Fic: Trembling With Tenderness 1/2 (My Bodyguard, Ricky/Clifford, R)
Title: Trembling With Tenderness
Fandom: My Bodyguard
Pairing: Ricky/Clifford
Rating: R
Summary: The city heat has a way of getting under your skin.
There were a lot of things about Ricky that stood out; he was a foot taller than most of the kids in their grade, his voice was deeper and he had this way of looking at you that made you think he’d seen more in his first seventeen years than most people saw in a lifetime. Then there was the way he smoked, part unselfconscious glamour, and partly an extension of Ricky himself. His smile made Clifford’s insides catch fire no matter where they were or what they were doing, something that had embarrassed him more than once during the first year of their friendship. He still hadn’t learned to control it, but he didn’t even try anymore because every time he got used to something about Ricky, he’d notice something else that would make him weak in the knees.
Lately, for instance, he’d been watching Ricky’s hands. He’d known Ricky had big, strong hands since the very beginning of their friendship, back when his grandmother had first offered to read Ricky’s palm. After that Clifford sometimes played at palm reading just for an excuse to touch Ricky, and always - always - the other boy would offer up his hand without question. So Clifford had gotten used to the feeling of warm, callused skin under his fingers, he knew the curve of Ricky’s palm and he could trace the lines of the other boy’s hands just by closing his eyes and picturing them.
It had taken a little longer to find out what Ricky’s hands felt like on him, but he’d been patient and eventually Ricky had learned to trust him with more than just the occasional palm reading. In fact, it had started that night in the subway, when Ricky had grabbed Clifford and forced him up against that metal pole. Ricky had been angry and scared and maybe just a little out of control, but all Clifford had been able to think about was his hands. Ricky’s hands, burning through his thin cotton shirt and right into his skin, leaving a mark that he couldn’t see but he could still feel all these months later.
Until that moment all he’d known about sex and attraction was the vague, passing interest in watching women changing at night through his telescope, something he knew was supposed to excite him more than it confused him. He saw the way his father reacted to those girls and he knew that was what was expected of him too, but he’d never felt the rush of something hot burning through his veins until the moment Ricky grabbed him and pushed him up against that wall.
It still made him blush every time he thought about it, but he never told Ricky because he had the feeling the other boy wouldn’t remember it the same way. Ricky had been in pain that night, hurt and angry enough to pour out his deepest, darkest secret to Clifford when he’d never told anyone else. And maybe it was because he didn’t really know Clifford that he could confide in him, or maybe Clifford was annoying him so much that Ricky wanted to find a way to scare him out of his life for good. The reason didn’t matter in the end, because instead of scaring Clifford away it had made him more determined than ever to keep Ricky around.
By then it wasn’t a matter of choice anymore; Clifford couldn’t have walked away if he wanted to, because he was already in love with Ricky’s hands.
He could still count the exact number of days it had taken them to give up on the pretense of ‘just friends’, the weeks and months he’d lived for a strong arm around his shoulders or a hand on his arm to get his attention. And maybe his obsession with Ricky’s hands had started way back then, because he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t want them touching him. The fact that they were usually creased with old grease just made Clifford love them more; he didn’t mind the smell of tobacco or the slight yellowing just on the inside of Ricky’s middle finger, just like it didn’t bother him that no matter what Ricky did, there was always dirt under his nails.
His palms were rough from working on motorcycles and his skin cracked in the winter because he refused to wear gloves, but Clifford wouldn’t have traded Ricky’s touch for the softest, most delicate hands in the world. To him Ricky’s hands were perfect, from the way his fingers curved around Clifford’s shoulder when Ricky was steering him away from the crowd, to the way his fingertips just brushed Clifford’s chin when he leaned in for a kiss.
They were careful when other people were around, but by some unspoken agreement they both found ways to avoid being around other people as much as possible. In just a few months they’d managed to build an entire world that consisted only of them, and by the time the school year had ended Clifford couldn’t even remember what his life before Ricky had been like beyond a vague feeling of emptiness.
Still, there was something missing, and after a few weeks of careful deliberation Clifford realized with a hot blush and a fluttering in his stomach exactly what it was. The knowledge hit him one hot summer afternoon while they were sitting on his patio, melting in the sun and gulping iced tea out of tall glasses dripping with condensation. Neither of them had said anything for awhile; talking seemed like too much of an effort against the stifling heat, so they’d fallen into a silence punctuated only by the slight tinkling of ice in their glasses and the sound of their breathing.
Ricky had been staring out over the city for a long time, leaving Clifford to lean back in his own chair and watch the other boy drum his fingers absently against his thigh. It was when Ricky reached for his glass for the countless time that afternoon, lifting it to his forehead and closing his eyes against the coolness of glass against hot skin, that Clifford realized what it was he wanted. He watched Ricky’s fingers curl around the glass, watched beads of condensation slip over his callused skin and toward his wrist, the image suddenly shifting to something that made his skin burn hotter than even the thick afternoon air.
He’d felt that vague, uneasy want rushing through his veins before, but he didn’t have the words to make Ricky understand what he needed. He wasn’t even sure there were words to say out loud all the feelings that crashed down on him whenever they were alone and Ricky got that far-away look in his eye. All he really knew was that he was going to have to be the one to do something about it, because Ricky never would. He might not even think of it, which just made Clifford even more nervous about what he was about to do.
“It’s hot,” he said before he could stop himself. The less than brilliant observation earned him a slight curling of Ricky’s lips, though, and somehow making a fool of himself for Ricky’s amusement never really bothered him. He shrugged self-consciously and matched the other boy's lazy half-smile with one of his own. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”
"I noticed." Ricky’s voice had always done things to Clifford that he couldn’t explain, but combined with the heat and the images his imagination kept torturing him with, Clifford didn’t have a prayer of controlling his body’s reaction.
"So…do you wanna go inside?" And he had no idea how he’d managed to make a simple question sound so suggestive, but he could feel the blush burning hotter as Ricky turned to look at him.
“Just as hot inside.”
It was true; the air conditioners in the hotel had been breaking down at random ever since the heat wave hit the city at the beginning of August, leaving the Peaches’ suite bathed in thick, pungent air that stole the breath from your lungs. Even as he mourned for the broken air conditioner he heard his father’s mantra in his head: Guests come first. Guests first, and that meant Clifford spent a lot of time stripped down to almost nothing, stretched out on his mattress in front of the small fan his father had found for him in one of the storage closets. He hadn’t tried out that particular idea on Ricky yet, but…well, there was a first time for everything.
