Chapter 3: Two Consenting Adults

16th December

Keith

“I can’t go to that party. Can I? I can’t. Can I? Ugh. Could somebody kill me, please?” I ask and bang my head against the table at a bar where I’m meeting my friends for some pre-gaming and a confidence boost before heading to the school-organized Christmas thing, although my presence there hangs in the balance right now.

“Sure you can, buddy.” Lance claps me on the back, but I ignore him and rest my forehead on the sturdy wooden surface. Could I turn into a permanent fixture here if I try hard enough? Embrace my inner tree. Become one with the table. That sounds like the adult solution, right?

“I’ve decided to live here,” I say, but to my surprise, my friends don’t cheer my new life path.

“Sure, Coran will be thrilled. Just the other day, he mentioned he needs a busboy,” Hunk says.

“Dude, are you serious? Keith? Handling dishes? That’s a horror movie in the making.” 

“I hate you both,” I mumble into the wood.

“But do you hate us equally, or do you hate one of us less?” Lance asks.

“Hunk a little less,” I say without raising my head. Yeah, I’m definitely onto something with this whole fusing with the furniture thing.

“Dick,” Lance says, but Hunk—my new favorite—pats my arm.

“Chin up, buddy. Since I’m your new bestie, I’m gonna help you, but first, you gotta raise your head. Can you raise your head for me, Keith?”

“I guess.” I straighten myself to repay my friend’s concerned gaze. “Happy?” 

“Ecstatic. Now, why can’t you go to the school party?”

“Because Shiro will be there, and I don’t have the guts to face him.” 

“Why?”

“Because, once again, I made a complete ass of myself.”

“Wait, what do you mean, again?” Lance asks. “I thought you avoided him like the plague since day one.” 

“Not like the plague. I avoided him… like the super-hot coworker I have a crush on, okay?”

“That’s not a thing. And don’t change the subject. What happened?”

“Last Thursday, he waited for me after class to make sure I’d come to the party.”

“That dick. Should we kick his ass?”

“You could try, but I’m pretty sure he could crush you like a soda can. In one hand. Both of you at once. He’s the most ripped physics teacher I’ve ever met. Seriously, it goes against nature.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. He invited you to a party. He’s cut. Where is the problem exactly? I don’t see it.”

“I kissed him. Sort of. No, not sort of. I really went for it. Fucking rammed my tongue down his throat. But in my defense, we were standing under the mistletoe, and I thought… but I was wrong, and he looked horrified afterward and said we shouldn’t have done it. Guess I’m lucky he didn’t press harassment charges.”

“But you saw him on Friday, cleared the air, and now everything’s golden?”

“Haven’t seen him since. I’ve been doing all my work in the school library.” 

“Ah, the mature way of handling problems,” Lance smirks while Hunk buries his face in his hands.

“Okay, this will need a bit of liquid courage,” Hunk says, and flags down a server to order a round of shots. She drops by in a moment and sets three glasses filled with red liquid on the table.

“You’re going to drink this, Keith,” Hunk says, “then you’re going to find your balls because they have to be rolling around here somewhere, go to your school shindig, apologize to Shiro if necessary, and move on. Accidents happen—granted, to some people more than others—but I can guarantee you’re making it worse in your head. Now, bottoms up.”

“Who says ‘shindig?’ What are you, eighty?” Lance asks, and they launch into an argument as I down all three shots.

“Okay. What’s next?”

“These were for all of us, you dolt,” Hunk says when he notices the empty tumblers.

“But at least he should have enough liquid courage now, Hunk.”

“Yep, feeling extremely courageous all of a sudden.” I make a sweeping gesture with my hand to confirm the golden feeling of bravery coursing through me and knock over all three glasses in one fell swoop. They come clattering down and shatter into a million pieces.

“Hoo boy.” Hunk rubs the back of his head as he watches my handiwork. “This might have been a bad idea.”

“Look on the bright side. He’s not nervous anymore,” Lance says.

“Yeah, but we can’t send him to the party drunk.”

“It’s just three shots. He’ll get most of the booze out of his system by the time it starts and arrives with just enough buzz to feel happy and confident.” 

