by Cynus

Chapter 9

Shoot for the Stars

My first instinct immediately upon opening the door was to reach for the light switch, but my arm didn't make it halfway before I stopped and gasped. Besides the dim illumination of the emergency lights in the pool, a soft glow permeated the room, coming from the walls and floor and even from the water itself. Hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars carpeted the tiled floor and had also been stuck to the wall. Several larger stars had been placed in the water itself by a careful hand, and would be easy to retrieve by diving for them. I was sure there'd be some hanging from the ceiling as well if it weren't too high to reach.

"Did you do all this?" I breathed, awestruck as I slowly scanned from one side of the room to the other, trying to grasp the scope of the project.

Clint's hand found mine in the near darkness and squeezed it gently. "You know, you've been really stressed out lately. I thought it about time you had a chance to be weightless for a while. I might not be able to get you into space," he paused and gestured to the room, "but I hoped I might be able to bring space to you."

"This . . ." I choked back a sob, overcome by sudden emotion. "This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I . . ." My knees started to buckle, and only the leg brace kept me from going down. Clint sensed my weakness and caught me, holding our naked bodies together. He guided me over to one of the chairs beside the pool and sat me down, then left my side to pull over another pool chair for himself.

When he was sitting again, he took my hand once more and said, "Greg, Celeste, Rebecca, David . . . all your friends want to see you happy." He gestured with his head toward the stars surrounding us, and continued. "They all worked together to help me do this, after they helped me realize you weren't trying to be an asshole the other night."

I hung my head in shame and replied, "I really am sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He kissed my cheek to show me he meant it, then said, "I'm okay, and I'm over it. I do need to tell you something, though."

The hesitation in his voice immediately caught my attention. I sat up straight and looked him in the eye and asked, "What's up?"

Clint sighed heavily. "My dad, he thinks . . ." He spluttered over his emotions, looking away from me, his eyes embarrassed and nervous. With a deep breath, he said, "Ugh, I hate saying this because . . ."

I knew why. His embarrassment was all my fault. "Because you're afraid I'll judge you?"

His head spun towards me in surprise, but he nodded and said, "Yeah. I mean, I shouldn't but . . ."

I put up my hand to stop him. "No. You have reason to believe I would. I get it. I don't exactly have the best record of being non-judgmental when it comes to you."

"I don't entirely blame you," Clint replied. "I imagine your dad doesn't make it easy for you to think otherwise."

"No, but I did threaten to kill him today," I replied without thinking about the potential consequences.

"Jesus!" Clint said it with such emotion, I winced. When I didn't immediately respond, Clint asked, "What for?"

This, at least, I could answer with some confidence. "He told me he was proud of me for 'breaking up with you', which is something I absolutely never plan to do, by the way." I'm completely in love with you."

"He was proud of you for that?" Clint shook his head ruefully. "Fuck. I could tell he didn't like me, but that's pretty harsh."

I let go of my cane, letting it clatter loudly to the floor so I wouldn't have to let go of his hand. Reaching up with my now empty hand, I stroked his cheek and then cupped his chin gently. "Hey, don't worry about him. That shit is never going to happen. You're stuck with me. He's an asshole, and he can go fuck himself for all I care."

"Well," Clint said softly, "I still think threatening to kill him is a little much. But, I suppose as long as you didn't actually do it, no harm done."

I stroked his cheek again and said, "I may sometimes let the stress get to me, but I promise I'll always defend you with my heart."

"Sweet, corny, and I love it." He leaned across the gap between our chairs and kissed me gently. Although I was disappointed when he pulled away, there still were things to discuss so it was probably for the best.

"So, what did you want to tell me?" I asked after we were settled into our chairs again.

From reading his expression I knew the subject bothered him. Before I could tell him we didn't have to talk about it, he answered me. "My dad thinks I might have a learning disability. Have you ever heard of math dyslexia?"

I shook my head and replied, "No, I don't think so."

"People who have it have a difficult time understanding and reading numbers," Clint explained, and I felt a sudden pit forming in my stomach. My boyfriend's face contorted in pain and discomfort as he related the rest of his concerns, and I couldn't help but feel as if I were part of the cause. "I hate to admit it," He said, chuckling bitterly, "but I think I might have it, based on what I know of the symptoms. It would explain why math has never made sense to me. My dad's going to have me tested next week."

I looked away and said, "Now I really feel like an asshole."