“There’s a fan in my room.”
The words came out sounding more like an apology than a suggestion, and this had to be the world’s lamest seduction. Only he hadn’t really decided that he was going to seduce Ricky, at least not beyond the burning need to know if Ricky’s hands on his skin would raise his temperature even more. And there went his imagination again, conjuring vague, half-formed images of things he was sure he’d want if he only knew how to get them. But maybe the fact that he could picture Ricky there with him meant it wouldn’t be that hard to get what he wanted after all. Maybe Ricky wanted that too, and he was just waiting for Clifford to show him a sign.
He looked up at the other boy, his mouth curving into an absent-minded grin at the sight of solid chest covered in dingy white cotton, frayed at the edges and damp with sweat. Ricky was staring right back at him, shifting lazily to set his glass down on the table and lean a little closer. In that moment Clifford was positive that Ricky got it, that he’d just been biding his time until this exact moment. “Maybe we should go in. Looks like you’re getting a sunburn.”
Or maybe Ricky really was just as clueless as he seemed, especially if he could mistake furious blushing for the start of a sunburn. That thought just made Clifford blush a little more, but he stood up on unsteady legs and turned away from Ricky before he had time to change his mind. He’d never be sure how he managed to make it inside and all the way across the living room without stumbling and embarrassing himself more than he already had, but when he found himself standing in his bedroom just a few feet away from Ricky the how didn’t really matter anymore.
All that mattered was that Ricky was standing in the doorway, one shoulder pressed against the wood and his hands shoved roughly in his pockets. Clifford carefully avoiding staring at Ricky’s now-concealed hands, forcing his gaze away from the other boy long enough to remember why they’d come inside in the first place. His limbs were heavy from the heat and the thick air inside the suite, but he managed to cross the room and turn the fan on to the highest setting. A warm blast hit him as the fan groaned to life, and for a long moment he just stood there with his eyes closed, feeling the air stir around him.
He never heard Ricky move, but he felt another, more subtle shift in the air behind him just before a hand landed on his damp shirt right at the small of his back. “You gonna stand there and block the air all day?”
The words were whispered just above him, and he hoped Ricky would chalk up the shiver that ran down his spine to the cooling air and not to the other boy’s proximity. “Sorry,” he murmured unrepentantly, grinning at the low, rumbling sound of Ricky’s laugh. And maybe Ricky wasn’t quite as clueless as he acted after all, because he was standing awfully close considering the temperature. “Usually when it’s this hot I just take off all my clothes and lie as still as possible.”
As soon as he said it he blinked and turned around abruptly, forgetting until it was too late how close Ricky was standing. “I didn’t…I mean…I just meant because of the weather.”
Somehow in the course of fifteen minutes he’d managed to elevate blushing to an art form, and he wondered vaguely if he could permanently damage his skin by blushing continuously. Then again, his skin might not matter if he just dropped dead of embarrassment in the next few seconds. It was bad enough that he'd actually said those words out loud, but the way Ricky was looking at him made it ten times worse. A hundred times, because suddenly it felt to Clifford like they'd never even kissed before. He shouldn't be this uncomfortable around his own boyfriend, even if nobody else knew what was going on between them.
"Does it hurt?"
It took Clifford a few seconds to process the words, but once they sank in he forgot about feeling embarrassed long enough to frown at the other boy. "What?"
"Your sunburn," Ricky answered patiently, his fingers ghosting across Clifford's bare forearm. "You seem kinda jumpy. Did I hurt when I touched you?"
"Oh. No," Clifford answered, glancing down at his arm where Ricky's fingers had been a moment before. And it just wasn't fair that Ricky could be so naïve about certain things; he was a whole year older than Clifford, if either of them should be in charge of this kind of thing it should be Ricky. He didn't even seem to be aware of how close they were still standing, though, and Clifford knew if he didn't do something Ricky would probably just stand there all day. "It's…uh…it's not a sunburn."
Ricky's forehead furrowed in confusion, his head dipping a little lower to examine Clifford's skin. "What is it then, a rash?"
"No! Jesus," he muttered under his breath, sidestepping Ricky with less grace than he planned and sitting down on the edge of his bed. "It's the heat. Just forget it, okay?"
This was worse than that nightmare where he showed up at school naked, because at least when he woke up from that he was all alone with his embarrassment. There was no way he could tell Ricky that he had a permanent blush without explaining why, and that was about the most unromantic way he could think to let the other boy know what he'd been thinking about. Not that it mattered now, because he'd already blown any chance of setting the right mood when he started talking about taking all his clothes off. It wasn't like he could just casually pull his shirt over his head and claim to be too hot, could he?
"Sorry," Ricky said, his voice jolting Clifford back to the reality that the other boy was still standing at the end of the bed, effectively blocking all the air from the fan. As Clifford watched Ricky closed his eyes and turned his face toward the slight breeze, giving Clifford a perfect view of the beads of sweat still dripping down the side of his neck. And okay, maybe the mood wasn't quite so dead after all, because he had the sudden urge to pull Ricky down onto his mattress and lick him.
Unsettling image number twenty burned vividly in his imagination, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut until the wave of longing passed. The world seemed a lot more soothing behind his eyelids, though, so he kept his eyes closed and tried to focus long enough to figure out what he was going to do. He had no idea what his next move was. He had no idea what his first move was. All he really knew was that if he didn't figure out what he was doing and fast he was probably going to die a virgin.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the hem of his shirt, keeping his eyes shut and not even daring to breathe as he began to work it over his chest. He didn't have any delusions about the way he looked; he knew he was small for his age, and he was starting to think that growth spurt he'd been hoping for was never going to come. Compared to Ricky he still looked like a little kid, but Ricky had never seemed to mind before and he wasn't going to start worrying about it now. He couldn't, because if he did he knew he'd never have the nerve to go through with it.
Finally, after a few seconds that felt like an eternity, he got his shirt off and dropped it on the chair next to his bed. He'd been shirtless in front of Ricky before; they were in the same gym class, and even though Ricky never participated he'd seen Clifford in the locker room. He'd seen Clifford swim, too, and before they were friends he'd rescued Clifford from the locker Moody had locked him in wearing only a pair of swim trunks. This, though…this was just like that, only completely different. He'd never felt so naked before, not even when he actually was naked.
"What are you doing?"
