CHAPTER FIVE: A MEETING AT MY PLACE

A MEETING AT MY PLACE

Dylan shoved the pair of scissors and bottle of gun into his already cramped bag. He managed to zip the thing closed without breaking the zipper and a satisfied grin spread across his face.

But it disappeared the moment he glanced up at the clock.

“Four," he whispered as he stared at the ticking hand. "Shit.”

In all honesty, Dylan wished he could just sit this one out and fail the project. But Logan was smart. He knew Dylan would never let that happen. That was probably why he casually texted ‘four, my place’ after school, knowing Dylan would not say no.

He had seen the message pop up from the notifications but refused to give Logan the satisfaction of actually reading it.

Why the hell was he acting this way? That night was meant to be forgotten and he just…

Maybe Logan had actually forgotten. And he was the only one getting worked up about it.

Still, he couldn't find an explanation for the scene in the bathroom. He'd closed his eyes, and had waited for a kiss… from Logan. He’d managed to convince himself that it was because of Logan's close likeness to Lucas.

But deep down, he feared he was wrong.

“Ugh," Dylan groaned, rubbing his aching temples. He closed in eyes and tried to control his breathing, but all he saw was Logan's teasing smirk and the way his jaw worked as he sucked his–

BEEP!

His phone vibrated with a new notification in his pocket. Sighing, he pulled the device out and clicked it on, half-expecting to see another text Logan.

Instead, Lucas’s number floated on the screen.

A smile formed on Dylan's face without him even trying as he clicked the message open and read it. But as his eyes traveled further down the text, his smile vanished.

"Leaving?” Dylan exclaimed louder than he meant to. "W-why? Missy's place?”

Apparently, Lucas matched with Missy Grudgins for the art project and was leaving to her place. And that meant–

_______________________

“We're all alone."

Logan stood by the doorway, hands in pockets, shirt unbuttoned to reveal his chiseled chest. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck slowly, catching the fading sunlight, and Dylan's attention.

He took a step back, staring down at the street. Like Lucas would somehow spring out from behind the bins and ask that they walk in together. But, unfortunately, none of that happened.

"Lucas… isn't in?" Dylan asked again, like repeating the question would cause Lucas to appear. “I don't think I can–"

“Oh, don't worry," Logan said, moving to the side. He gestured toward the stairs, his grin stretching to a smile. “I don't bite, Dylan. You know that."

Dylan felt tempted to tell him that he actually did bite, that his blowjob was sloppy and all teeth. But instead, he let out a shaky breath and simply nodded.

He climbed up the porch steps. “Your room or…"

“My room,” Logan answered, watching Dylan walk in before closing the door behind him. "You can go up there and wait for me while I go get something."

“Sure."

Dylan gripped the sling of his backpack tight, trying to steady his shaking hand as he headed toward the stairs. As he climbed, his mind traveled back to that night, to when he took his first drunken step up the stairs.

"Keep focus,” he muttered under his breath, shaking the thought away. "Forget about it, will you?”

He managed to reach the corridor without conjuring a single thought about Logan, and trudged his way toward his room. He pushed the door open and a strong scent hit him almost immediately–woody, yet sweet.

Like Logan.

"Fuck,” Dylan cursed in frustration. He'd done it again.

Mumbling to himself, he brought down his bag and began angrily pulling out everything he'd brought. It wasn't until he felt something prick his thumb that he actually stopped.

Wincing, he pulled out his hand and looked down at his thin line of blood blooming across his thumb.

“Great," he whispered, kicking his bag angrily to the side. "Just great.”

His eyes darted across the room, searching for a paper towel or rag that he could use to wipe the blood off when the bedroom door suddenly opened. His head whipped toward the entrance as Logan stepped into the room, two bottles of beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

“Forgive my lateness," he said with a chuckle as he kicked the door close. “Hope you're ready to–” He stopped the moment he saw Dylan's hand and the beads of blood already dropping onto the carpet. “Whoa. Are you hurt?”

He immediately set the beers and chips on the desk and crossed the room toward Dylan.

"It's… it's nothing, really,” Dylan said, trying to hide his hand. "I just caught my thumb on a–"

“You're bleeding." Logan caught his wrist, his grip somehow gentle. "Let me see.”

"Logan, seriously–"

“Dylan."

Something about his tone made Dylan stop arguing. Sighing, he released his hand, his cheeks reddening as Logan turned his thumb over, examining the tiny wound. His thumb brushed gently across Dylan's skin and the boy felt his heart jump.

“It's just a prick," Logan said as his hand traveled to Dylan's wrist, then up his arm.

Before Dylan could react, Logan leaned down and kissed the injured spot, before slowly sucking his thumb.

Dylan immediately yanked his hand away. “What the hell are you doing?”

"I'm just trying to help,” Logan answered with a chuckle. “You're welcome, Dee.” He picked up one of the bottles and held it toward Dylan. “Here. Have a bottle."

Dylan stared at it for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "I don't think I want anything alcoholic right now. After what happened the last time I got drunk…” He paused, watching Logan. “I'd rather remember what I'm doing."

A knowing smile tugged at Logan's lips. “Okay, then. More for me.”

He twisted the cap off and placed his lips on the mouth, ran his tongue down the neck, before taking a long drink.

Dylan sat there, watching intently when Logan's eyes shifted to meet his gaze. Immediately, he scoffed and turned back to his bag to pick up from where he'd stopped.

He pulled out his notebook, laptop, pencils and the other materials they'd need for the project, arranging everything across the floor. Beside him, Logan continued drinking and Dylan could feel his eyes on him.

He ignored it. Or at least, he tried to.

“You know, Dylan," Logan said eventually, “you don't have to act like I'm going to attack you. You've been tense since you walked through the door."

Dylan glanced over his shoulder. “I'm not. Can we just forget about me for a second? We're here to work."

Logan took another drink, smiling into his bottle. "Just work, huh.”

Dylan narrowed his eyes and returned to his work, refusing to give an answer. But while Logan distracted himself with the bag of chips, Dylan couldn't help but stare at his thumb, wondering if it still carried Logan's taste.