The Best

Sebastian cried for the home he'd walked away from, for that gilded cage of wealth and destitution under the same roof, where he'd been raised with want for nothing and yet had only ever yearned for something more. He cried for his sister and his mother who had been incapable of showing him a shred of kindness or were simply too afraid to. He cried for never having known whether they'd suffered the same as he did, and for his own selfishness for wishing deep down that they had. He cried for his father, for all the pain he'd inflicted on him, leaving scars that would last long after his flesh had healed. He cried for having been made in his image and prayed he wasn't in his likeness. He cried for the fear he'd carried around with him like a little dead thing, for the abandonment that had marked each day. Most of all, he cried for himself, because he was so lost. So profoundly, thoroughly lost, he didn't even know who he was anymore or where to begin. Bach's Ave Maria lent a sympathetic accompaniment from the record player. They stayed that way for a long time. Ches received him silently, arms wrapped loosely around his quaking shoulders, offering the occasional soothing shush, but never demanding a word of explanation. Like he even needed to ask. He probably knew everything Sebastian was going through already. If this boy saw the world the same way he did, if he could see treasure where others only saw trash, then he knew. Ches knew better than anyone. At last, when he'd used up his reserve of self-pity and he was out of tears, Sebastian lifted his head. He was bone-tired and depleted, but in a cleansing way. Like an infection that had been drained to ease the swelling: a start to the healing process. “Feel better?” “Yeah.” And he meant it. The sharper edges of his hurt had been dulled to a manageable ache. Now he felt hollowed out, keenly aware of the void that had always been there, lying just beneath the Fabergé egg of his life: beautiful on the outside but as empty as it was fragile. “Sorry I made a mess of your shirt.” Ches pulled at the fabric, surveying the damage. It had been ugly-crying at its finest. But he just shrugged and took a spare washcloth from the caddy to wipe at it until it was passably clean. “Mi camiseta es tu camiseta.” He chuckled at his own joke. And just like that, the matter was forgiven. No judgment, no ridicule, no stinging slap. Could it really be this easy? But wasn't there a “right” and “wrong” way to be? Wasn't that what rules were for? Ches's live-and-let-live attitude flew boldly in the face of that, and Sebastian began to suspect that perhaps rules were overrated. He wondered how he could have been raised with such differing values—values that were time-tested and Almighty-approved for the Bible tells me so—only to feel that everything he'd known was now wrong. The realization that his foundation was so flimsy just made the future, with its myriad unknowns, that much more terrifying. His hands lay limp in his lap, fingers flexing and unflexing around nothing in particular. He ran a thumb lightly over the bandage on his wrist. “I'm seriously fucked,” he admitted at last. “Hey. Hey!” Ches turned to him, genuine surprise on his face. “What are you talking about?” “I can't go back there again.” He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, breathing out a sigh. “Yeah, I wouldn't want to either.” Ches leaned a shoulder against the wardrobe, tucking the soiled washcloth into his crossed arms. “Ches, you don't get it. He already said—my father disowned me, okay? I don't have anywhere to go.” Jesus Christ, it really was as bad as it sounded, wasn't it? “Then stay here.” “Thanks,” he managed even though the offer made his teeth itch. Charity was something he'd never learned how to accept, but right now what other choice did he have? He straightened, raking his hands over his thighs. “I guess if I can just crash here for a couple days until—” “No, you misunderstand me,” Ches lilted in a singsong kind of way. He singsonged almost everything he said. “I mean. Stay. Here.” Sebastian scoffed with a shake of his head. “Come on, be realistic. I can't just move in.” “Why not?” “Because—” He gestured vaguely at the room. “Where would I even sleep?” Ches arched a brow. “Uh, you're sitting on it.” “Unbelievable.” He rolled his eyes. “You have an answer for everything, don't you?” “Well, you're asking easy questions. Try asking me something complicated next time.” Was he serious? Sebastian was beginning to grow weary of this tit-for-tat, and annoyance burned at the edges of his words. “This isn't a game, Ches.” “But it is, Glam. Life's a game. And I'm just here—” He fanned his palms in an arch as he purred. “—to play. Maybe