurant. All of the other patrons were older folks, and no one was paying them any attention except the waitress. She was glaring at them.

Paul turned back to his plate, still smiling as he used the other piece of bacon to push the last bit of eggs onto his fork and then devoured both of them. No harm done, I don't think. That waitress doesn't hang with college kids.

He looked up to find Kyle staring at him with a look in his eyes that unsettled him. He had only ever gotten that look from women, which was bad enough. Getting that look from Kyle now was downright terrifying, because he was afraid he might reciprocate it.

*****

Paul could not get Kyle off his mind. He had trouble sleeping that morning—his head was spinning with thoughts of what Kyle had gone through. He wanted to bring him dinner that evening, but he had to scramble from his afternoon class to climb aboard the bus for the five hour trip to Seattle. The next day was Saturday and their team had a game at Century Link field against Stanford.

The only time during the trip Paul's mind was not on Kyle was during the actual game—thank God he'd been able to focus and play. They had had a devastating loss to Stanford the year before and team emotions were running high. The game had been close; they'd fought hard and managed a narrow victory: 19-17. He hadn't personally made any touchdowns, but he'd played a solid game and felt good about himself. Spirits were high as everyone climbed back in the bus for the long trip back to Pullman.

As soon as the excitement of the game settled down, his mind went right back to thinking about Kyle. His brain seemed to suddenly have only one track. He told himself that he wasn't infatuated, that it was natural to need to process things after a traumatic event.

He couldn't wait to see Kyle again though, and when they finally got back very late on Saturday night he'd walked past his dorm room door. The light was out and there was no sound in his room, so he didn't disturb him.

As soon as he was up the next morning, heart pounding in his chest, he knocked on the door of Kyle's single room, but there was no answer. Paul tried again several other times throughout the day with like results and thought maybe Kyle had gone out for the day. He wondered if he were feeling better.

Monday he was busy with classes and practice, and then pizza with some of his team mates. By the time he got back to the dorm he decided it was too late to visit Kyle. He knocked on his door a couple of times on Tuesday, but still there was no answer. He was beginning to wonder if he'd gone out of town.

Then on Wednesday, when he was on his way back to his room from his morning classes, he spotted Kyle heading in the same direction, lugging a cello. He was wearing a black band t-shirt and black jeans that showed off the curve of his ass. His Converse high-tops were bright red. Paul broke into a jog and caught up with him quickly.

"Hey Kyle," he called as he got close. "Let me get that for you." He grabbed the cello handle and wrested it from Kyle's grip.

Kyle's eyes widened as he looked at Paul. "You know, I'm perfectly capable of carrying my cello," he said, sounding a bit annoyed. "I've only been doing it for ten years." He reached out to take the instrument back.

Paul swung it into his other hand away from Kyle. This was his excuse to follow Kyle up to his room. "Really? You've been playing that long? You must be really good."

Kyle rolled his eyes. Paul noticed they were green today, a deep forest green. "I'm not going to win any awards," Kyle said dryly, "but I do like playing. I find it relaxing. I'm in the orchestra here."

They had entered the dorm and Paul headed automatically for the stairs.

"You take the stairs?" Kyle asked in surprise. "To the sixth floor?"

"Uh ... usually," Paul said, correcting his course and heading for the elevator. "If I take them two at a time it's faster than the 'vator."

"Wow! You are such a jock," Kyle teased.

"You want to see my strap?" Paul responded in a low voice.

Kyle's eyes widened in surprise. Paul blushed. He couldn't believe he'd said that. No filter. Kyle started laughing and Paul joined him. Several other students were queued up at the elevator when they reached it, so they said nothing more.

On the sixth floor, they walked together to Kyle's room, passing the student lounge on the way. Paul noticed Jimmy eyeing them sullenly as they went past. Jimmy was on the football team with him, but he was fourth string and rarely got to play. He lived and breathed football though, and followed Eric, the starting quarterback, around like a puppy. Paul wondered what he thought of him hanging out with the pierced, gay boy, but as soon as they reached Kyle's room, Paul forgot about him.

Kyle swung his door wide and went in, dumping his backpack onto his bed. Paul followed him with the excuse of carrying the cello, and he nudged the door surreptitiously with his foot so that it swung slowly shut. Kyle's room was very neat. He had a dark blue bedspread and cream-colored pillows on the bed, and the walls were covered with posters from various bands, including The Doors, Evanescense, and several that Paul had never heard of.

Kyle turned and eyed him speculatively.

Paul set the cello down. "How are you doing?" he asked softly.

Kyle's eyes darkened briefly with remembrance, but he quickly masked his pain. "I'm okay," he said nodding and giving Paul a small smile.

Paul looked at him closely. There were dark circles under his eyes and a tightness around his mouth. His curly hair looked unruly and maybe a bit greasy, but Paul wasn't sure what it normally looked like. The mark on his cheek had faded to greenish yellow.

"You're recovered?" he asked.

"Yes," Kyle answered shortly, sitting down on his narrow bed.

"Did you hear back from the police yet? Do they have any leads?"

"No. I don't think they're even looking." Kyle frowned and picked up a trailing strap from his backpack, twisting it between his fingers.

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"They don't care if some fag got beat up," Kyle said bitterly, watching himself play with his strap rather than looking at Paul. "They acted like they thought I deserved it."

"Really?" Paul said, shocked. "But ... isn't that their job, to serve and protect? It shouldn't matter."

"It shouldn't, but it does." He suddenly glared up at Paul. "Maybe you haven't noticed because you're still hiding in your closet, but gay-bashing is alive and well in Eastern Washington, thank you very much."

Paul stared at him with growing horror and a tremor ran up his spine. "Uh..." He was about to deny he was gay, but managed to hold his tongue. It was obvious Kyle had figured him out and there was no point in blatantly lying to him. He had been openly flirting with him, after all.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Kyle said. He tossed the backpack strap aside angrily, and his eyes flashed when looked up at Paul. "But you probably shouldn't hang out with me ... carry my cello and stuff. You know that gay disease is catching."

Paul sank into the chair at Kyle's desk. He realized Kyle was mad at him for some reason, but he wasn't able to spare any thought to figure out why. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Kyle knew he was gay. "I ... yeah. No one knows," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, I'm being an ass," Kyle said, his voice softer. "I'm just a bit bitter about this whole thing. I don't mean to take it out on you. I totally get why you're in the closet—the whole football jock thing and all. It's a lot easier to be gay when you're a computer/orchestra geek."

Paul nodded absently and silence hung in the room like a sinister ghost.

Finally Kyle spoke. "Are you ever going to come out, or were you thinking of getting married and all that shit?"

"Uh..." Paul blinked at Kyle. "I ... up until recently I was hoping to get married."

"Up until recently? What changed?"

"Well, I'm having trouble finding a girl I like."

Kyle snorted. "Well ... duh!"

Paul stood up abruptly. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said, crossing to the door. His eyes were burning and his chest was suddenly tight. He had to get out of there.