Growing Up Together

Growing Up Together – Entry 1

Another Brick In The Wall

Chapter 3 – Sniffle

***

CAMERON:

The longest moments of my life were when I was sitting in the back of that ambulance, holding on to his hand for dear life, not wanting to ever let go.

I was so glad that Grant was going through lifeguard training, and that some of it had rubbed off on me, because, if it hadn't, I would probably have been as useless as everyone else.

His breathing held steady for the whole ordeal, and, from what I could feel from his wrist, and the heart monitor attached to his other finger, he seemed stable enough.

The agonising drive was eventually over, and his hand was wrenched from mine as he was wheeled into the trauma bay.

I followed the stretcher in and stood like a lemon behind the line of the trauma bay, holding our bags behind my back by the straps, craning my neck to try and catch a glimpse of what was happening.

I saw a pair of hands stick a tube into his mouth, and, almost instantly, a pool of blood was sucked out.

I saw someone else shine a light into his eyes, and I saw yet another pair of hands squeeze his shoulder for some reason.

That was all I saw, because out of nowhere, a curtain was drawn across, and a sympathetic, blue-robed nurse appeared in front of me.

Putting a hand on my shoulder, she guided me to the white-walled, windowless relatives room, where I sat, head in my hands, for a minute, or a few, I have no idea, trying to hold back the hot tears that threatened to spill everywhere.

Alone.

The phone in my pocket was going crazy, but I ignored it.

Can't hold back.

A single unchecked tear fell down my cheek.

“Fuck.” I uttered out loud.

Despite all the hot, boiling rage I felt towards Liam, that threatened to consume me completely, the deep-seated anger that was occupying my thoughts at that moment, was directed at the muppets in suits that called themselves teachers.

Completely useless at everything and anything, couldn't run themselves a bath without killing themselves or going to pieces.

And, I thought mirthlessly, I bet they'll find us in some way responsible for it, and throw whatever rule book they can find at us.

My hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically.

I felt my phone vibrate insistently against my thigh, and reluctantly pulled it out to check it.

My eyes widened at the avalanche of texts, missed calls and alerts that had come through.

Carefully sifting through the anonymous ones, I found a mountain of texts from the gang, asking where and how we were, and another mountain of Facebook messages from well-wishers.

I sent a text back to Daniel, trusting him to tell the rest of the guys, briefly updating them on what had happened, and what little I actually knew.

Girding myself, I opened Facebook.

The first obvious thing that popped out was a message from someone I barely knew, with a post link.

Disgustingly enough, it was a (blurry) picture of the ambos and the stretcher being led out of the door.

Thankfully, the convenient placement of a pillar blocked the view of Grant, but you could quite clearly see me, hair everywhere, dogged face of half determination, half disbelief, with a dash of embarrassment, two bags slung carelessly on my back.

With the caption “Ambulance at Rannack! Big fight broke out, someone got knocked out! Police everywhere!”, 241 likes, 60 shares and 400 comments in two hours.

Before I could go any further, the door to the relatives room opened, to reveal the same nurse that brought me here.

Before I could even open my mouth, she said “He's okay.”

I put my hand to my face, and let out a huge breath of relief.

“You were right, he was concussed, and he's got a broken tooth to boot. He started to come round just after you left. He isn't fully with it yet, but all he's been doing is asking for someone called Cameron?”

I smirked a little, despite it all. Even through a concussion, I was all that came to mind.

“That's me. Can I see him?” I asked, sounding a lot more pathetic than I had intended to.

She smiled at me a little, gesturing with her hand.

I stood up, and practically bounded back to A&E, relief coursing through me like the most potent coffee known to man.

The nurse parted the curtain, gestured to her colleague who was helping Grant out, and replaced the curtain.

He was sitting up on the bed, and, as I watched, he spat bloodied water into a sick bowl.

His eyes briefly lifted, and caught mine.

Lips thinned, he sniffed something back.

“Hey.” he whispered.

I couldn't take it anymore.

Crossing the length of the bay with a few strides, I grabbed him into my arms and squeezed. Hard.

I didn't let go for the longest time. And he didn't either.

GRANT:

When I finally did let go, I ran a gentle hand along his cheek, staring deep into his eyes.

The side of my head hurt like hell, and my jaw felt like it was being ripped in two, but just being in proximity to Cameron made all of that insignificant, like faint background noise against loud music.

Not the best metaphor, I know. But my mental faculties weren't exactly at their peak.

“How you holding up?” he whispered, putting his hand against mine.

I winced involuntarily as my head moved.

“Not too badly, really.” I answered. “My head and jaw still hurt like hell, but I'll be alright.”

I should probably have expected it, but I didn't.

He leant forward, and his lips connected with mine.