it's time you learned the rules.” Sebastian looked at him curiously, wondering if there was some method to Ches's madness. When it came to this kid from the wrong side of the tracks, he could never tell. “Oh, yeah?” he ventured. “And what might those rules be?” “There are none, man!” Ches laughed, chucking the balled-up washcloth at his head. Sebastian dodged it, balking. “Guh! Don't be gross!” He glared daggers at Ches, but Ches was only looking at him with a kind of pitying smile. It struck him that his eyes were a very dark shade of hazel. Like calm, deep waters. “And don't be worried.” Producing a lighter from seemingly nowhere, Ches flipped it idly in his fingers, opening and shutting the silver lid with a quick flick of his wrist. Click, open, click, shut. “Look, dude, you've been sheltered your whole life.” Sebastian bristled. Shame colored his cheeks as he took the statement as an attack on his character. Even though it was the truth. Click, open. “And now you're not. So what?” Click, shut. “So what?” Sure, a sheltered life meant he was less equipped at certain things, but was the alternative any better? To be without a safety net, exposed to the elements, vulnerable. How could Ches make it sound like that could possibly be okay? “Well, maybe it's only once you've been unsheltered—” Ches flipped open the lighter and lit it. Small suns illuminated his eyes as he spoke, gazing dreamily at the flame. “—that you can stand in sunlight.” He glanced at Sebastian and grinned, flicking the lighter shut again. “Or something like that.” Sebastian stared at his friend as though really seeing him for the first time. His father had warned him that those who lived in this part of town were “unworthy,” the type of people with no class, no values, and no options. But Ches was nothing like that. Where his father had only seen a tramp and a lowlife, Sebastian saw a genius. A genius who could find the good in any situation. A prodigy who could read musical notations in nothing more than a flock of birds on power lines. A savior who had so casually rescued him out of his personal Hell when he didn't even know he needed rescuing himself. The first time they'd met, Sebastian had been a rabid raccoon, snapping at anything that drew too near. And what had Ches done? He'd offered to be his friend. Friendships hadn't been an easy thing to attain in Sebastian's life, much less maintain. His father had seen to that, filling his days with practice and private tutors that afforded little time for socializing. His cushy life, in that house that had been more a prison than a home, had left him shackled in more ways than one. Despite having the best education that money could buy, he was still painfully ignorant in the ways of the world. He felt suddenly inadequate in front of Ches. Unable to look at him, he glanced around, but realized there was Ches everywhere he looked. The room was as much alive with character as Sebastian's own had been devoid of it. Whereas Sebastian's was as sterile as a hospital room, there was a vibrant quality to Ches's, every nook and cranny telling a lifetime's worth of story. It made him wonder what his own story had to say. “You're talking like it's all over.” Ches crouched in front of Sebastian, trying to peer up into his eyes. “But it's just the beginning.” “I—” Sebastian was still speaking to a corner of the rug, but Ches clapped both hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look forward. His palms burned. “I'm telling you, Glam! You 'n' me, we're gonna go places. With your skills and my smarts—” Ches waggled his brows good-humoredly. “—they'll be lining up to hear us. And before long, we won't be opening for other acts. We'll be the main act.” His eyes were alight, already seeing the future he was so certain was just within reach. When Sebastian looked into those eyes, he thought he could almost see it too. If confidence was infectious, then Ches was the goddamn plague. It was hard to doubt him, especially when he had been right about nearly everything so far. “Man, I've never seen anyone play like you. You rip into that guitar like—like fucking Jimi Hendrix! Like Kirk Hammett! When you're up on that stage—” He dropped his hands to give Sebastian's wrists a gentle squeeze, making his fingers automatically curl into triumphant fists. He didn't miss the way Ches's thumb traced the same course he had earlier. But where he touched, the searing itch beneath the bandage gave way to a comforting warmth. “—you've got the whole crowd in your hand. You're going to do incredible things, Glam.” It was so easy to feel at ease around Ches, defenses dismantled with nothing more than a kind word or gesture. No, it took even less than that. It