Clifford's eyes snapped open at the panicked tone, his heart in his throat as he forced himself to meet Ricky's gaze. "I'm hot. And you're blocking all the air." He told himself he didn't sound like he was whining; it was true, anyway, and he had the sudden urge to say something mean about Ricky's giant frame taking up half his room. He'd only deliberately hurt Ricky's feelings once before, and even though Ricky never said it Clifford knew how much it bothered him when Clifford accused him of having no class. That time Clifford had said it out of frustration after spending hours trying to find Ricky, worrying about him and wondering where he could have gone. The relief he'd felt when he saw Ricky hiding in the shadows on his patio was eclipsed almost immediately by anger, and what he was feeling now wasn't that far from the way he'd felt that night almost a year ago.
Before he could think of a mean enough insult to make Ricky run away from him again the other boy moved, his features clouded with an emotion Clifford couldn't place. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Clifford muttered, his anger instantly dissolving into guilt. Under any other circumstances he would have blamed his mood on the heat, but the truth was that he was nervous and a little scared and he was starting to feel like he was in this alone. "Look, you don't have to stand there. Sit down."
For a few seconds Ricky just stared at him, and Clifford could practically see the wheels turning in the other boy's mind as he tried to figure out what he was missing. He held his breath as he waited for Ricky to see what was right in front of him; it wouldn’t take much, in fact anybody would have seen by now that Clifford was practically throwing himself at Ricky. Not even he could miss that.
Or maybe he could, Clifford realized as he watched Ricky shrug and cross the room to sit down next to him. If they were the same height they'd practically be shoulder to shoulder now, but even sitting down Clifford's shoulder only came halfway up Ricky's bicep. Still, his bare skin brushed against warm, damp cotton as Ricky shifted into a comfortable position, and it was enough to convince Clifford that he couldn't let an opportunity like this pass him by.
"So my grandmother's gone all day," he said, keeping his tone as casual as possible. They'd spent a lot of time alone since they became friends, but it was almost impossible to find a place where they could be alone without any fear of interruption. Even the one time Clifford had really thought they were safe he'd been wrong, and his father had walked in on them less than a minute after their first startled, clumsy kiss. Mr. Peache had been too busy to notice the shell-shocked look on both their faces, but it had been enough to scare either of them out of trying to do more.
Today, though, his grandmother was off with some old friend and his father was busy trying to get the air conditioning running in the rest of the building, leaving Clifford and Ricky to their own devices. It was the perfect opportunity, and it seemed a shame to let it just slip by. "And Dad won't be back for hours."
Ricky glanced sideways at him and just for a second Clifford could see it; barely there, but he'd definitely seen a flash of insight followed quickly by a panic chaser. Okay, so Ricky was a little nervous about being all alone for hours, that much he'd expected. The important thing was that his boyfriend was starting to get the picture. With any luck Clifford wouldn’t have to work too hard to convince him that it was okay to do…whatever it was they both wanted to do. The truth was he wasn’t exactly sure; they'd never talked about it, and as far as he knew Ricky was as inexperienced as he was.
"You sure that doesn't hurt?" Ricky's voice was lower this time, and yeah, he was definitely changing the subject. Part of him didn't seem to want to change it, though, because even as he spoke he leaned a little closer, his fingers molding to the curve of Clifford's neck long enough to feel hot skin under his palm. Clifford's temperature shot up another few degrees in response, his heart pounding loud enough for both of them to hear. Then Ricky pulled his hand away and Clifford shivered as though the temperature had suddenly dropped forty degrees.
"I'm sure," he answered. The words caught in his desert-dry throat, and he had to stop himself from reaching over to grab Ricky's hand and put it back on his skin. He could do this; he'd kissed Ricky enough times to know what he was doing, even if it didn't happen as often as he'd like. And that was another thing; they'd been dating all summer, but so far the furthest it had gone was occasional touches and a little kissing. He had no idea what that meant, but now that they were really alone it occurred to him that maybe Ricky didn't want to do more.
But if Ricky didn't want anything else from him he wouldn't have responded when Clifford kissed him that first time, and he wouldn't have kept on kissing Clifford whenever they found a little time alone, right? Clifford took a deep breath and summoned all the courage he could, ignoring the way his heart pounded against his ribcage as he turned to face the other boy. He opened his mouth to say something - a joke, maybe, or more gentle words of encouragement. Or maybe he should just ask Ricky if he was ever going to get around to kissing him; that would get his attention, at least, and suddenly kissing seemed a lot easier than talking.
He didn't think about it before he did it; one second he was wishing that Ricky would just kiss him already, and the next he was reaching out to close his fist around the front of the other boy's shirt. Whether Ricky was too surprised to resist or he just liked the idea Clifford didn't know, but it was surprisingly easy to pull Ricky forward until they were practically nose to nose. He hesitated long enough for Ricky to register what was happening, but before he had time to ask Clifford what the hell he thought he was doing the smaller boy leaned forward, pressing his mouth against Ricky's in a firm, if somewhat clumsy, kiss.
It definitely wasn't the best he'd ever done, but he wasn't really thinking about technique. Evidently Ricky wasn't either, because after a second of surprised hesitation he lifted the hand that wasn't bracing him against the mattress, letting it come to rest on Clifford's shoulder. And that felt really good - better even than Clifford had expected, especially when Ricky's thumb began moving in tiny circles against his skin. It took him awhile to realize that his fingers were clenched so tightly in Ricky's thin t-shirt that he was in danger of ripping the material, and he forced himself to focus long enough to release his grip. As soon as he let go Ricky pulled away, his gaze darting automatically toward the open door to Clifford's bedroom.
"I told you, they won't be back for hours." Clifford's voice was a breathless whisper, but he couldn't help grinning at the incredulous look in Ricky's eyes when he turned back to the smaller boy.
"So you mean…?"
That was probably the closest Ricky was ever gonna come to saying it out loud, Clifford decided, so he just nodded and turned up the wattage on his smile. "Seems like a shame to waste an opportunity."
Instantly he knew that it was the wrong thing to say; the vaguely scandalized look in Ricky's eyes quickly faded into something far more serious, and Clifford's smile faded as he braced himself for the coming rejection. "Cliff, I don't know..."
It was exactly the response Clifford had been expecting, but no amount of telling himself he should have known made it any easier to hear. The fact that Ricky's thumb was still moving in slow circles against his skin wasn't helping him focus, but it was enough to make him hope that the other boy was just being cautious. "It's just a kiss," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "It's not like we haven't done it before."
