We were allowed to stand at the sides of the classrooms and put our notebooks on lecterns during class. I was unspeakably grateful that the punishment was considered over, and that the school did not feel it necessary to inflict further pain.
Maverick was in two of my three classes that day. I found it funny, and fascinating, that several boys approached Maverick before and after class — tentatively, nervously, as if they were approaching a panther of uncertain disposition and feeding history — to ask him about the new training technique.
Arlen, for one, asked, "How long did it take you before those moves felt natural?"
Maverick shrugged. "I really don't remember. It was a long time ago. But I know there wasn't just one day where I said, Oh, okay, I don't have to think about it anymore. It's a gradual thing, like any other hanging technique."
Behind Arlen, Stacy asked, "Did you learn it on the neck trainer?"
"Not exactly the same equipment, but something similar. Same idea, anyway."
Maverick was, again, giving me those just-for-an-instant looks, like the ones at the meeting earlier. I wondered if I should ask the boys to back off: Maverick might be able to take only so much of this at any one time. I decided to see how things went, on the assumption that Maverick probably had enough determination to survive at least one day of it.
I was startled to see Jack standing in front of me, leaning toward me with his elbows casually resting on the front of the lectern. In a low voice that wouldn't carry to where Maverick was standing, Jack asked, "Is this for real?"
I shrugged. "I'm pretty sure it is. I can't promise. I've been wrong before."
Jack watched as another of the boys approached Maverick. "What'd you threaten him with?"
"It wasn't like that. Exactly. We did have a long talk. Thanks for last night, by the way."
"Welcome. Maybe I should have whaled on your butt, though. What you did for him was nuts."
"So I've heard. But..." I stopped watching Maverick, turned my head to look at Jack directly, and covered Jack's hand with my own. "Give him a chance, okay? I already owe you a lot, but could you do this one more thing for me?"
Jack looked puzzled. "How would that be something I'm doing for you?"
"I still need to share a room with him."
Jack sighed. "Even more nuts. But okay. Can't wait to collect on this debt. Maybe I'll have you do something for me you don't like." He twitched his eyebrows playfully and smiled.
I grinned. "If you're talking about sex, there's not much I don't like, unless you can turn yourself into my brother. Deal's off if you manage that."
Jack choked back a laugh. "Okay, something short of that, then. We'll talk later."
I breathed slowly and deeply as I stood on the platform with my wrists crossed behind me, both to prepare my body and to try to keep my mind calm. I jumped slightly as Maverick started wrapping the rope around my wrists. It's okay, I told myself, it's okay. There's no way now he'd do anything like last night.
"You don't want to use the neck trainer? I could rig it up in a few minutes."
I shook my head. "I'll start that tomorrow. I want the rope tonight."
Maverick dropped the noose down over my head and tightened it around my neck. I could see Maverick biting his lip. Haltingly, he asked, "Do you... want somebody to watch?"
I smiled and shook my head. Showing any lack of trust in Maverick now would undo everything that I had seen happening in Maverick today. Maverick indeed seemed to have incorporated a spirit of cooperation with others into his quest to be the "best Hanging Boy ever," but I didn't doubt that getting through today was the hardest thing Maverick had ever done in pursuit of that goal. I hoped I'd been right in telling Maverick it would grow more natural to him as time went on. Even Maverick's singleminded determination to do whatever it took was not entirely sufficient. The looks Maverick had been shooting me at times of greatest stress gave me the strong impression that Maverick found himself needing to draw strength from me — the Wynn who believed Maverick could do it.
Standing there, waiting for Maverick to hang me, it was impossible to banish the nervous feeling completely. I couldn't separate myself at this moment from all of the emotions of last night. I struggled to control my breathing, and at last, as the platform began sinking, my training took over.
As I lost contact with the platform, I realized that I had been blocking conscious consideration of my greatest worry — that I would be overcome by a new fear of hanging, making me unable to do what I loved the most. I felt a rush of joy as I wriggled above the floor, suspended by my neck, and felt closer than ever before to Marshall, certain now, as I had not been for the last twenty-four hours, that my life would end with the same triumph that Marshall's had.
I wanted to stay aloft forever, and was frustrated when the first signs of hypoxia told me I had to come down. I felt a momentary tremor of worry that Maverick would, again, fail to respond to my down-signal, but knew in my heart that last night would forever remain in the past.
