"I promise it's not as bad as it looks." He put his hand on my leg, smiling confidently, and giving my thigh a quick squeeze.
With him touching me like that, I was just about ready to tell him he could have taken me to a cemetery, or an abandoned warehouse, and I wouldn't have minded so much. But I was struggling to speak, so I just smiled and nodded.
We'd driven for about half an hour, up the coast to a little resort town called Avalon. Our neighbourhood — Blue Mountain Beach — had anything you could ever possibly want or need within walking distance, whether it was restaurants, bars, shops, malls or cinemas. Most people usually didn't bother driving anywhere else other than into the city, where things were even bigger and brighter.
But Avalon was much more rustic and charming. My mom loved it, anyway, so I'd been here before quite a few times with my family. Where we came from, originally, you always had to drive a long way to get anywhere interesting. Avalon was about as much of a tourist trap as Blue Mountain Beach — both faced Table Mountain across the bay, after all — and having come from inland, we were still tourists at heart.
He'd directed me to an ugly little box of a building that cantilevered out into the water, the seaward side propped up by a grid of sturdy pillars that held it above the rocks and waves, as if the architecture had somehow justified the effort. We'd parked in the basement, underneath the portion of the building that rested on the shore. The exterior had looked very run-down, and so far the interior was looking even worse — damp concrete, leaking pipes, flickering lights and faded paint.
Eric took his hand off of my leg, and unbuckled his seatbelt. "My mom and I used to live around here, so I'd always come to this one restaurant."
"Okay." I managed to speak, barely, now that he'd stopped touching me and turning my brain to mush. So it was sentimental. I had wondered if we'd gone somewhere so far because we'd be less likely to bump into anyone there. Not that I'd have a problem with that — it wasn't as if I was out, or wanted to be. But it seemed nice to think that we were here for purposes other than hiding.
I got out of the car, and followed him through the cold, damp basement. We made our way past an exhausted looking security guard, and into an elevator that had clearly seen better days. He selected the floor, flashing me a grin that could have been slightly nervous as the elevator shuddered upwards, and we stood silently in the flickering fluorescent light. The doors opened with a loud clatter, and he led the way out.
The whole place actually was a bit nicer on the inside — bright lights and signs at the front of a supermarket and a pharmacy lit up the open-aired courtyard, and there was a collection of other smaller stores, all closed down for the evening. They sold things like antique furniture, artisanal foods, and of course, a few which had made an effort to cram themselves full of anything you could possibly want to take to the beach. We made our way down toward the portion of the building that stuck out over the water, and Eric led me into a restaurant right at the end.
It had a fairly clean, modern look. There was a lot of whitewashed wooden furniture, decorative pieces like mirrors made from driftwood, and copper piping formed into quirky, industrial lighting. Like most places in this town, it had an atmosphere of not trying too hard — a kind of easygoing confidence, as if they knew that the rush of holiday-makers in the heavy tourist season would get them through the rest of the year, and then some. It looked like it was only at about a third of its full capacity, which was still pretty good, considering that Avalon was pretty much a ghost town at that time of year.
A cheerful waitress with dark, curly hair greeted us eagerly as we walked in.
"Table for two?" Eric asked.
"Of course," she said. "Sit anywhere you'd like. I'll get you some menus."
Eric confidently marched his way to the far end of the restaurant, which was slightly less crowded, and I followed in his wake. We wove our way into the back until we reached the windows, and he indicated a small table, tucked behind a pillar. I took the seat against the glass, enjoying the muted sound of the breakers hitting the rocks below me.
He hovered above his chair, gesturing at the ocean behind me. "You don't want the view?"
"No," I said. "I like to face the room. Watch out for marauders."
He laughed, and sat down. I grinned sheepishly. It wasn't entirely meant as a joke — people walking around behind me had always stressed me out. I'd sometimes jump when waiters did that annoying thing when they popped up at your side, as if from nowhere. But I didn't know how to tell him that without sounding like a total disaster, so I didn't elaborate.
"I just offered, because I already have something better to look at."
I blushed, and once again I wasn't sure what to say. If he kept doing that to me, this was going to be a very one-sided conversation. I was saved from the necessity of replying by the arrival of the waitress, who handed us menus, rattled off a number of specials, and took our drink orders.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, fine. Why?"
"You just seem a bit uncomfortable."
I laughed nervously. "Right. Sorry. First date."
"Ever?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah," I said, slightly annoyed at his tone.
"Sorry, I didn't mean... I thought maybe you'd taken a girl out before."
"No." I shrugged.
"Okay." He settled back in his chair, smiling. "Well, it's not a big deal. You just chat, and ask each other questions."
"About what?"
"Well, stuff that lets you get to know each other. Favourite movie, favourite book, favourite colour, that sort of thing."
"That doesn't seem very efficient."
"I don't think efficiency is the point." He grinned.
"Oh, right." I thought for a second. "Okay, what's your favourite book?"
"Uh, I'm not sure. I liked the Harry Potter books."
"I loved Harry Potter. It got me really into reading when I was a kid."