He had a feeling Ricky wasn't falling for the innocent act, but instead of arguing he just nodded. Clifford smiled again and started to lean forward, but the hand on his shoulder tightened until he leaned back again and looked up at Ricky. The older boy didn't meet his gaze; his eyes were locked on a spot somewhere in the vicinity of Clifford's neck, his fingers leaving Clifford's shoulder to trace the curve of his collarbone. No one had ever looked at him with that kind of intensity, and he was tempted to squirm under Ricky's touch. He managed to stay still as those strong fingers slid up his neck, though, and when Ricky's hand slid into his hair Clifford let himself be pulled forward again.
They'd kissed before, but none of those other times had been quite like this. When Ricky's mouth found his again it was soft and almost tentative, languid in a way they'd never been able to afford in the past. Every time Ricky kissed him it was sweet and a little unsure, but now there was an urgency behind it that he could feel all the way down to his toes. Part of him was struck by the strange thought that a kiss could be slow and urgent at the same time, but that was the only way to describe it. It was almost as though Ricky was afraid of breaking him; everything about the way he touched Clifford was gentle, but there was a fierceness in his kiss that made Clifford's stomach turn inside out.
His hands found their way to Ricky's bare forearms, sliding along hot skin still damp from sweat. When his fingers brushed under the cuffs of Ricky's sleeves the other boy shuddered, but he didn't pull away this time. Instead he let out a muffled sound that could have been categorized as a groan, shifting until their knees were pressed together on the mattress. And as much as he liked making out with Ricky in his bedroom, early success had made Clifford a little more confident about his chances of moving things along. His hands left Ricky's arms, sliding down damp cotton to rest at Ricky's waist. Slowly he worked his hands under the hem of Ricky's shirt, fingers just grazing bare skin when the other boy flinched and sat up. "What?" Clifford asked, breathless and a little dazed from the abrupt end of the kiss.
"Don't," Ricky answered, letting go of Clifford to catch his hands and pull them out from under Ricky's t-shirt.
"What's wrong?" He was too confused to be embarrassed; a second ago Ricky had been kissing him like he'd never get enough of Clifford, and now he didn't want to be touched. It didn't make any sense, unless Ricky was just doing this because he thought it was what Clifford wanted. Only he couldn't put that much feeling into a kiss he didn't mean, could he?
"Just don't, okay?" Ricky said, his eyes full of some emotion Clifford didn't recognize. He looked…lost, maybe, or possibly just scared. Either way Clifford found himself nodding, even though he had no idea what he was agreeing to.
"Okay," he said, his voice soothing in the silence of the room, "okay. Whatever you want."
The weird thing was that he found himself actually meaning it, especially when Ricky visibly relaxed. He had no idea if this meant they were stopping completely, or if it just meant Clifford wasn't supposed to touch. Only Ricky hadn't had a problem with Clifford's hands on his arms or even his chest; it was just when Clifford touched his stomach that he freaked out. He made a mental inventory of the path his hands had traced; first it was Ricky's arms, up under his sleeves to elicit that full body shudder. He'd been focusing so hard on getting Ricky out of his shirt that he hadn't really been paying attention when he ran his hands down Ricky's chest and under his shirt…oh.
Clifford blushed hotter than ever when he realized what he'd done, but he couldn't quite hide the shiver that ran through him when he realized how close his hands had come to Ricky's lap. He might even have grazed his knuckles across…another blush, and he was almost sure now that he had. His stomach flipped right-side out again, his own hardness making his shorts feel way too tight as he shifted a little further toward the center of the bed. Part of him hoped desperately that Ricky would call it off, that he'd make some excuse about having to go home or something - anything to get them out of this situation. But there was another part of him that wanted more than anything to lean forward and kiss Ricky again until he forgot all about why he'd stopped Clifford in the first place.
He was still trying to make up his mind when Ricky turned away and started to stand up, and suddenly the decision seemed so obvious to Clifford that he didn't even hesitate before he reached out and grabbed the other boy's wrist. "You don't have to leave."
Maybe he was imagining the split second of relief in Ricky's eyes; it was hard to say for sure, because as soon as he blinked it was gone. Ricky let Clifford pull him back onto the mattress, though, letting out a frustrated sigh and stretching out on his back to stare at the ceiling. "This is a bad idea," he said without looking over at Clifford, but his voice was huskier than usual and he didn't look like he believed it any more than Clifford did.
Clifford turned toward Ricky, careful to leave enough distance between them to keep the other boy from making another break for it. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch Ricky's arm, settling instead for propping himself on one elbow to study his profile. "Look, summer's over in a couple weeks, right? So if you leave now it's just a waste of one of our last days of freedom. Besides, it's a stupid reason to run out on me."
That earned him a glare that he hadn't seen in a long time, and he suddenly wished he'd remembered to put his shirt back on before he started trying to talk Ricky into staying. He felt even more exposed now than he had when he first took it off, and up until that moment he hadn't thought it was possible. "I didn't mean you were stupid. Come on, give me a break here."
Ricky didn't answer, but he didn't get up and try to leave again either. Instead he just turned back to the ceiling, staring so resolutely that Clifford got the feeling that he was doing everything he could to avoid looking at the other boy. Knowing that Ricky was avoiding looking at him didn't make him feel that good, but he wasn't going to let this ruin their relationship if he could help it.
"Look, if you don't want to…you know…you could just say so." Clifford blushed and looked down at the mattress, hoping Ricky wouldn't pick this moment to look over at him again. The truth was that those were the last words he wanted to hear, but if that was how Ricky felt it was better if he knew now.
He felt Ricky's head turn and forced himself to look up, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the look in the other boy's eyes. And suddenly he felt guilty for even suggesting that Ricky might not want him, because he could see that that was the furthest thing from the truth. So there was something else holding Ricky back, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to get the other boy to tell him what it was. "Cliff, you don't…"
He stopped speaking abruptly when the outer door opened, sitting up quickly and glancing over at Ricky. "I thought you said…"
"That's what they told me," Clifford answered, sitting up and scrambling to pull his shirt back on before whoever it was decided to come check on them. He'd just finished pulling it over his head when his grandmother's voice rang out, followed by another voice that must belong to her friend who was visiting from out of town.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath as the voices grew steadily closer. He stole a quick glance at Ricky, but the other boy was already standing up to put as much room between the two of them as possible. Clifford stifled a disappointed sigh and told himself this didn't mean he'd never get another chance to get Ricky to talk about what had almost happened between them, but getting himself to believe it was a lot easier said than done.