The server who brought our shots has noticed the broken glasses and arrives with a broom to deal with the mess.

“Thank you so much. My friend had a bit of an accident.” Lance smiles at her, and she blushes; but that’s Lance for you. He can make people fall under his spell with easy smiles and words of praise. I could never pull it off if my life depended on it, and given how often I injure myself, it sometimes does. When the server departs, he turns his attention back to me.

“Keith, buddy, we’re gonna drive you to the party, okay? And buy you a large coffee on the way, just in case.”

“You guys are the best. What would I do without you?” 

“I forgot how fun drunk Keith is. Do we really want to sober him up?” Lance asks.

“Yes. We want him to make better choices, not worse.” 

“I love you guys.” They deserve to know. They stood by me when my father died and then again when I ran away from foster care at sixteen. Lance’s parents even opened their home to me. They helped me get through college, and while I’m not sure where I’d end up without their support, I’m sure I wouldn’t like it.

“We know, buddy.”

“No, like, really.” 

“We love you too, Keith.” 

Satisfied, I nod and let them steer me toward the exit, stuff me in Lance’s ridiculous sports car that barely has room for one person, let alone three, but apparently, its ‘chick magnet’ properties win over practical concerns, and drive me to the bar where the school party takes place.

Once I climb out and wave them goodbye, uncertainty trickles back in. I probably should’ve talked to Shiro after that clusterfuck of a kiss. Well, no, that’s not fair. Basically assaulting my colleague with my mouth is far from ideal, but the kiss itself… My knees turn into jelly and my dick into a steel pipe at the mere memory of it. The restrained math teacher can fucking kiss. When our lips touched, fireworks exploded, not only before my eyes but also in my stomach and all over my skin, which might be the main reason why I’ve kept hiding from Shiro. 

I know what’s waiting at the end of this line. A polite refusal and a request to keep things professional, but I’m not prepared to hear it. I want to hope for a repeat for a while longer. Unfortunately, despite being utter knuckleheads sometimes, my friends are right. Only children avoid uncomfortable situations. Adults solve them head-on, and I’m an adult. Sort of. Trying to be, anyway. I’ve got a job now, and most times, I even remember to wash my face before leaving the apartment so that I don’t walk among people covered in paint. That’s progress. The new and improved Keith can handle one awkward encounter. The new and improved Keith also shouldn’t talk about himself in third person if he doesn’t want to come off as a douche. 

Enough stalling. Head held high, I push the door open and step inside. Since I arrived fashionably late, the party is in full swing, and my anxiety rises in a sickening wave until it bubbles at the back of my throat. Who needs working vocal cords at social gatherings, right? The three shots Hunk forced on me have almost left my system, so another dose of booze might do me good and chase the doubts away. Although now that Hunk and Lance aren’t around to supervise my inebriated ass, I should probably reconsider. I’ll feel uncomfortable, but it will minimize the chances of causing another disaster.

A woman with long, honey-brown hair notices my dawdling and approaches me with a large mug of eggnog, which she immediately pushes into my hands. Grateful for the excuse to keep them occupied, I accept, clutching the red mug as a lifeline between social acceptance and sobriety.

“Hey, Keith! Glad you made it!” I vaguely recall Shiro introducing us on my first day, but her name slipped my mind.

“Romelle,” she says, grinning, my mental gymnastics not slipping under her radar. 

“I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names.” 

“Don’t worry; I don’t think anyone can remember the names of their coworkers when introduced to them for the first time. That’s what this party is for—to get to know us. Well, also Christmas. That’s probably the main reason. But it can be for you, too.”

She seems nice, but I smash head-first into the usual wall of silence, blocking me from the small talk that comes so easily to other people. To mask my unease, I take a sip of eggnog. Sweet and creamy, and with a pleasant blend of spices, it tastes like Christmas in a mug.

“Wow, this is delicious.” I take another swig.

“Thanks. It’s a family recipe.” 

“You made this? Okay, you’re officially my new best friend, and if you knew how great a cook one of my former besties is, you’d realize this is a huge compliment.”

Romelle gives a peal of delighted laughter. 

“You’re sweet. Come, let’s meet everybody.” 

