Rusty had meant that as a joke but Cross got a tense expression, lips thinned and brow furrowed, suddenly older than his years. “Yeah, about that.”
“What?” They sat in silence for a minute, the quiet drawing out till Rusty added, “Now you’re making me nervous.”
“You remember how I said I was demisexual?”
“Yeah?” He’d got the “not interested in casual sex” part loud and clear, but when they were likely to move to sex was still a mystery.
“Except I think that was a lie.” Cross twisted his hands together, like he was going to pull his thumbs off. “I think I’m really asexual. Not gray or demi or whatever, just ace.”
“Okay…” Rusty let the word trail off and looked away, even though he had questions. Cross would explain, or not. Rusty didn’t really have any right—
“Don’t do that,” Cross said.
“Do what.”
“Get all, I don’t know, remote, like it doesn’t matter. If we’re together, what I want or don’t want in bed will make a difference to you.”
Rusty nodded, because of course it fucking did. Or not-fucking did. Whatever. “So that means what? You won’t start to like sex eventually?”
“Well, I don’t want it. For myself.”
“Ever?”
“I don’t think so. I jerk off sometimes and that’s okay, but it’s not sex, really.”
“When you’re bossing me around making me jerk off, it feels like sex.”
“That, yes. I like that.” Cross peered at him. “You do too, right?”
“Hell, yeah. Makes me come my brains out.” Rusty’s stomach dropped. “But you don’t want to do it anymore?”
“No! I do! I love being able to make you feel that good.”
“But you don’t want me to do it back to you?”
“No.”
Rusty could’ve left it there. Message received. But this wasn’t some hook-up he’d had a good time with and would never see again. This was Cross. “I don’t get it. If you jerk off, then you know it feels great. Having someone else do it feels even better.”
“To you. For me…” Cross frowned and looked off into space. “I don’t want anyone else touching me there. And coming just isn’t that special. Not worth the trouble, mostly.”
“Uh. Maybe you need to do it with the right person.” He’d hoped to be that person. The guy someone demisexual cared about enough to make sex special.
Cross chewed on his lower lip. “Okay, terrible analogy incoming. For me, orgasm is like, uh, a really good piss. There’s a buildup of need. I think, ‘Oh, I should do something about that,’ and I do. It feels good and then it’s over. But you wouldn’t drink a ton of water to get to piss more often. You don’t want someone to hold your dick while you pee, or to tease you and not let you pee when you need to.”
“Some people do,” Rusty said, more to be contrary than anything, because he was out of his depth.
“Sure. More power to them. But for most of us, it’s a physical need that feels mildly good and we take care of it ourselves.”
“And that’s sex to you?”
“Something like that. I don’t, like, imagine lips or hands or picture anyone else when I jerk off.”
Not even me?Rusty didn’t ask, couldn’t sound that needy.
“I don’t plan for when I’ll get the chance, or anticipate, or even think about it afterward. I wash my hands and move on.”
“And that’s what you want us to do from now on?” Rusty could do that, he guessed, to be with Cross, but it sounded lonely after the fun they’d had. Except maybe onlyhe’dhad fun.