was Ches's very being that had this effect on him. This short, scrappy kid showed him what real freedom was, found not in affluence but in the honesty of being true to oneself. And like sunlight striking raindrops, Sebastian felt the darkest parts of himself shine with newfound radiance. He must've been smiling because Ches returned it with a heartfelt one of his own, his eyes soft with admiration. “And I'll just be lucky enough to be there to see it. What we've got—it's like nothing else. You're the most amazing person I've ever met, Glam. More than amazing.” He leaned closer like he really needed Sebastian to hear this, even as his voice dropped to a whisper. “The best.” Sebastian moved before his brain had a say in the matter. In the next heartbeat, he'd closed the distance, pressing his lips against Ches's. It was the first thing he'd done in a long time that actually felt right, because Ches was stunning just the way he was and wonderful and precisely what he'd been searching for, and to do anything else but kiss him was unthinkable. Lips parted, and warmth sparked where they were connected. Something began to bloom inside him. And suddenly, Sebastian remembered what he was doing. He snapped out of his reverie and reared back like he'd been burned, mouth still hanging open. Ches's expression mirrored his own, eyebrows suspended in a high arch. “Glam, I—” “No! I didn't mean to!” He knocked Ches's hands away with a swipe of one arm, ready to fend off the imminent attack. “I shouldn't have done that. Forget it!” Why had he done that? What was the matter with him? Maybe he was still sleep-deprived. He wasn't thinking straight. He'd just wanted to follow those words back from where they'd come, to find what other treasures lay hidden inside that perfect mouth of his. He bit his lower lip, locking his eyes on the ground. How would Ches look at him now, thinking he was nothing but a fucking fa— “No, no, dude. Don't get me wrong.” Ches raised his hands in the universal sign for surrender. “I'm not offended. I was just...surprised, is all. I didn't know you were—” “I'm not!” That smirk again. “Neither am I.” Ches cocked his head to the side in thought, his half-lidded gaze flitting over Sebastian's face and bare chest as though reading something there that Sebastian himself couldn't see. Evidently intrigued by what he'd found, he sidled closer, lowering Sebastian's hands again with a firm but yielding grip. Allowing him to slip free anytime he wanted. This up close, the green flecks against the stormcloud gray of his eyes were vibrant, drawing Sebastian in. “But that doesn't mean I'm not game for it.” “What?” He never got another word in, because this time Ches was kissing him. At first, he could only blink owlishly and stare, but soon he was swept up in the sensations of Ches's mouth over his, of his hands coming up to cup his face, puffs of breath on his cheek and a soft hum in his throat. And he managed to spare a distant prayer of thanks that Ches's eyes were closed so that he wouldn't have to see him crumble for the second time that night. Ches traded Sebastian's chasteness for something far more extravagant, far more enthralling. This was beyond playground kisses. What Ches did with his lips and tongue spoke of a level of expertise that far exceeded Sebastian's own, a seamless blend of passion and passivity. He never knew a kiss could be like this, and a surprised gasp at those supplicating licks granted Ches just the opening he needed. Spicy clove unfurled on his tongue, stinging his sinuses. When Ches first slipped inside, his satisfied moan sent frissons of electricity tingling up Sebastian's limbs and over his scalp, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His fingers circling Ches's wrists shivered in a way that had nothing to do with exposed skin and everything to do with tremulous awe. Here, he was just as lost as before. The only difference was he wasn't alone. Ches was his guide, and he had only to take his hand and let him lead. Like ice under the sun's rays, he softened, melted, warmed to the kiss—became a partner to it. Where Ches withdrew, Sebastian followed; where he advanced, Sebastian parried. He was the student in this, sorely inept, but Ches was a patient teacher as he was in all things. The ebb and flow of their kiss came over him like a wave, slowly drawing him further out to sea. Where deeper waters waited. He was breathless by the time they both surfaced, Sebastian panting as he rested his forehead against Ches's, eyes unfocused. “Better?” He could only nod his head shakily, finding it hard to concentrate, much less speak cohesively. He couldn't seem to look away from Ches's lips, watching them with newfound fascination as they lifted into another grin in response to something he'd apparently said. After planting one last lingering kiss that had Sebastian's mouth seeking him out in vain, Ches marked a trail down his neck and collar, each point of contact bringing blood rushing to the surface until he was painted red with arousal. “Good. 