I started to pull my hand away, but didn't get far before Clint caught me and held me fast. "Don't," He said insistently. I risked a glance his way again and he continued. "Zane, please, don't. I didn't know I had it, either. I thought . . . I thought I was an idiot, too," he said, and the levee broke on my tears then. I felt the pain from my words stinging him again, and I couldn't help it; I started crying like a baby.

But I didn't let go of his hand, and Clint didn't let go, either. He smiled at me sadly and said, "It doesn't matter. I . . , you've been trying to help me since the beginning, and I know where your heart is, even if your mouth sometimes doesn't." His smile became a grin as he added, "I know all about my mouth getting out of control, so please don't be so hard on yourself."

In looking at his face, I couldn't help but catch the glow of the stars behind him; there were so many, and I'd already lost all hope to count them. The soft, comforting glow of their light did wonders for my soul, and it had all been the result of this caring, forgiving, and beautiful boy in front of me. "Clint, anyone who can pull off something like this . . ." I gestured around the room, pausing as much to regain control over my emotions as to give him a chance to take in the moment. "You're amazing, Clint, in so many ways I can't possibly name them all. I don't deserve you."

He winced, and I wondered what I'd said wrong, especially when he let go of my hand and sat up straight, inching to the edge of the chair so he was close to me. His hands folded together between his legs, making a pleading gesture as he said, "Zane, please never tell me you don't deserve me. I love you." He choked back a sob, reaching up with one of his hands to cover his mouth as he breathed deeply. "I w-wish I could take all the pain away from you." As he paused for another breath, I reached to reclaim his hand and he gratefully slipped it into mine, squeezing it for additional strength. "You have way too much weight on your shoulders, and I just want to free you from it for a moment. I hope you'll put it aside for tonight at least and just be with me."

It sounded better than I could have possibly imagined. "I'd love to."

He grinned and nodded once, resolutely. "I'm going to take off your leg brace so we can get in the pool."


He let go of my hand and knelt in front of the chair, then reached up to begin undoing the straps on my brace. His gentle fingertips against my upper thigh had an immediate effect on my semi-hard dick, and it snapped to attention while his fingers paused inches away from it. Clint's eyes darted to it, his tongue working subconsciously as it poked out of his mouth briefly and licked across his lower lip.

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but I was certain Clint's body had responded in reaction to my predicament, and that realization almost made me moan. My whole body tensed with anticipation as Clint's hand worked deftly to undo my brace and smoothly slide it down my leg before tossing it aside.

And then nothing happened. He paused, his eyes glued to my penis in the soft glow of the stars he'd laid out for us. His eyes twinkled in the glow, an eagerness slowly overtaking them as my body begged him to take me.

"Clint . . ." I moaned, my voice begging him every bit as much as my twitching manhood wanted me to.

He glanced up at my face briefly, his eyes meeting mine and communicating that eagerness directly to my soul; the love, the lust, and that sweet delicious light of his ever-burning spirit, all wanting me, all desiring me with equal fervor.

And then he moved forward, his lips parting as his mouth enveloped my shaft in his warm, moist caress. His tongue wrapped around my glans like it was greeting an old friend, embracing hard and steadily, lingering and soaking in the contact. It was like nothing I had ever felt before, and my back arched as my eager body ached to bury itself as deep inside Clint as possible.

His mouth bobbed up and down on my shaft, sucking me in as deeply as he could manage and then wrapping his tongue down the entire length as he pulled back. He worked my dick at a feverish pace, eagerly devouring each inch for as long as he had breath, then pulling back with a succulent plop. My hands began on the arms of the pool chair, gripping them with white knuckles as my body adjusted to the euphoric sensation, but after a minute or so one hand found the back of his head while the other moved to my erect nipple, tracing small circles around it to the rhythm of Clint's ministration.

Every few times he pulled off, he tried something new. The first time it was sucking my balls into his mouth, then he licked along my inner thigh. I didn't mind the exploration, especially when he found a ticklish spot along my hip and painted it with his tongue. I twitched like a madman when his tongue danced across my skin, slowly edging toward the inevitable release.

When he pulled off the next time, I knew if he went back down I was going to cum, but I wasn't ready yet. I didn't want this to end so quickly, and I slid my hand around from the back of his head to his chin, cupping it gently and lifting his face up so he could look me in the eye.

"Help me into the pool," I said urgently.

He cocked his head to the side and asked, "You want to get into the pool?"

"From the first time I ever thought about having sex, I wanted to do it in the water," I said, grinning. "Please?"