I gave a little moan of satisfaction, and he pulled away.

“I couldn't resist.” he whispered.

The curtain suddenly swished back, and the consultant, distinctive in her purple uniform, emerged from behind it.

“Do you mind if these two officers have a word with you?” she asked, gesturing behind her to the two Kevlar-clad hulks.

Neither of us objected, and I recognised one of them as our friendly neighbourhood school officer.

They took our statements, and revealed that Liam had made a complaint against Cameron and me for harassment and common assault.

The officers said they had to send a load of forms to the procurator fiscal, and they would get in touch over what was to happen next.

We thanked them, and the consultant took over the conversation.

My mum appeared as well, and after hugging the both of us tightly, she sat down to listen to the consultant.

After they had examined me, they had concluded that there was most likely no serious damage inflicted, but, since I had been unconscious for an extended period of time, they would like to keep me in overnight for observation.

My mum was the sort of person that, if you weren't obviously dying or missing any important parts of your anatomy, she wouldn't panic or worry excessively.

She trusted Cameron to keep an eye on me, and she promised she would be back tomorrow morning to pick us up.

The porter came to take me to the thoughtfully provided private room on the observation ward, in a wheelchair, since my faculties hadn't extended to standing yet without getting incredibly dizzy.

The porter had brought the wheelchair, and was ready to start moving me, but Cameron took over instead, and the mildly confused porter just stayed with us to give directions.

In the lift up to the ward, I whispered to him, “Reckon we could skate to the room?”

He giggled, and looked like he was seriously considering it, when a glare from the porter sent the thought packing.

I was told by the supervising sister, in no uncertain terms, that I was to keep the monitor she was attaching on at all times, and that Cameron was to wake me every few hours, to make sure there were no lingering concussion issues.

I wasn't expecting to get any sleep anyway.

CAMERON:

Finally, after I went out to grab us some proper food for dinner, we were alone.

As we munched through the takeaway pizza, Grant avoiding one side of his mouth, he said he was tired, so we laid down on the hospital bed, arms linked but torsos separate, staring into each others eyes.

We spent the longest time in silence.

Unspoken communication, in stroking, in smiling, was more than enough.

Up to a point.

“Please, don't scare me like that, ever again.” I whispered, lightly holding his shoulder.

He gave me a tired smile, and put his hand on mine.

“I'm so sorry I did that to you.” he whispered. “I can only imagine what you went through.”

Silence reigned for a heartbeat, before he spoke again.

“But, there's so much I want to do. Climb Everest. Skydive from space. Travel the world, and off it.”

He leant forward and lightly kissed my cheek.

“I want to do all those things, right by your side, holding my hand as we jump. So we can be scared together.”

Heat spread through my chest as those words hit me hard, and I failed to hold back tears.

Grant just gave me another smile.

“So, I'll stick around to keep scaring the crap out of you for a little while longer, alright?”

My laugh turned into a heave, and I hugged him, hungrily pressing his lips against mine.

He gave out a moan, and I matched it. His in pain, mine in passion.

I pulled away a little, and whispered “Head still sore?”

He nodded.

The corner of my mouth twitched.

“Well, I've got the perfect medicine for that!”

His eyes creased in confusion, but when I lightly flicked my fingers over his bare waist, the crease lifted, and he matched my smile.

Ever so slowly, I traced a line down his body, past his firm pecs, along his flat but slightly pliable abs, all the way down into the treasure trove of his deliciously hard crotch.

Quickly, I undid the clasp on his trousers, and reached in for my prize.

Grant wriggled a little, letting me pull down his pants and trousers in a frenzied series of movements, bouncing his boner out into the air.

Inverting myself on the bed, I came face to face with him.

With a wink, I sunk down on his dick with my mouth, all 7 squishy inches of it.

Skinning back his sheath, I slithered up his dickhead, lapping up the leaking sweetness.

Grant's head rolled back, and he gave out a little stifled moan of pleasure.

I saw his hands grip the bedsheets, and I locked eyes with him, just to see exactly what would happen when I started toying with his balls.

His eyes rolled back, and he gave out another moan, bucking slightly into my mouth.

I heard a strange beep that came from the heart monitor, but didn't think anything of it, and kept going, thinking that it was just responding to his quickening heart rate due to his arousal.

Grant gave out another moan as I found his piss slit and tickled it with my tongue.

Out of nowhere, the door crashed open, and an army of doctors and nurses appeared, dragging a huge trolley with “CRASH CART” emblazoned in red letters on the side.

I froze in place, and so did they. Grant took a moment longer to realise what was going on than I did.

Grant's dick flopped out of my opened mouth, leaving a string of saliva still attached.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, the doctors and nurses unfroze from staring at us, and backed slowly out of the room, without saying a word.