Part Two
Fandom: My Bodyguard
Pairing: Ricky/Clifford
Rating: R
Summary: The city heat has a way of getting under your skin.
There were a lot of things about Ricky that stood out; he was a foot taller than most of the kids in their grade, his voice was deeper and he had this way of looking at you that made you think he’d seen more in his first seventeen years than most people saw in a lifetime. Then there was the way he smoked, part unselfconscious glamour, and partly an extension of Ricky himself. His smile made Clifford’s insides catch fire no matter where they were or what they were doing, something that had embarrassed him more than once during the first year of their friendship. He still hadn’t learned to control it, but he didn’t even try anymore because every time he got used to something about Ricky, he’d notice something else that would make him weak in the knees.
Lately, for instance, he’d been watching Ricky’s hands. He’d known Ricky had big, strong hands since the very beginning of their friendship, back when his grandmother had first offered to read Ricky’s palm. After that Clifford sometimes played at palm reading just for an excuse to touch Ricky, and always - always - the other boy would offer up his hand without question. So Clifford had gotten used to the feeling of warm, callused skin under his fingers, he knew the curve of Ricky’s palm and he could trace the lines of the other boy’s hands just by closing his eyes and picturing them.
It had taken a little longer to find out what Ricky’s hands felt like on him, but he’d been patient and eventually Ricky had learned to trust him with more than just the occasional palm reading. In fact, it had started that night in the subway, when Ricky had grabbed Clifford and forced him up against that metal pole. Ricky had been angry and scared and maybe just a little out of control, but all Clifford had been able to think about was his hands. Ricky’s hands, burning through his thin cotton shirt and right into his skin, leaving a mark that he couldn’t see but he could still feel all these months later.
Until that moment all he’d known about sex and attraction was the vague, passing interest in watching women changing at night through his telescope, something he knew was supposed to excite him more than it confused him. He saw the way his father reacted to those girls and he knew that was what was expected of him too, but he’d never felt the rush of something hot burning through his veins until the moment Ricky grabbed him and pushed him up against that wall.
It still made him blush every time he thought about it, but he never told Ricky because he had the feeling the other boy wouldn’t remember it the same way. Ricky had been in pain that night, hurt and angry enough to pour out his deepest, darkest secret to Clifford when he’d never told anyone else. And maybe it was because he didn’t really know Clifford that he could confide in him, or maybe Clifford was annoying him so much that Ricky wanted to find a way to scare him out of his life for good. The reason didn’t matter in the end, because instead of scaring Clifford away it had made him more determined than ever to keep Ricky around.
By then it wasn’t a matter of choice anymore; Clifford couldn’t have walked away if he wanted to, because he was already in love with Ricky’s hands.
He could still count the exact number of days it had taken them to give up on the pretense of ‘just friends’, the weeks and months he’d lived for a strong arm around his shoulders or a hand on his arm to get his attention. And maybe his obsession with Ricky’s hands had started way back then, because he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t want them touching him. The fact that they were usually creased with old grease just made Clifford love them more; he didn’t mind the smell of tobacco or the slight yellowing just on the inside of Ricky’s middle finger, just like it didn’t bother him that no matter what Ricky did, there was always dirt under his nails.
His palms were rough from working on motorcycles and his skin cracked in the winter because he refused to wear gloves, but Clifford wouldn’t have traded Ricky’s touch for the softest, most delicate hands in the world. To him Ricky’s hands were perfect, from the way his fingers curved around Clifford’s shoulder when Ricky was steering him away from the crowd, to the way his fingertips just brushed Clifford’s chin when he leaned in for a kiss.
They were careful when other people were around, but by some unspoken agreement they both found ways to avoid being around other people as much as possible. In just a few months they’d managed to build an entire world that consisted only of them, and by the time the school year had ended Clifford couldn’t even remember what his life before Ricky had been like beyond a vague feeling of emptiness.
Still, there was something missing, and after a few weeks of careful deliberation Clifford realized with a hot blush and a fluttering in his stomach exactly what it was. The knowledge hit him one hot summer afternoon while they were sitting on his patio, melting in the sun and gulping iced tea out of tall glasses dripping with condensation. Neither of them had said anything for awhile; talking seemed like too much of an effort against the stifling heat, so they’d fallen into a silence punctuated only by the slight tinkling of ice in their glasses and the sound of their breathing.
Ricky had been staring out over the city for a long time, leaving Clifford to lean back in his own chair and watch the other boy drum his fingers absently against his thigh. It was when Ricky reached for his glass for the countless time that afternoon, lifting it to his forehead and closing his eyes against the coolness of glass against hot skin, that Clifford realized what it was he wanted. He watched Ricky’s fingers curl around the glass, watched beads of condensation slip over his callused skin and toward his wrist, the image suddenly shifting to something that made his skin burn hotter than even the thick afternoon air.
He’d felt that vague, uneasy want rushing through his veins before, but he didn’t have the words to make Ricky understand what he needed. He wasn’t even sure there were words to say out loud all the feelings that crashed down on him whenever they were alone and Ricky got that far-away look in his eye. All he really knew was that he was going to have to be the one to do something about it, because Ricky never would. He might not even think of it, which just made Clifford even more nervous about what he was about to do.
“It’s hot,” he said before he could stop himself. The less than brilliant observation earned him a slight curling of Ricky’s lips, though, and somehow making a fool of himself for Ricky’s amusement never really bothered him. He shrugged self-consciously and matched the other boy's lazy half-smile with one of his own. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”
"I noticed." Ricky’s voice had always done things to Clifford that he couldn’t explain, but combined with the heat and the images his imagination kept torturing him with, Clifford didn’t have a prayer of controlling his body’s reaction.
"So…do you wanna go inside?" And he had no idea how he’d managed to make a simple question sound so suggestive, but he could feel the blush burning hotter as Ricky turned to look at him.
“Just as hot inside.”
It was true; the air conditioners in the hotel had been breaking down at random ever since the heat wave hit the city at the beginning of August, leaving the Peaches’ suite bathed in thick, pungent air that stole the breath from your lungs. Even as he mourned for the broken air conditioner he heard his father’s mantra in his head: Guests come first. Guests first, and that meant Clifford spent a lot of time stripped down to almost nothing, stretched out on his mattress in front of the small fan his father had found for him in one of the storage closets. He hadn’t tried out that particular idea on Ricky yet, but…well, there was a first time for everything.