'Cause I'm just getting started,” Ches murmured around another open-mouthed kiss, before splaying a hand over his chest and pushing him gently down onto the mattress. He went willingly, loose and limber. Floating. But this was a weightlessness different from the detached apathy from before, because he was more here than he'd been in a long time, grateful for the excuse to revel in the external while everything inside had a chance to mend. After all, a violin couldn't be repaired without first loosening its strings. And he was far out of tune. From beyond the edge of the bed, he didn't see so much as hear Ches settle between his knees, hands making themselves at home along the insides of his thighs. His breath began to quicken and his skin burned where he was touched, a fresh blush heating his cheeks as his body reacted in the only way that could be expected of a healthy teenage boy: flesh rising to attention. His knuckles went white where he fisted the sheets, every muscle drawn taut as a bowstring, quivering with anticipation. He may have been inexperienced, but that didn't mean he was completely naive. Even he had enough sense to know what was coming next. His heart had begun to flutter against his ribs like a trapped bird. “Ches.” The name hitched in his throat at the telltale waft of cool air that kissed his overheated privates. “It's all right. It's all right.” Ches repeated the mantra steadily, evenly, as he undid the towel with the utmost care. Unwrapping him like a gift. “Trust me, this'll blow your mind.” A memory transplanted Sebastian swiftly back to his room, to the night he'd first heard Twisted Sister playing from his turntable. Not Bach, but a big bang. He still remembered those opening notes, the heavy metal music so strange, so foreign—an offense to the senses and everything he knew to be right. He'd wanted to shut it off immediately and toss the damned thing. Even made the effort to get up from the bed and do just that. But he'd been too tired, beaten down and broken. From where he lay at rock bottom, he'd had no choice but to let it happen, let the music take him. And it had changed his world. Now, as then, he could not find the will to resist what was about to come. In the face of every ingrained notion of decency and propriety, damnation and prejudice, he surrendered fully, submitting himself to this greater power. Because he wasn't himself anymore. There were no rules. And his cock was already snug in Ches's hand, a warm breath stirring his pubic hair as Ches leaned closer, closer— Hot, tight wetness engulfed him whole, and Sebastian snapped his head back into the mattress with a soundless gasp. Forgot how to breathe. His nerves sparked and shorted, unable to process the sensation of being in someone's mouth, the head of his cock bumping against the back of a throat. All of Sebastian's awareness funneled down to the juncture between his thighs where there was heat and pressure and suction and—too much! Panicking, his hands scrambled down to grab at Ches's head, as though meaning to tear him off. Everything he'd ever known told him to do it. But a tantalizing stroke of Ches's skilled tongue along the underside of his cock, and Sebastian gave an unseemly moan, anchoring Ches in place instead, fingers tangling in his hair. Pleasure tipped the scales, supplanting his prior hesitation with a greedy delirium. When Sebastian dared to peek, Ches's head was bobbing up and down dutifully, the look on his face one of effortless focus as he worked him from root to tip, all undulating tongue and squeezing fingers moving in syncopation. Slow and languid, quick and rough, the combination had his stomach flip-flopping and his toes curling. He was no stranger to masturbation, but his self-administrations, stagnant with routine, paled in comparison to this. There was an unparalleled thrill in the unpredictable, a unique flavor of arousal that could be discovered only when so completely in the care of another. Eroticism in perspective. Sebastian had merely gone through the motions, a means to an end. But this—this was a celebration of the flesh. Lips formed a tight seal around his glans as Ches sucked hard, pulling off just enough to swirl his tongue across the slit before diving back down again. And the noises he was making—fuck! Sebastian turned to bury his face in the sheets. But he couldn't escape the lewd squelching and slurping