Usually, the words’ meet’ and ‘everybody’ would send a wave of nausea coursing through my body, but Romelle is lovely, the eggnog warms my belly, and if I follow her, perhaps I can avoid Shiro for a while longer.

I glance around the room, trying to spot his silvery head, but the only glint of silver I see belongs to the Christmas decorations hanging around the bar. Disappointment and relief clash in my chest, but it’s probably for the best that he didn’t come. 

An hour and three mugs of Romelle’s eggnog later, I don’t remember why I worried about this event so much. We did a lap of the party, and I concluded that everything and everyone is an absolute delight. The Christmas songs, my coworkers, the food, the toasty buzz flowing through my veins, making me all floaty and happy; it’s all perfect. When I finally bump into Shiro, I have no idea why I ever felt anxious around him. Everything is awesome. Shiro’s awesome. And so hot. Does he know? Somebody should tell him in case he doesn’t know.

He has his back turned to me, talking to a bunch of people I only vaguely recall, so I approach him from behind and throw my arms around him, nuzzling into his back.

“Hi, Shiro!”

“K-Keith. Hey.” He stammers and whirls around, his face cherry red as he gently peels my arms off. Oooh, look at that. Shiro can also imitate a vegetable. Fruit. Whatever.

“Tomatoes and cherries go well together. That’s why there are cherry tomatoes,” I giggle, but Shiro doesn’t laugh. He only narrows his eyes and zeroes in on the mug in my hands. 

“Keith, you remember Matt and Iverson?” 

I give a solemn nod. 

“And you’ve met our new art teacher, right?” Iverson, the scary football coach, mumbles something while Matt bites the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing. What the hell is so funny? Unless he understood my cherry joke, but then again, how could he? That’s between Shiro and me and the various shades of red.

“We’ll be right back,” Shiro says, grabs my elbow, and steers me away from the guys just when I wanted to ask Iverson about working as a football coach with no depth perception. Shiro leads us into the corner of the room, far from the center of the party. Well, alone time with him is fine by me. And I mean fiiine.

“Is that Romelle’s eggnog?” he asks, ticking his head toward the mug I keep holding onto.

“Yeah, but you can’t have any. This one’s mine.”

“How many of those have you had?”

“This is my third one.”

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“Jesus.” He snatches the mug before I raise a protest and sets it on a table beside us. 

“Fine, we can share.”

“Actually, I’m cutting you off. Romelle always puts so much hard liquor into this. Can’t believe she didn’t warn you.”

“Nooo, that can’t be right. I’m dine. Not frunk at all. Frunk. I mean frunk. Why can’t I say frunk? Wait. Did I say it?”

Shiro frowns. “Let’s get some coffee in you.”

“I’d rather have something else in me.” 

His eyebrow shoots up, and he shakes his head, muttering under his breath. Clearly, I’m not getting the message across.

“By something, I meant someone. Like you. You’re so fucking hot. Seriously. As if The Rock and Michelangelo’s David had a baby with a sexy Japanese hunk. Has anyone ever told you that?” 

A pained sound escapes him, and the red blush returns in force, turning from light cadmium red to deep anthraquinone. 

“No, I can say with absolute certainty that no one has ever told me that, no.” 

There you have it. People are dumb. I lean closer to him to whisper what I’ve realized in his ear.

“That’s because people are stupid.” 

He smells so good, and he stands so close. I could count the beauty marks on his face if I wanted to. He’s got three, no, four. One is right on that ridiculously sharp jawline, playing hide and seek under the dusting of stubble, two sit on his left cheek, and the last one is right under his hairline. The silvery hair looks so soft and tempting that I can’t resist threading my fingers into it. Shiro makes an aborted squeak but doesn’t shift away, so I twirl the silken strands around my digits.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Thirty-five.”

“Then what’s with the hair, mister silver fox?”

“Turned grey prematurely. Runs in the family.” 

“Mmm. I like it.” I dig into his scalp more firmly. His head falls back, and he groans under my touch, but then he snaps back up, grabs my wrists, and guides them down where he holds them still next to my hips.