In fact, Maverick lunged at the lever almost convulsively when I waggled my foot. He looked like he wished he could hurry the platform's timed rise to a level that supported my feet once more.
Maverick was looking at his watch, still seeming nervous for some reason. "Six minutes."
While pleased with a time that represented a new personal best, I wished I knew what was up with Maverick right now. I decided to let it go — Maverick had been through enough upheaval in the last twenty-four hours to account for any amount of uncharacteristic behavior.
It didn't seem to affect his performance once he was airborne for his own practice session. I suspected that Maverick, like me, felt so much at home swinging from a noose that any distractions going on in his personal life were somehow set aside once he was hanging.
I felt the same reactions flooding my consciousness that always came as I watched Maverick up close. After last night I'd wondered whether that would be the same as well, but the tingling in my cock, the almost painful hardness, the flow of pre-cum — it was all back, with its customary force.
Maverick was improving on something he'd been trying out lately: raising his legs behind him so he could catch hold of his toes with his fingers, which helped him spread his legs apart a little farther, while rocking his hips back and forth, looking more than ever as if he were being fucked in mid-air by an unseen lover. He really did it only briefly, for all he seemed to do it forever, before letting go of his toes and letting his legs swing free again. Desperate-seeming leg kicking was an indispensible part of any hanging show.
I almost couldn't breathe, and nearly started rubbing my cock, despite my resolve to save that for the privacy of the bathroom afterwards. I wondered who would feel the arousal more intensely — an audience member unfamiliar with Maverick's special moves, seeing them for the first time, or me, watching Maverick in privacy, so close I could touch him, having always to restrain myself from doing exactly that. It was, of course, no help at all that I felt such a helpless physical attraction to Maverick even when he wasn't hanging.
I was barely able to think of anything other than my need for sexual release by the time Maverick finally waggled his foot. It was lucky for Maverick that my reflexes were so nearly automatic. After that first time, I had trained myself to untie Maverick's wrists before making a dash to relieve my needs. I'd untied Maverick and was halfway to the bathroom when Maverick rasped out, "Wynn, wait!"
Irritated, I turned and said, "It'll only take..." but stopped when I saw Maverick's face. Amazingly, considering all the new emotions I had seen from Maverick in the last day, his face looked as tense as I'd ever seen it. "Maverick, what's wrong? Do you need to see the nurse?"
I approached Maverick and reached up to loosen the noose, but Maverick snorted with nervous amusement and removed it himself. "I don't think the nurse can fix this. Do you want... I mean, you could..." Maverick grimaced and covered his face with his hands. "Shit, shit, shit."
Stunned, I saw that Maverick was crying — I had seen that last night, but at least then there had been an obvious reason for it. Completely at a loss, I whispered, "Maverick, just tell me!"
Maverick, his voice now rough from crying, said in a low voice, "I'm not so socially ignorant that I don't understand what I'm feeling right now. I know what it is, and I just don't need it."
I reached up, gently prying Maverick's hands away from his face. "If it's something you understand, then help me understand it, okay?"
Maverick, not making a move to step off the platform, looked down at me with teary eyes. "I... I never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend either. I mean, of course I went to the clubs and learned all about sex, because I knew I needed to, and it felt really nice and was a lot of fun, but I never connected with any of them. You know? I was never even with anybody more than once."
I couldn't think of anything except how stupid I'd feel if I was jumping to the wrong conclusion about where Maverick was going with this; I could only clear my throat and say, "Keep going."
Maverick covered his eyes again. "But..." He paused so long I wondered whether he needed another prompt, but at last he went on just as I was opening my mouth. "...all day today I just kept thinking about how nice it felt holding you last night, and when the other boys were talking to me I just felt like I had to look and make sure you were there. And during History of Hanging..." That was the one class of the day Maverick didn't share with me — I had it at a different time, "...I c-couldn't stop thinking about wanting to see you there, needing to see you..."
He finally threw his hands down to his sides and looked at me defiantly. "I can't have this now! Not now, not ever! It's a distraction, it gets in the way. And then there you are, heading for the bathroom to have sex with yourself, and I can't stop thinking about... about..."