"Your wish is my command," he said, then lowered his lips and gave the head of my glistening dick a gentle kiss before standing. It twitched in response and I almost blew my load from the sheer romance of the gesture. Clint's chivalry didn't stop there, for when he offered his hand to help me out of the pool chair, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. I giggled softly and he blushed. "I've always wanted to do that."

I grinned at him and said, "Awesome. I don't mind at all."

With his support, I stood, aware immediately that I'd have to rely entirely on Clint until we reached the poolside. Thankfully it was only a few feet away, and after a few careful steps we stood on its edge. "Okay," I said, "Let's sit down."

He helped me into a sitting position, then sat down next to me. As our feet dangled into the water, I turned my head toward him, leading with my lips as if I were going to kiss him, then slid past his mouth to his ear and whispered, "Stay here."

I leaned sideways toward the pool and let gravity take over, pulling me into the water. I turned while still under the surface and swam up and between Clint's legs. My head broke the surface between his knees, and my arms reached up and underneath his thighs so I could grip his hips and slide him all the way to the edge of the pool, bringing his throbbing erection into range of my mouth. My lips parted and enveloped him before he even realized what was happening.

He caught on quickly, first sucking in his breath then letting out a loud moan as my tongue hungrily went to work on his shaft. I drank in the scent of his musk, mixed with the comforting aroma of the chlorine pool around me. The taste of his precum was like eating the best comfort food ever made, salty, meaty, and feeling like it belonged in my mouth. I buried his penis as deep in my throat as I could manage, the tip of my nose getting tickled by his pubes as I started to gag.

I pulled off momentarily to breathe, and then Clint's hand slipped behind my head, fingers weaving into my wet hair. I looked up at him to see him smiling, his eyes filled with absolute adoration. "You're amazing, you know that?" He asked.

"If I taste half as good as you do, then I'd be willing to accept that compliment," I said. He chuckled and was about to say something in response but I would have none of it. I was hungry. "Now, I believe you're interrupting my dinner."

And then I was back on him, devouring every inch of his throbbing spear I could manage. I only gagged a little this time as I went down on him. My dick shuddered in response to the stimulus my taste buds endured, and it begged for me to reach down and stroke it in matching cadence to the rhythm of my dancing tongue. Clint started to moan, the sound as invigorating as the nectar dripping down my throat, and I couldn't take it anymore. I let go of Clint's hip with my left arm to stroke myself and found myself slipping.

Before I my lust-filled brain realized I was falling back into the water, my other arm slipping off Clint's hip, catching on his skin several times in vain attempts to find purchase. As my mouth disconnected from Clint's dick with a loud pop, my fingers, too slick from the pool water to find their grip, instead only managed to pull Clint into the water with me.

We entangled in the water briefly, then surfaced together, gasping for air. No sooner than we'd surfaced and recovered from the shock of hitting the water our lips found each other's. We made out furiously, lips and tongues smashing together with passionate vigor, fighting to taste and be tasted as hands, arms, and legs entangled in the water, pulling our bodies together with equal force. Our dicks smashed uncomfortably between us, and we pulled away for a brief moment.

Instinct took over, but Clint was slightly quicker as he reached down and hooked his arms beneath my thighs, pulling me up and toward him. My hands, which had been reaching to do the same to him, instead wrapped around his neck as he held me. The next instant my buttocks lowered slightly in the water, and his dick slipped between my cheeks and the tip brushed against the rim of my ass. My whole body shuddered at the sensitive contact, then immediately begged for more as I voluntarily moved my ass against his dick again.

"Do you . . ." Clint panted between kisses. "Do you want me to . . .?"

"Yes," I begged. "Please, oh God yes!"

"I don't have a co—" He started, but I cut him off with a kiss.

I pulled back and said, "We're both virgins. Just fuck me already." Keeping one hand around his neck for support, I reached down with the other and gripped his dick, lining it up against my hole. Clint nodded and thrust upward slightly, the head of his dick started to go in and then slipped out.

"This is harder than the internet makes it sound," Clint said, laughing.

Although I'd been initially frustrated at this brief interruption in our sexual exploration, Clint's laughter softened my mood and loosened me up. I found his dick with my hand again and lined it up one more time then said, "Go slowly. There's only been a few things up there before."

"Oh? Like what?" He asked, then sucked his breath in quickly as his cock once again breached the entrance to my hole, but this time it stayed as we both remained frozen in place, growing accustomed to the feeling.