"Yeah, I only finished reading them last year. It took me ages. I saw your bookcase. Have you read all of those?"
"Mostly, yes. Maybe not one or two, but most of them."
"Which one's your favourite?"
"I don't know." I said, drawing a blank. "That's like asking me to pick a favourite child."
"I hear that's difficult." He chuckled. "Do you have a favourite author?"
"I'm not sure." I racked my brain. "I guess... It's a little trashy, but I really like Stephen King and Anne Rice. I'm also in love with this series by Terry Brooks, Shannara-something. It's an amazing high fantasy series, but it also has a few books with a post-apocalyptic real-world thing, and that all links together. It's kind of brilliant, and there's so many of them. Oh, wait! My favourite author is probably Diana Wynne Jones. She wrote a whole series of books about magic set across this weird multiverse, and they're all great."
"Wow."
"Sorry." I blushed. "You did ask."
"Yeah, I did. It's okay. It's kind of clear you like reading." He smiled. "You like Lord of the Rings too, right?"
"Oh, yeah, absolutely. I could talk about it for hours." The way his face stiffened made me laugh. "Don't worry, I won't. I like a lot of high fantasy stuff — that's the majority of my bookshelf, actually. And it's all probably inspired by Tolkien."
"I liked The Hobbit, but I couldn't read Lord of the Rings. They were just stuck in the woods doing nothing for chapters and chapters and chapters. It broke me. I never finished it. Too boring."
"It has its moments." I said defensively.
"I'm sure it does." He grinned. "Louis likes it. He's the one who tried to get me to read it."
"Oh, yeah. We talked about it on the way to the beach last week."
"That's cool." He straightened up in his chair. "Anyway. I have a better question."
"Go on, then."
"What is your favourite guilty pleasure book?" he asked. "Something you love, but you're embarrassed to admit to."
I blushed.
"You have one, don't you?" he laughed. "Interesting. Can't pick a favourite, but you can pick a favourite you don't want to tell me about."
"What's yours?"
"I asked you first, but fine. The Da Vinci Code."
"Oh god, seriously?" I didn't quite manage to keep the judgement out of my voice.
"What?" He chuckled. "It's a fun story. Have you read it?"
"Yeah, and all the others. Complete garbage, but fun to read, I'll give you that. It's a good guilty pleasure book, I guess."
"Exactly," he said. "Now, what's yours?"
"Okay, fine," I said. "Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austen."
"Well, that's disappointing. Isn't that like a timeless classic that's universally loved? How is that a guilty pleasure?"
"Well..." I could feel myself starting to blush again. "It's... A lot of it's about finding love. The characters are all caught up in this petty drama that, in real life, I'd find ridiculous. But I get so caught up in them. It's a perfect book, but it kind of undermines the way I think of myself as a cynic. It's a little embarrassing."
"Oh!" He grinned. "You're a secret romantic."
I just shrugged, and looked away. Fortunately, that was when the drinks arrived, and after the waitress had left, the conversation moved on to movies. It was getting easier, now that we were into it. I also didn't have strong opinions on movies, and he did a lot of the talking, which was helpful.
Especially since he'd occasionally reach across and touch my arm, or bump my leg under the table with his, which really hindered my ability to string words together. Eventually the waitress came to take our food order, but we hadn't looked at the menus yet, so she waited while we had a quick look and made our choices.
"So, you said Ellie saw me outside your house today. Does she know?"
I didn't have to ask him about what. I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't tell her, but she just saw us in the path last week. Her bedroom window looks right down on it."
"That makes sense. Is it okay that she knows?"
"Yeah, don't worry, she wouldn't tell anyone."
"Oh, no, I meant like... are you okay with her knowing?"
"Oh. Yes. Probably." I had to think about that for a second. It had just kind of happened, and I'd moved on. She hadn't really given me much choice, anyway. It had even been kind of nice, after I'd recovered from the shock. I was still avoiding Ellie's questions, and grudgingly giving up information to her — but we'd always been like that. "I guess it's fine. We haven't always been... super close. Or maybe we have, and I'm just bad at friendship. But she's been sweet about it. I guess it's nice to have someone to talk to. I haven't really had that."
"It is."
"Have you... told anybody?"
"Um, yeah, sorry. My friend Jess knows. She kind of knew something was up anyway, and I normally tell her everything."
"Oh, okay." I wasn't sure whether to panic about that or not.
"She won't tell anyone either. I basically trust her with my life. She's known about me liking guys for a while now, and she hasn't told anyone."
"Cool."
"Yeah. We actually used to date, but I told her I liked guys as well, and she wasn't quite comfortable with it. But we're still really good friends."
It took a moment for that to sink into my brain. "Wait, so you like girls?"
"Yeah."
"So you're bisexual?"
"I don't really like labels." He grimaced. "I guess you can say that I have an easier time having romantic feelings for girls, and having sexual feelings for guys. But I definitely have both for you." He leaned across the table and put his hand on mine.