“Please, stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.” I lean closer, despite his grip. “I want to do filthy things to you.” Shiro’s eyes drift closed, and he whispers something about tests, restraint, and deserving a reward, so I hurry to reassure him.

“It’s okay. You can do filthy things to me too. I’m game for almost anything.” 

He yanks his hands back away from me as if I burned him.

“Keith. Sweetheart. You’re not making smart decisions right now, and it might be best if you went home. Where do you live? I’ll call you an Uber.”

“But I want to stay here. Or anywhere, really, as long as you’re there too. Certainly don’t want to go home. My apartment’s right above an Indian restaurant, and it’s noisy and smelly, and my next-door neighbors are always fighting or fucking, sometimes at the same time.”

“Okay then, another idea. I’ll drive you to my place, which isn’t far from here. You can sleep this off on my couch.”

“I’d prefer your bedroom.”

“Fine, I’ll take the couch, and you can sleep in my bedroom. Alone,” he adds sternly. 

“Killjoy.” 

“It’s been said. Goes with being a stuffy math teacher.”

“You’re not stuffy. You’re warm and kind, and I can’t believe people don’t see that.”

This time, the color of Shiro’s face transcends the red spectrum and slips right into purple. His pupils blow wide.

“Keith.” The way he whispers my name raises goosebumps all over my body. I want to kiss him. No, that’s not a strong enough word. I need to kiss him. The ache to seal my lips over his again is unbearable. It starts in my chest and spreads outwards until it hijacks my body and mind, and I can only follow my basest instincts, tempting me to angle closer. Tilt my head up. Open my mouth a fraction… but my stomach protests the jostling of its alcohol contents by heaving unpleasantly.

“Uh-oh. On second thought, we should leave.”

Shiro breaks from his trance, gives me a concerned look, and nods. On our way toward the exit, he stops by his friends.

“Keith’s not feeling well. I’m going to drive him home.” I notice he didn’t specify whose home. “He had three mugs of Romelle’s ‘nog.’”

“Jesus,” Iverson says. “It’s a wonder he’s coherent.” I squeak out a giggle. “Somewhat,” Iverson adds with narrowed eyes.

“Feel better soon, buddy,” Matt says, then turns to Shiro. “Maybe next Christmas, someone else should prepare the eggnog, or we should skip it altogether. Just saying, this happens every year. Romelle’s dangerous.” 

“I want to see the brave person who tells her that. Are you going to volunteer, Matty?”

“God, no. I thought you might, Shiro, given, you know…” he cants his head toward me.

“Nope, Romelle scares me. Anyway, see you later.” 

The floor under me sways, and I lose my balance for a second until a large hand slides over my lower back and stabilizes me. 

“Or maybe on Monday. Come, Keith, let’s get you home.” 

Shiro half leads me, half carries me outside, where a cold wind hurtles snowflakes into my face and clears my head a fraction. 

“You’re not driving me home, are you? You promised,” I whine at Shiro.

“We’re going to my house, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Matt or Iverson. Those guys gossip worse than a bunch of magpies. Do you want the entire school talking about us spending the night together? Didn’t think so. Here’s my car.” 

Shiro loads me into his silver Prius without accident—a miracle on its own—and it only takes us ten minutes to arrive at his house, where he hooks an arm around my waist as soon as I scramble out of the car.

“Just a precaution so you don’t stumble in the driveway, sweetheart.” His lips are so close to my ear that his breath wafts over the sensitive shell, and I shudder involuntarily, which doesn’t escape Shiro’s attention.

“Are you cold? Let’s get you inside.” 

Nope. Not cold. What’s the opposite of cold? A furnace? Plasma? In his vicinity, I’m that. An overheated puddle of caramel syrup. 

Thankfully, my stomach has calmed down, so once we enter Shiro’s house, I crowd him into a wall and tug him down to steal the kiss I’ve been craving the entire evening. He huffs, and I half-expect him to push me away, but his tongue surges into my mouth to curl around mine in a bone-melting swipe. His chest is heaving with labored breaths, but his body under me is solid and steady, and I want to drape him over me like a security blanket. 

“Keith.” He tears away from me. “No. I can’t. Not right now.”