“There’s a fan in my room.”
The words came out sounding more like an apology than a suggestion, and this had to be the world’s lamest seduction. Only he hadn’t really decided that he was going to seduce Ricky, at least not beyond the burning need to know if Ricky’s hands on his skin would raise his temperature even more. And there went his imagination again, conjuring vague, half-formed images of things he was sure he’d want if he only knew how to get them. But maybe the fact that he could picture Ricky there with him meant it wouldn’t be that hard to get what he wanted after all. Maybe Ricky wanted that too, and he was just waiting for Clifford to show him a sign.
He looked up at the other boy, his mouth curving into an absent-minded grin at the sight of solid chest covered in dingy white cotton, frayed at the edges and damp with sweat. Ricky was staring right back at him, shifting lazily to set his glass down on the table and lean a little closer. In that moment Clifford was positive that Ricky got it, that he’d just been biding his time until this exact moment. “Maybe we should go in. Looks like you’re getting a sunburn.”
Or maybe Ricky really was just as clueless as he seemed, especially if he could mistake furious blushing for the start of a sunburn. That thought just made Clifford blush a little more, but he stood up on unsteady legs and turned away from Ricky before he had time to change his mind. He’d never be sure how he managed to make it inside and all the way across the living room without stumbling and embarrassing himself more than he already had, but when he found himself standing in his bedroom just a few feet away from Ricky the how didn’t really matter anymore.
All that mattered was that Ricky was standing in the doorway, one shoulder pressed against the wood and his hands shoved roughly in his pockets. Clifford carefully avoiding staring at Ricky’s now-concealed hands, forcing his gaze away from the other boy long enough to remember why they’d come inside in the first place. His limbs were heavy from the heat and the thick air inside the suite, but he managed to cross the room and turn the fan on to the highest setting. A warm blast hit him as the fan groaned to life, and for a long moment he just stood there with his eyes closed, feeling the air stir around him.
He never heard Ricky move, but he felt another, more subtle shift in the air behind him just before a hand landed on his damp shirt right at the small of his back. “You gonna stand there and block the air all day?”
The words were whispered just above him, and he hoped Ricky would chalk up the shiver that ran down his spine to the cooling air and not to the other boy’s proximity. “Sorry,” he murmured unrepentantly, grinning at the low, rumbling sound of Ricky’s laugh. And maybe Ricky wasn’t quite as clueless as he acted after all, because he was standing awfully close considering the temperature. “Usually when it’s this hot I just take off all my clothes and lie as still as possible.”
As soon as he said it he blinked and turned around abruptly, forgetting until it was too late how close Ricky was standing. “I didn’t…I mean…I just meant because of the weather.”
Somehow in the course of fifteen minutes he’d managed to elevate blushing to an art form, and he wondered vaguely if he could permanently damage his skin by blushing continuously. Then again, his skin might not matter if he just dropped dead of embarrassment in the next few seconds. It was bad enough that he'd actually said those words out loud, but the way Ricky was looking at him made it ten times worse. A hundred times, because suddenly it felt to Clifford like they'd never even kissed before. He shouldn't be this uncomfortable around his own boyfriend, even if nobody else knew what was going on between them.
"Does it hurt?"
It took Clifford a few seconds to process the words, but once they sank in he forgot about feeling embarrassed long enough to frown at the other boy. "What?"
"Your sunburn," Ricky answered patiently, his fingers ghosting across Clifford's bare forearm. "You seem kinda jumpy. Did I hurt when I touched you?"
"Oh. No," Clifford answered, glancing down at his arm where Ricky's fingers had been a moment before. And it just wasn't fair that Ricky could be so naïve about certain things; he was a whole year older than Clifford, if either of them should be in charge of this kind of thing it should be Ricky. He didn't even seem to be aware of how close they were still standing, though, and Clifford knew if he didn't do something Ricky would probably just stand there all day. "It's…uh…it's not a sunburn."
Ricky's forehead furrowed in confusion, his head dipping a little lower to examine Clifford's skin. "What is it then, a rash?"
"No! Jesus," he muttered under his breath, sidestepping Ricky with less grace than he planned and sitting down on the edge of his bed. "It's the heat. Just forget it, okay?"
This was worse than that nightmare where he showed up at school naked, because at least when he woke up from that he was all alone with his embarrassment. There was no way he could tell Ricky that he had a permanent blush without explaining why, and that was about the most unromantic way he could think to let the other boy know what he'd been thinking about. Not that it mattered now, because he'd already blown any chance of setting the right mood when he started talking about taking all his clothes off. It wasn't like he could just casually pull his shirt over his head and claim to be too hot, could he?
"Sorry," Ricky said, his voice jolting Clifford back to the reality that the other boy was still standing at the end of the bed, effectively blocking all the air from the fan. As Clifford watched Ricky closed his eyes and turned his face toward the slight breeze, giving Clifford a perfect view of the beads of sweat still dripping down the side of his neck. And okay, maybe the mood wasn't quite so dead after all, because he had the sudden urge to pull Ricky down onto his mattress and lick him.
Unsettling image number twenty burned vividly in his imagination, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut until the wave of longing passed. The world seemed a lot more soothing behind his eyelids, though, so he kept his eyes closed and tried to focus long enough to figure out what he was going to do. He had no idea what his next move was. He had no idea what his first move was. All he really knew was that if he didn't figure out what he was doing and fast he was probably going to die a virgin.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the hem of his shirt, keeping his eyes shut and not even daring to breathe as he began to work it over his chest. He didn't have any delusions about the way he looked; he knew he was small for his age, and he was starting to think that growth spurt he'd been hoping for was never going to come. Compared to Ricky he still looked like a little kid, but Ricky had never seemed to mind before and he wasn't going to start worrying about it now. He couldn't, because if he did he knew he'd never have the nerve to go through with it.
Finally, after a few seconds that felt like an eternity, he got his shirt off and dropped it on the chair next to his bed. He'd been shirtless in front of Ricky before; they were in the same gym class, and even though Ricky never participated he'd seen Clifford in the locker room. He'd seen Clifford swim, too, and before they were friends he'd rescued Clifford from the locker Moody had locked him in wearing only a pair of swim trunks. This, though…this was just like that, only completely different. He'd never felt so naked before, not even when he actually was naked.
"What are you doing?"