I smiled as I rested there, wondering if I should try and lower myself further on his shaft or let him do the movement. It didn't hurt yet, but I expected it would soon. I'd had other things in there, after all. "I've done a few cucumbers," I admitted. "I was always worried they'd break in there, though, so I've only done it a few times."

"Oh, well, I hope I don't break in there," Clint said, grinning, "Are you ready?"

In answer, I let my hips drop slightly and he sunk deeper into me. We both paused at the new sensation, adjusting to this foreign mix of pleasure and pain. Feeling him inside me, however, filled me with more desire than anything ever had before, and the pleasure soon became the overriding sensation. I dropped lower, then couldn't force myself any further onto him from my position and growled in frustration.

"Are you okay?" Clint asked. "Do you need me to—"

"Deeper," I growled. "Press in deeper. I want all of you inside of me. Now."

And so he did, and the pleasure exploded through the wall of pain, and I lost all ability to think rationally. I moved my hips back and forth, setting the rhythm as Clint's hands tightened on my thighs, his breath immediately becoming ragged as he lost himself in the movement. He moaned loudly, and that only made me hungrier for him, so I returned my other arm to his neck and pulled my lips up to meet his.

I don't remember who came first, me in the water or him inside of me, but I do remember both happened within seconds of the other. It was the most magical feeling I'd ever experienced, surrounded by the soft glow of the stars, laboriously placed about the room by Clint's loving hand. For the first time in my life I felt true release, true weightlessness as I rested in Clint's arms, floating in the ever-deep pool of his eyes. He'd freed me, and taken me out of this world to places I'd only dreamed about.

Time became meaningless as we came down from our sexual high; seconds, minutes, and hours disappeared as our time together became eternity. Eventually we succumbed to fatigue, exhausted physically and spent emotionally, and we slowly made our way to the edge of the pool. We climbed out, him first before extending a hand to help me onto the tiled edge.

We communicated wordlessly with a glance and a smile, and Clint moved to the storage cabinet where we kept our extra pool supplies, then came back with a giant stack of clean, white, towels. We dried each other off then used the extra towels to form a bed at the side of the pool. Draping the last of the long towels over our bodies as a blanket, I slid up behind him, spooning his body as we welcomed a well-needed sleep.

I woke up after what felt like a couple of hours, my dick rock hard and buried between Clint's sheltering ass cheeks. It felt like it belonged there as much as his had belonged inside of me. Our skin to skin contact felt amazing in every way, taking me to a high beaten only by the orgasmic euphoria we'd shared earlier.

I let my fingers brush down his side toward his hip and felt him stir. He shifted, pulling our blanket of towels with him as he rolled away from me first, then up onto his other side. He scooted back toward me so we were inches away again, but facing each other.

His face was difficult to see in the now extremely muted glow of the stars around us, but his mumbled voice had a distinct level of sweetness as he said, "I love you."

My hand found his cheek and stroked it gently as I replied, "I love you, too."

"I'm glad you're my first," Clint said, wiggling closer and pressing his forehead against mine, then he gently kissed my lips before adding, "I hope you're my only."

"If I'm not, I hope I'll at least be memorable," I replied, chuckling. "You certainly were." Even though I couldn't see it, I could feel his smile and added, "Was it good for you?"

His fingers landed against my thigh and traced circles on my skin. "Are you ready for round two?"

"Heh, I'll take that as a yes." I giggled.

"Well," He said, his hand sliding across my skin toward my throbbing erection, "you could insist I prove it to you, and then I'll get to have sex with you again, and then—"

I cut him off with a quick kiss and then snuggled closer to him, feeling his hard dick up against my leg. It felt right, but I didn't want to end this moment just yet. "As much as I'd love to, I think I need just a little more time. Let's just cuddle for now, what do you say?"

"Sounds amazing," He said, meeting my lips for another soft kiss before he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me even closer.

"You know," I said gently, almost a whisper, "it doesn't matter to me, either way."

"What doesn't?" He asked.

"If you have math dyslexia, or anything else," I replied. "We each have our strengths and our weaknesses. I may be smart with books, but you're way better with people than I'll ever be."

He was silent, and I was afraid I'd managed to offend him somehow. Before I could apologize for any unintended slight, he asked, "Do you want my advice?"

I was shocked by the question, and it took me a moment to answer, but eventually I shrugged and said, "Sure. That question seemed to come out of nowhere, though."

"Stop worrying so much about what people think of you," Clint said.