that clashed with the classical notes of the world's greatest composer still playing in the background. It was blasphemy. It was art. A particularly devilish twirl of Ches's tongue, and Sebastian let slip a punctuated cry. And like the talented musician he was, Ches listened closely to the instrument in his hands, taking cues in the form of gasps and moans to adjust his technique, tuning it just so, until Sebastian was a whimpering, trembling mess. No way he was going to last long like this. Already it was coming together, scattered points of light converging into one to birth a star, lucent and burning at his core. He was powerless in the blaze of this supernova, this chorus of rising crescendos racing to the top, light and music as one. He relinquished his hold on Ches's hair to press the heels of his hands into his eyes. Blinding brilliance. His mouth opened around a wordless plea, sight and sound leaving him. There was only touch, only here, now, Ches— “Ches!” His hips lifted clear off the bed as the orgasm lanced through him, the trill of his arousal reaching a fever pitch that lasted two beats, four, sputtered over a fifth. Before running out of notes and flinging itself off into a tumbling, discordant bluster. Sebastian fell with it, dashing apart when he hit Earth again, boneless and stupid. Spent. His heart drummed in his chest beneath the calm that settled over him like a shroud. He cast an arm across his face while his other hand flopped onto the disheveled sheets, lingering tremors making his fingers twitch. Everything was still, spectacularly still. From the turntable, Bach played on undisturbed, a trusted confidant to what had just transpired. Gradually, his heart slowed to match the tempo of Come Sweet Death. Distantly, he heard Ches stand up, the cold touch of air on his wet crotch making him shiver. He still couldn't bring himself to look, not yet, but he tracked Ches's movements as he made his way about the room, plucking tissues from somewhere, wadding them up, and then dropping them into a bin. Shoes thudded on the rug, one and then the other. There was a quick swish and gargle of water, then the slight zipper-scratch of the needle being lifted from the record. Sebastian gave a jaw-cracking yawn as the single desk lamp was clicked off. The rustle of fabric finally piqued his curiosity enough to make him turn his head to watch. Ches was shrugging out of his jacket before peeling off his shirt to reveal a swathe of olive skin. Lines of definition along his arms and back revealed a strength there Sebastian hadn't noticed before. He looked as sturdily built as Sebastian was waiflike. His gold bead necklace clinked as he curled over to step out of his jeans, and Sebastian swallowed when he saw the obvious bulge at the front of his underwear. “C'mon. Roll over.” Ches's voice sounded gruffer in the darkness. The mattress groaned under his weight as one knee nudged between Sebastian's thighs. He can’t seriously mean to— Sebastian scuttled back with an outstretched arm, wincing when he hit the wall with his head. “W-wait. Ches. I don't think we should—I mean, I can't.” Ches blew a puff of air up into his bangs. “Of course we'll fit.” Grabbing the corner of the blanket, he pulled firmly, sending Sebastian rolling off in an ungainly heap. “You just gotta make some room, mon ami. But I get the wall.” By the time Sebastian had righted himself, the sheets were fluttering down into place, and Ches was lying down by his side, drawing the blanket up over them both. “But I'm still—I'm not...decent.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than he realized it was silly to be concerned, in light of what they'd just done together. It was getting hard to care about anything right now, especially when he was still ensconced in sex's afterglow and the pool of heat at the base of his spine was bleeding out into his limbs. “Relaaaaax.” The word dissolved into a yawn, as Ches curled onto his side, arm tucked beneath his head. He'd given Sebastian the only pillow. “It's a warm night anyway.” Sebastian couldn't argue with that. Nor did he want to. A fatigue akin to death pulled at his eyes and sat like a lead anvil on his chest. When he exhaled, the breath seemed to come from far deep inside, carrying out with it the last residual wisps of his prior self. He lay like that for a time, reveling in the perfect vacuum of his lungs. Emptiness could take many forms—a desolate void, a dull blankness, an aching lack—but this was only an expectant vacancy, a space inside him that was waiting to be filled. But with what? “G'night, Glam,” Ches murmured beside him, delivering the answer in a sigh across his cheek. With it, Glam breathed in all the possibilities.