Clifford's eyes snapped open at the panicked tone, his heart in his throat as he forced himself to meet Ricky's gaze. "I'm hot. And you're blocking all the air." He told himself he didn't sound like he was whining; it was true, anyway, and he had the sudden urge to say something mean about Ricky's giant frame taking up half his room. He'd only deliberately hurt Ricky's feelings once before, and even though Ricky never said it Clifford knew how much it bothered him when Clifford accused him of having no class. That time Clifford had said it out of frustration after spending hours trying to find Ricky, worrying about him and wondering where he could have gone. The relief he'd felt when he saw Ricky hiding in the shadows on his patio was eclipsed almost immediately by anger, and what he was feeling now wasn't that far from the way he'd felt that night almost a year ago.
Before he could think of a mean enough insult to make Ricky run away from him again the other boy moved, his features clouded with an emotion Clifford couldn't place. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Clifford muttered, his anger instantly dissolving into guilt. Under any other circumstances he would have blamed his mood on the heat, but the truth was that he was nervous and a little scared and he was starting to feel like he was in this alone. "Look, you don't have to stand there. Sit down."
For a few seconds Ricky just stared at him, and Clifford could practically see the wheels turning in the other boy's mind as he tried to figure out what he was missing. He held his breath as he waited for Ricky to see what was right in front of him; it wouldn’t take much, in fact anybody would have seen by now that Clifford was practically throwing himself at Ricky. Not even he could miss that.
Or maybe he could, Clifford realized as he watched Ricky shrug and cross the room to sit down next to him. If they were the same height they'd practically be shoulder to shoulder now, but even sitting down Clifford's shoulder only came halfway up Ricky's bicep. Still, his bare skin brushed against warm, damp cotton as Ricky shifted into a comfortable position, and it was enough to convince Clifford that he couldn't let an opportunity like this pass him by.
"So my grandmother's gone all day," he said, keeping his tone as casual as possible. They'd spent a lot of time alone since they became friends, but it was almost impossible to find a place where they could be alone without any fear of interruption. Even the one time Clifford had really thought they were safe he'd been wrong, and his father had walked in on them less than a minute after their first startled, clumsy kiss. Mr. Peache had been too busy to notice the shell-shocked look on both their faces, but it had been enough to scare either of them out of trying to do more.
Today, though, his grandmother was off with some old friend and his father was busy trying to get the air conditioning running in the rest of the building, leaving Clifford and Ricky to their own devices. It was the perfect opportunity, and it seemed a shame to let it just slip by. "And Dad won't be back for hours."
Ricky glanced sideways at him and just for a second Clifford could see it; barely there, but he'd definitely seen a flash of insight followed quickly by a panic chaser. Okay, so Ricky was a little nervous about being all alone for hours, that much he'd expected. The important thing was that his boyfriend was starting to get the picture. With any luck Clifford wouldn’t have to work too hard to convince him that it was okay to do…whatever it was they both wanted to do. The truth was he wasn’t exactly sure; they'd never talked about it, and as far as he knew Ricky was as inexperienced as he was.
"You sure that doesn't hurt?" Ricky's voice was lower this time, and yeah, he was definitely changing the subject. Part of him didn't seem to want to change it, though, because even as he spoke he leaned a little closer, his fingers molding to the curve of Clifford's neck long enough to feel hot skin under his palm. Clifford's temperature shot up another few degrees in response, his heart pounding loud enough for both of them to hear. Then Ricky pulled his hand away and Clifford shivered as though the temperature had suddenly dropped forty degrees.
"I'm sure," he answered. The words caught in his desert-dry throat, and he had to stop himself from reaching over to grab Ricky's hand and put it back on his skin. He could do this; he'd kissed Ricky enough times to know what he was doing, even if it didn't happen as often as he'd like. And that was another thing; they'd been dating all summer, but so far the furthest it had gone was occasional touches and a little kissing. He had no idea what that meant, but now that they were really alone it occurred to him that maybe Ricky didn't want to do more.
But if Ricky didn't want anything else from him he wouldn't have responded when Clifford kissed him that first time, and he wouldn't have kept on kissing Clifford whenever they found a little time alone, right? Clifford took a deep breath and summoned all the courage he could, ignoring the way his heart pounded against his ribcage as he turned to face the other boy. He opened his mouth to say something - a joke, maybe, or more gentle words of encouragement. Or maybe he should just ask Ricky if he was ever going to get around to kissing him; that would get his attention, at least, and suddenly kissing seemed a lot easier than talking.
He didn't think about it before he did it; one second he was wishing that Ricky would just kiss him already, and the next he was reaching out to close his fist around the front of the other boy's shirt. Whether Ricky was too surprised to resist or he just liked the idea Clifford didn't know, but it was surprisingly easy to pull Ricky forward until they were practically nose to nose. He hesitated long enough for Ricky to register what was happening, but before he had time to ask Clifford what the hell he thought he was doing the smaller boy leaned forward, pressing his mouth against Ricky's in a firm, if somewhat clumsy, kiss.
It definitely wasn't the best he'd ever done, but he wasn't really thinking about technique. Evidently Ricky wasn't either, because after a second of surprised hesitation he lifted the hand that wasn't bracing him against the mattress, letting it come to rest on Clifford's shoulder. And that felt really good - better even than Clifford had expected, especially when Ricky's thumb began moving in tiny circles against his skin. It took him awhile to realize that his fingers were clenched so tightly in Ricky's thin t-shirt that he was in danger of ripping the material, and he forced himself to focus long enough to release his grip. As soon as he let go Ricky pulled away, his gaze darting automatically toward the open door to Clifford's bedroom.
"I told you, they won't be back for hours." Clifford's voice was a breathless whisper, but he couldn't help grinning at the incredulous look in Ricky's eyes when he turned back to the smaller boy.
"So you mean…?"
That was probably the closest Ricky was ever gonna come to saying it out loud, Clifford decided, so he just nodded and turned up the wattage on his smile. "Seems like a shame to waste an opportunity."
Instantly he knew that it was the wrong thing to say; the vaguely scandalized look in Ricky's eyes quickly faded into something far more serious, and Clifford's smile faded as he braced himself for the coming rejection. "Cliff, I don't know..."
It was exactly the response Clifford had been expecting, but no amount of telling himself he should have known made it any easier to hear. The fact that Ricky's thumb was still moving in slow circles against his skin wasn't helping him focus, but it was enough to make him hope that the other boy was just being cautious. "It's just a kiss," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "It's not like we haven't done it before."