"Where'd that come from?" I asked.

"You told me that you wanted to be a scientist?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, "astrophysics, or possibly an engineering degree."

Clint nodded and said, "But several times you've indicated you really don't want to do that . . ."

"True . . ."

"That's what your dad does for a living, right?"

"Yes," I sighed.

Clint mimicked my sigh then said, "I think you're doing it for the wrong reasons."

"You might have a point," I replied, "but I don't really know what else I'd do for a living."

"I don't think you have to decide yet," Clint said, chuckling. "We're only fifteen, you know."

"True," I conceded, "but I'd like to have an idea of my path so I could start walking down it now. That way I get where I'm intending to go much sooner than if I decide later."

Clint was silent for a moment, then asked, "Have you considered becoming a writer?"

"A writer?" I asked, surprised at the idea. "I mean, I love it, but . . . there's not a lot of money in it. Most writers are ignored completely. It's hard to make a living at it, and my dad would probably disown me for—"

"Whoa, slow down," Clint interrupted, "Why does your dad matter in this?"

"Because . . ." I started, then realized Clint had a point. "Well, I guess he doesn't."

Clint's next words were exactly what I needed to hear. "Your dad should support you in following your own path, whatever that happens to be. Just because he doesn't is no reason to give him what he wants. It's not his job to determine what you do with your life; it's yours."

I nodded as I processed that, and not wanting Clint to think I wasn't considering his words, I asked, "And you think I should be a writer?"

"You're certainly good enough," Clint replied without hesitation. "I love your writing."

I smirked, despite the pride I felt at his statement. "You've only read one story."

"Only because you haven't given me more," Clint said, snorting at the thought. "I wouldn't do anything but read your work if you'd let me borrow more of your stories."

"Really?" I asked excitedly.

I could easily discern the sincerity in Clint's voice as he replied, "I like to read, and I really like to read things that are important to the people I care about. The work you've written is definitely important to you, I'm sure, and so I want to read it more than anything else."

"I still don't know," I said quietly. "Seems like I might be wasting my potential if I do that. If I stay on the track I'm on, I could get into any college or university in the country. Harvard, Yale, MIT . . . any of them."

"First of all, art is never a waste of potential, but an expression of it," Clint said firmly. I was shocked by the eloquence of the statement, and Clint could tell. "Yeah, I know, deep, coming from me. It's something my mom said once, and it's always stuck with me. Now, it doesn't have to be writing, but you should do something you love. Do something you want to do. I have no right to determine what you do with your life, either."

He was right. He didn't have the right to determine what I did with my life. No one did. But he definitely had bearing on it, because his words told me how much he cared about me; they told me how much he cared about me being me . I hadn't even thought it was possible, but I fell a little more in love with Clint in that moment. My smile was warm and truly happy as I said, "But you really think I should be a writer."

"If it were up to me, yes," Clint replied.

I kissed him then said, "I'll think about it."

"Good," Clint said, returning my kiss.

A brief silence stretched between us, and I listened to the sound of Clint's breathing. This was a perfect moment, and one I was sure I'd remember for the rest of my life. I knew how I wanted it to end, too. "Clint?" I asked.

"Yeah?" He said quietly.

My hand slid along his hip toward his lower back. "I'm thinking of writing a new story."

"Oh?" He asked, my touch causing a new surge of excitement in his lower extremities, a fact made immediately apparent as his dick leapt to attention and poked my inner thigh. "What's it going to be about?"

In answer I slid my hand to his dick and stroked it gently, then kissed his lips. He chuckled and said, "I'm definitely going to read that one."

"Shut up and help me write it," I murmured, pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him. My hands pinned him down at the shoulders as I stared down into his face. As hidden as it was by the encroaching shadows, I knew he was smiling, and I knew it was all because of me.

"Mmm . . ." He moaned, sliding his hands to my ass and kneading it gently. "I can do that."

Round two soon followed, and I finally had my first taste of Clint's essence. It was way better than I'd imagined; the pizza never stood a chance, crack cocaine in the crust or no. His taste was perfect, and I drank every drop. He returned the favor seconds later, and it turned out we shared at least one favorite food.

Round three followed soon after that, and though my seed was mostly spent by the time we finished, I'd still been inside Clint, and I felt complete. One look in his eyes before the glow of the stars faded completely told me he felt exactly the same way. We'd become one, and nothing would ever come between us again.

Nothing. You hear me? Nothing.

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