“But I want you. And you want me too. You can’t deny that.” I illustrate my point by grinding my hips into Shiro’s cock, rock hard and straining under his pants, and he goes almost cross-eyed, especially when I repeat the motion to underscore my point while running my tongue along his jaw.

“God, Keith, you have no idea what you do to me. Yes. I want you. Need you. So much, baby.”

“Was that so hard to admit?”

Shiro makes a growly sound that has me leaking like a faucet and seizes my mouth again in a ferocious kiss. 

“It wasn’t, was it? And we’re two consenting adults —”

Clearly, that is the wrong thing to say. Shiro’s movements falter. His face closes off, and he pulls back from me, smoothing his hair flat against his forehead. 

“No. We’re not. You’re drunk, baby, so you can’t give consent. Go to bed, catch some shut-eye, and we can revisit… everything in the morning.” 

“But —”

“No. No buts.”

I inhale to argue why waiting is a crappy idea. Shiro puts a finger on my lips to silence me, but I abuse the opportunity, letting the tip of my tongue dart out, and when I lick a path over his digit, a pained whimper dribbles from him.

“Keith, please. Be reasonable. I’m hanging by a thread here.” 

Shiro’s agonized expression breaks through the haze of lust and booze muddling my brain. The last thing I want for him is to suffer, so even though disappointment crashes over me, I step away. 

“Fine, but know that I hate you a little.”

He gives a shaky laugh. “That’s okay. I hate myself a little, too.” 

Then I don’t remember much else than a whole lot of darkness.

When I wake up several hours later, it’s not light yet, but my head is full of bright shards covered in acid, and even the soft glow of the streetlights filtering into the room I’m currently occupying is stabbing my eyes. Also, I have no clue where the fuck I am. What the hell did I do yesterday? No, what the hell did I drink? 

This happened to me a couple of times, well, a lot of times during my misspent youth, but there was usually either a naked guy next to me to clue me in or Lance or Hunk drooling into my shoulder. A quick glance at the other side of the bed confirms I’m alone, and the room doesn’t remind me of anything. It’s neat to the point of sparseness, without even a TV. The only other piece of furniture is a white nightstand with a bottle of water and painkillers. Okay, the turndown service here is kind to boozy hungover teachers. I wash down a couple of pills and try to spark my brain into functioning when my gaze snags on the pictures of outer space lining the walls, the same as at my office. The office I share with Shiro. Oh, fuck. Here’s the spark I wanted, but when memories hit me with the gentleness of Thor’s hammer, I kind of regret it.

Lance and Hunk giving me shots. The party. Romelle and her concoction of embarrassment wrapped in vanilla. Shiro, driving me to his home and tucking me after I… shit, no, god, please, say this isn’t true. No, no, twenty times no. I shoot up on the bed and bury my head in my hands, groaning both from humiliation and the sharp pain the sudden movement brought on.

Poor Shiro. It wasn’t enough to assault him under the mistletoe. I also had to spout all that crap yesterday and kiss him again, and… Did I really talk about him looking like a Japanese child of the Rock? 

Jesus, Kogane. You were on a roll. 

So, to recap. I didn’t get to know anyone of my new coworkers, and if I did, the booze scraped the memories from my brain. On top of that, I made sexually inappropriate comments about my colleague, a guy I actually like but around who I can't keep it together to save my life, or at least my dignity. 

Solution:

Okay, I’m coming up blank. Guess I could quit, but I need the job. I need to cover the rent and move out of the shithole that drives me crazy. One thing is certain, though, I won’t think of any solution in Shiro’s bed with my head pounding and my tongue coated with something that resembles the floor of a gas station bathroom. 

Thud.

Something heavy is moving around the house. Does Shiro have a dog or a cat? No clue. It could also be Shiro himself, coming to check on me, and I can’t face him right now. I’d rather coat myself with honey and run around bear-infested woods. 

I glance outside. Shiro’s bedroom is on the ground floor, and since this is a safe neighborhood, there are no bars obstructing my view. Decision made, I half-jump, half-fall out of bed, open the window and clamber into a cold December night.

Merry fucking Christmas to me. 

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