He had a feeling Ricky wasn't falling for the innocent act, but instead of arguing he just nodded. Clifford smiled again and started to lean forward, but the hand on his shoulder tightened until he leaned back again and looked up at Ricky. The older boy didn't meet his gaze; his eyes were locked on a spot somewhere in the vicinity of Clifford's neck, his fingers leaving Clifford's shoulder to trace the curve of his collarbone. No one had ever looked at him with that kind of intensity, and he was tempted to squirm under Ricky's touch. He managed to stay still as those strong fingers slid up his neck, though, and when Ricky's hand slid into his hair Clifford let himself be pulled forward again.
They'd kissed before, but none of those other times had been quite like this. When Ricky's mouth found his again it was soft and almost tentative, languid in a way they'd never been able to afford in the past. Every time Ricky kissed him it was sweet and a little unsure, but now there was an urgency behind it that he could feel all the way down to his toes. Part of him was struck by the strange thought that a kiss could be slow and urgent at the same time, but that was the only way to describe it. It was almost as though Ricky was afraid of breaking him; everything about the way he touched Clifford was gentle, but there was a fierceness in his kiss that made Clifford's stomach turn inside out.
His hands found their way to Ricky's bare forearms, sliding along hot skin still damp from sweat. When his fingers brushed under the cuffs of Ricky's sleeves the other boy shuddered, but he didn't pull away this time. Instead he let out a muffled sound that could have been categorized as a groan, shifting until their knees were pressed together on the mattress. And as much as he liked making out with Ricky in his bedroom, early success had made Clifford a little more confident about his chances of moving things along. His hands left Ricky's arms, sliding down damp cotton to rest at Ricky's waist. Slowly he worked his hands under the hem of Ricky's shirt, fingers just grazing bare skin when the other boy flinched and sat up. "What?" Clifford asked, breathless and a little dazed from the abrupt end of the kiss.
"Don't," Ricky answered, letting go of Clifford to catch his hands and pull them out from under Ricky's t-shirt.
"What's wrong?" He was too confused to be embarrassed; a second ago Ricky had been kissing him like he'd never get enough of Clifford, and now he didn't want to be touched. It didn't make any sense, unless Ricky was just doing this because he thought it was what Clifford wanted. Only he couldn't put that much feeling into a kiss he didn't mean, could he?
"Just don't, okay?" Ricky said, his eyes full of some emotion Clifford didn't recognize. He looked…lost, maybe, or possibly just scared. Either way Clifford found himself nodding, even though he had no idea what he was agreeing to.
"Okay," he said, his voice soothing in the silence of the room, "okay. Whatever you want."
The weird thing was that he found himself actually meaning it, especially when Ricky visibly relaxed. He had no idea if this meant they were stopping completely, or if it just meant Clifford wasn't supposed to touch. Only Ricky hadn't had a problem with Clifford's hands on his arms or even his chest; it was just when Clifford touched his stomach that he freaked out. He made a mental inventory of the path his hands had traced; first it was Ricky's arms, up under his sleeves to elicit that full body shudder. He'd been focusing so hard on getting Ricky out of his shirt that he hadn't really been paying attention when he ran his hands down Ricky's chest and under his shirt…oh.
Clifford blushed hotter than ever when he realized what he'd done, but he couldn't quite hide the shiver that ran through him when he realized how close his hands had come to Ricky's lap. He might even have grazed his knuckles across…another blush, and he was almost sure now that he had. His stomach flipped right-side out again, his own hardness making his shorts feel way too tight as he shifted a little further toward the center of the bed. Part of him hoped desperately that Ricky would call it off, that he'd make some excuse about having to go home or something - anything to get them out of this situation. But there was another part of him that wanted more than anything to lean forward and kiss Ricky again until he forgot all about why he'd stopped Clifford in the first place.
He was still trying to make up his mind when Ricky turned away and started to stand up, and suddenly the decision seemed so obvious to Clifford that he didn't even hesitate before he reached out and grabbed the other boy's wrist. "You don't have to leave."
Maybe he was imagining the split second of relief in Ricky's eyes; it was hard to say for sure, because as soon as he blinked it was gone. Ricky let Clifford pull him back onto the mattress, though, letting out a frustrated sigh and stretching out on his back to stare at the ceiling. "This is a bad idea," he said without looking over at Clifford, but his voice was huskier than usual and he didn't look like he believed it any more than Clifford did.
Clifford turned toward Ricky, careful to leave enough distance between them to keep the other boy from making another break for it. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch Ricky's arm, settling instead for propping himself on one elbow to study his profile. "Look, summer's over in a couple weeks, right? So if you leave now it's just a waste of one of our last days of freedom. Besides, it's a stupid reason to run out on me."
That earned him a glare that he hadn't seen in a long time, and he suddenly wished he'd remembered to put his shirt back on before he started trying to talk Ricky into staying. He felt even more exposed now than he had when he first took it off, and up until that moment he hadn't thought it was possible. "I didn't mean you were stupid. Come on, give me a break here."
Ricky didn't answer, but he didn't get up and try to leave again either. Instead he just turned back to the ceiling, staring so resolutely that Clifford got the feeling that he was doing everything he could to avoid looking at the other boy. Knowing that Ricky was avoiding looking at him didn't make him feel that good, but he wasn't going to let this ruin their relationship if he could help it.
"Look, if you don't want to…you know…you could just say so." Clifford blushed and looked down at the mattress, hoping Ricky wouldn't pick this moment to look over at him again. The truth was that those were the last words he wanted to hear, but if that was how Ricky felt it was better if he knew now.
He felt Ricky's head turn and forced himself to look up, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the look in the other boy's eyes. And suddenly he felt guilty for even suggesting that Ricky might not want him, because he could see that that was the furthest thing from the truth. So there was something else holding Ricky back, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to get the other boy to tell him what it was. "Cliff, you don't…"
He stopped speaking abruptly when the outer door opened, sitting up quickly and glancing over at Ricky. "I thought you said…"
"That's what they told me," Clifford answered, sitting up and scrambling to pull his shirt back on before whoever it was decided to come check on them. He'd just finished pulling it over his head when his grandmother's voice rang out, followed by another voice that must belong to her friend who was visiting from out of town.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath as the voices grew steadily closer. He stole a quick glance at Ricky, but the other boy was already standing up to put as much room between the two of them as possible. Clifford stifled a disappointed sigh and told himself this didn't mean he'd never get another chance to get Ricky to talk about what had almost happened between them, but getting himself to believe it was a lot easier said than done.
Part Two