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Carver is twelve the first time he pushes away when Malcolm tries to hug him. He’s been sullen for a few days in a row, not eating much at dinner with the family but devouring everything in the fridge and the cabinet when he thinks no one is looking. He’s looked flushed almost all the time, but he won’t let Malcolm check for a fever, so a hug is Malcolm’s sneaky way of trying to get his hand on that skin and see if it’s as hot as it looks. In the end, he can’t tell at all, because Carver shoves him away and goes red in the face, a deep blush that looks almost painful. Malcolm holds up his hands in a gesture of safety and surrender, and Carver turns away, hunched awkwardly, and stalks down the hall. He sulks in his room for the rest of the night.
*
At thirteen, he won’t allow anything more than a side-hug, always holding himself separate, leaving space between them. Garrett will tuck into Malcolm’s body, pressing every inch and holding on in a way that Malcolm isn’t certain is appropriate for a fifteen-year-old. He knows for sure his own reaction isn’t.
*
When Garrett is sixteen and Carver is fourteen, Garrett is the one who starts acting oddly. Malcolm wonders if he’s just reading too much into his body language until the night that Garrett comes into the study to say goodnight, still wet from his bath, tiny white towel tied around his hips at a precarious angle. He’d crawled into Malcolm’s lap, almost tipping the chair over, the towel no protection at all when he straddles Malcolm’s thighs and presses down into his lap. He kisses Malcolm – on the mouth – and whispers, “Good night. Sweet dreams.”
Malcolm can’t help the way his hands go to Garrett’s ass, holding them both steady in the chair but also holding on, and he’s trembling and terrified of the line he’s crossing when he kisses Garrett’s lips and says hoarsely, “Good night, son. Sleep well.”
He thinks he sees a shadow at the door, but he can’t be sure. He writes it off as his imagination, but Carver won’t speak to either of them for two days.
*
It’s no real surprise that Garrett doesn’t stop at one inappropriate good night kiss, and Malcolm tries not to think about what it means that he doesn’t discourage his son from touching him, kissing him. Garrett’s precocious, and Malcolm has always known that.
“One of my friends at school,” he tells Malcolm one night between long, slow kisses that are more than fatherly, “is sleeping with one of our teachers. He says it’s amazing.”
Malcolm thinks he should probably notify someone about that, but then Garrett slides his hand down between Malcolm’s legs, and he knows he doesn’t have any room to talk.
*
Garrett’s still sixteen and Carver is still sullen when Garrett finally gets his way one night. He’s worked Malcolm into a frenzy with kisses and touches and a tentative but determined hand on his dick, and when he says, “Please, I want you to fuck me,” Malcolm can’t say no. He has a moment of hesitation right before he pushes in, a moment of panicked clarity when he thinks what am I doing? What have I become? But then Garrett takes the decision out of his hands and pushes down onto his dick, moaning as he’s entered, and Malcolm drops his head onto Garrett’s shoulder and gasps for air. There’s no use in turning back now. He’s already done it.
Afterward, Garrett is practically glowing, and he turns into Malcolm’s arms. “It’s just as good as Anders said,” he slurs, and then chuckles. “Carver will be so jealous.”
*
The next day, when Carver tries to pull away from Malcolm’s hug, he holds on just a little tighter before he lets go. Carver looks startled, but there’s a smile playing around his mouth that promises Malcolm a thousand possibilities.