The hardest thing I had ever done was restrain myself from throwing my arms around Maverick and pulling him over to the bed. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a vision of me and Maverick holding each other, clutching at each other, kissing, making love, and it took a strident internal voice screaming at me that this wasn't the time, that I couldn't ruin everything by taking advantage of Maverick's current barely coherent state. I suppressed a moan and said, "Maverick, I can handle this if you'll let me run in there and do myself first." I pointed to the bathroom. "Okay?"
Maverick paused, then shook his head violently. "I don't... I don't want you to have to do that. I want it to be with me..." He covered his face once more.
Another vision of passion swept through my consciousness, and I let go a helpless squeak, my hand rushing to my cock. I worked again to force some degree of calm on myself. "Maverick, I know you've gone through a lot of new things last night and today. A big emotional meatgrinder. But there's no reason to be afraid of what you're feeling now. Really."
His voice muffled by his hands, Maverick snapped, "I can't fall in love! I'll be wrecked as a Hanging Boy! I can't let anything mess me up!"
I instinctively turned to look at Marshall, my hands making a helpless What-do-I-do? gesture. Memories of the most important day of my life came flooding back.
I reached up and pulled Maverick's hands down. "Maverick, look at Marshall." I held his hands tightly, willing him to comply. Maverick finally turned his reddened, teary eyes in that direction.
"Maverick, you want to be the best Hanging Boy ever. You're looking at him. You've heard what the upper class boys say about him." The older boys, especially the Third Years who had known Marshall best, still came by periodically to visit Marshall in his new room, sharing warm memories of him with me, marveling at things Marshall had done that the Academy's younger students had all tried to imitate. And I noticed that one of the few times Maverick seemed to pay respectful attention to what anybody around him said was when they were detailing Marshall's abilities. If there was anything any Hanging Boy had ever been able to do, Maverick wanted to make sure he could do it.
I saw that Marshall had Maverick's full attention now. I went on, "Remember, I didn't meet just him on the day of his show, I met his roommate Bailey, too. I was there when they said goodbye to each other. I saw them share their last kiss. If you'd been there, you would have seen how much they adored each other." I paused, and then went on, speaking slowly, emphasizing each word. "And then Marshall went right out and put on the most fantastic show anybody's ever seen.
"Maverick, you're such a natural at this that it's unbelievable. It's got to be in your blood. If your dad hadn't met your mother, I'd have to guess he would have been a Hanging Boy like his brother was. And you've got more determination than all of the rest of the boys here put together. But I've had some experiences you haven't had and I've seen some things you've never seen. You're just going to have to trust me sometimes. So listen — what you're feeling doesn't change who you are. Being a Hanging Boy is down so deep inside you that nothing can ever hurt it. Look, when you were hanging a minute ago, you had all this running around inside your head, and I still couldn't tell from looking at you that anything was bothering you. Not while you were up there. Do you understand now that your feelings are nothing you need to be afraid of?"
Maverick rubbed his eyes and sniffled. "Maybe. I hope so. I've got them whether I want them or not."
I reached up for Maverick's hands once more. "Then come down here with me. You're still up on the platform because it's home to you. I can see the way you've been rubbing your shoulder against the noose. But you carry the noose around inside you. You're never going to lose it."
Maverick looked in surprise at the loop of rope — he hadn't been conscious of what he'd been doing with it. He gave me a tiny smile and stepped down.
Standing facing Maverick now, my eyes locked with Maverick's, my knees felt suddenly weak. How did we get here, and is this really going to happen? I wanted to make the first move, but felt immobilized. I stammered uncertainly, "So h-how do you want... ulffff!" Maverick had suddenly thrown his arms around me, pulling his whole upper body against me in a tight grip, his wide eyes just inches away.
I wriggled my arms loose underneath Maverick's and wrapped them around Maverick's waist. The next few seconds were forever a blank in my memory — I didn't know which of us initiated the kiss. It simply seemed my lips were against Maverick's already by the time I noticed, and I felt the need inside me growing as we pressed our mouths harder against each other.
Maverick broke off the kiss and glanced at his bed. I giggled suddenly. "How are we going to get there? I can't sit down and I know you can't."
Maverick smiled and then broke into a laugh, let go of me and knelt on his bed, letting himself down carefully onto his side, never letting the tender part of his butt touch the sheets. I followed him down and lay facing him, and we let our arms snake around each other again. I started gently rubbing my cock against Maverick's.
As our movements against each other and our kisses became more urgent, I suddenly knew that a missing piece of my life's puzzle had slotted into place, never to be lost.