I rolled off Grant, he put himself away, and after we spent a few moments of awkward silence looking at the door and ourselves, we burst out laughing.

“Well, my headache's gone!” Grant giggled, hugging back into me.

Giggling all the while, we went to sleep, for a while.

An hour and a half is all we were allowed at a time.

Regretfully, I had to shake him awake, and ask him a whole load of questions to make sure he was still with us, and not bleeding into his brain or in the middle of some other bad brain goings-on (very technical, I know!).

Of course, me being me, I had to make some of the questions completely ridiculous.

“Where did we first fly to the moon?”

“When was the first time we took a shit together?”

“How many dildos do I own?”

And of course, him being him, he answered back in an equally flippant manner.

“Well, I should think it was when we banged for the first time.”

“Well, I don't think we have, but you did take a dump while I showered in the same room once.”

“Apart from me, none.”

Despite the sleep deprivation, we stayed entertained, and managed to entertain the nurses who came round every three hours to check on Grant, his monitor and his eyes.

They all thought we were incredibly cute, and were shocked to hear our story.

Eventually, the night was over, and after a final examination by the consultant, we were allowed home to rest properly.

And that's where we stayed, curled up, in my bed, as close as humanly possible to each other, sleeping like the dead for almost an entire day.

GRANT:

When I finally woke up, I did it slowly, almost reluctantly, like an old engine sputtering to life.

My left hand was on Cameron's chest, his was on my cheek. My right hand was trapped under his side, his was on my side.

Our legs were intertwined, and our incredibly cold feet were touching.

Our faces were so close to each other, I could smell his stinky breath.

I have no idea, to this day, how we ended up in that position. It was uncomfortable as all hell now that I was awake!

We still had our school uniforms on, and I found a vague memory of falling onto the bed last night after clumsily pulling our shoes off.

My arm was numb.

I tried to readjust, find some kind of comfortable position, but Cameron was comatose, and I couldn't get him to shift at all.

Fair enough. He went through a lot of emotional trauma in the past day.

I caught myself staring at his face as he slept, the discomfort mostly forgotten about.

The rest of the world was blurry, but I could see him perfectly clearly.

In sleep, his eyes and forehead weren't creased in concern.

In sleep, his eyes weren't wet with worry.

I put my free hand on his head, and traced his crushed flattened hair across his scalp with a finger, softly combing it through.

I spied the clock at the bedside.

7:30.

I exhaled a little.

Guess I have to wake him up now.

Lying back down, I met my lips with his, and began my quiet wakeup call.

Slowly, he began to respond to me, moaning out a little, snorting slightly as he woke up to a mouth on his.

His eyes fluttered open, and he pulled away a little.

“Hey... If this is a dream, you can leave the school shirt on.” he whispered, smiling a little.

I smiled a little, and kissed him again.

“It's a dream.”

I grabbed his flaccid dick through the layers covering it, and smiled.

“Unfortunately, we've gotta get up.”

He sighed, and sat up.

“Why can't we just lie here and enjoy each others company for a year or so?”

I fell back into the messy bedclothes, letting out a massive sigh.

“Well, I'd love to, but I'm afraid we have to go and sock it to some idiots.”

He grinned, taking my hand to pull me up.

“Well, I do enjoy that.”

We showered, ate, got dressed and walked in record time to school, the stony silence of anticipation getting harder the closer we got.

We had to do it though, just to prove that we hadn't been put on the back foot. That we hadn't been sent running scared by that limp-dicked bastard, to everyone else, and ourselves.

We crossed the threshold, and began the walk to the breakout space.

I have no idea how much was paranoia, and how much was real, but it felt like the hubbub of the school had died down a little since we had last been here.

Out of nowhere, I got blindsided by a pair of arms when I was looking the other way.

It was Daniel.

“Thank fuck you're okay!”

The guys were extremely happy to see I was okay, and laid off with the hugging once they realised how sore my head was.

The only question that hadn't been filled by Daniel was “What the hell happened at the hospital?”

I quickly panned across the room.

Everyone had the same look of concern plastered on their faces.

The sides of my mouth creased upwards.

“Well, we learned that when you get a blowjob off someone, while wearing a heart monitor, it tends to scare the shit out of the nurses.”

END OF CHAPTER 3

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MY OTHER STORIES:

Young Lovers Series:

Highland Flings – http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/camping/highland-flings

Growing Up Together – http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/growing-up-together

Big And Little Lovers Series:

My Little Brigade Boy - http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/my-little-brigade-boy

Camp Blow By Blow - http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/camping/camp-blow-by-blow

Fumble And Tumble - A Short Story - http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/fumble-and-tumble

Standalone Stories:

What A Onesie Can Lead To – http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/what-a-onesie-can-lead-to.html