I blushed again as the contact sent a shock-wave up my arm, not really knowing how to respond. Fortunately, I was saved again, by the arrival of our food. Whoever had designed this concept of going to restaurants for dates had known what they were doing. He casually let go of me and sat back in his seat as the waitress arrived, and the interruption gave me time to gather my thoughts, and mull over what he said.
It seemed kind of bizarre to me, at our age, that if girls were an option you wouldn't just... stick to that. In the immediate aftermath of the Marc thing, I really tried to convince myself that I was bi. It had only lasted a couple of days before it became very clear to me that I just couldn't get interested in girls, no matter how much effort I put into it. The fact that it took any work at all should have been a pretty big clue, anyway.
I also didn't entirely understand what he meant by implying 'romantic feelings' and 'sexual feelings' were somehow distinct — my romantic feelings had always seemed pretty decisively sexual. Romance without sex just sounded like friendship to me. It made me slightly self-conscious — I wondered if I didn't have a proper handle on what romance was. Given that my grasp of the concept probably came from Jane Austen, maybe I didn't.
Luckily, by the time the conversation resumed, we'd moved on to other topics, and I could have my existential crisis about it in private at some point in the future.
"So what are your plans after high school?" I asked.
"That's more of a parent question than a date question."
"Well, indulge me."
"I definitely plan to." He bumped my leg under the table with his, grinning broadly. "But yeah, I'm thinking about becoming a mechanic."
"Wow, really?"
"Yeah, University's not a good idea for me. I tried to drop out of school last year and get started on the apprenticeship, but my dad came down on me like a tonne of bricks. He'll be pretty upset if I don't finish high school. It seems easier to just grin and bear it."
"Oh."
"Yeah, he's a pastor, so he's kind of... he just has very firm opinions on how I should live my life. It's a little annoying."
"I can imagine."
"In the end, I agreed to finish high school, as long as I'm allowed to do what I want afterwards. And my dad knows the guy I'm planning to do the apprenticeship with from church, so at least he approves of the person I'll be working with, even if he thinks I should be studying... Theology or some bullcrap like that."
"Right." I could imagine that having a very religious dad couldn't have been easy for him, but at least he didn't live with the guy. "Can he still be a pastor if he's divorced?"
"Oh, yeah. His denomination allows it. He has some nuts ideas about it though."
"Such as?"
"It's... a little weird. He won't remarry for a bunch of reasons, but he's said before that he's still married to my mom in the eyes of God."
"Wow."
"She's... not on good terms with him."
"Yeah."
"He's not that bad though. He's still my dad, you know."
"Right." I nodded. "Do you believe in God?"
"That's a pretty big question." He laughed. "You know you're supposed to avoid politics and religion on dates, right?"
"No. Sorry." I cleared my throat nervously. "I kind of meant to just ask if you were religious, but it came out wrong." I thought of something and grinned, unable to stop myself. "In my defence, though, I'm just asking about your dad's boss."
He laughed, and brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, leaning towards me before getting serious. "Okay, fair enough. I do believe in God. I don't go to church that much any more, unless my dad's around, but I do believe. You?"
"No, not really. I'm not extremely confident that there's no one out there, but I'm just not entirely sure that any single religion has monopoly on all the answers."
"I suppose that's fair." He nodded. "Now, let's move onto something less controversial. Do women deserve the right to vote?"
I just laughed, and tried to keep my head from exploding whenever he casually tapped my leg with his. We finished our meals and the waitress came to clear our plates.
"Would you like anything else? Dessert? Coffee?" she asked encouragingly.
"I think I'm fine." I said, looking at Eric.
"Just the bill, thanks," he said to her.
"Coming right up."
When she laid it on the table, he snatched it up.
"Don't even do that thing where you try and get me to let you pay. I asked you out, so I'm going to get this."
"I still owe you for the ice cream last week. I can pay."
"Well, you can take me out another time then," he said.
Now that was a nice thought. "Okay. Thanks for dinner then."
"You're welcome." He nudged my leg with his, one last time, before he got up.
We made our way slowly out of the restaurant. He sort of sidled up against me as we walked down the corridor, and while we were waiting for the elevator he reached up and lightly tousled my hair. I blushed at the contact, and I felt impatient as we got into the elevator, wondering how long it would be before I got a chance to kiss him again.
Not long — as it turned out — because as the elevator doors clattered shut, he pushed me up against the mirrored wall and shoved his tongue in my mouth.
"Sorry," he said, pulling away for a second. "I've been wanting to do that all night."
"It's okay," I gasped, pulling him back into the kiss.
At the edges of my perception, I could feel the elevator stop moving, and heard the doors clatter open and then shut again. Then the lights dimmed and it was quiet. It didn't really seem important what the elevator was doing, other than the fact that the dim light made the whole thing seem so much more urgent and exciting.
When it started moving again, he pulled himself off of me, laughing. "Crap. I forgot there were other people in this building."
We waited to reach the floor it had been summoned from, and an old woman in a purple coat politely stood aside as we exited. I started casually walking along the pathway back towards the restaurant, and Eric chuckled and followed, but we both stopped and turned back once the elevator doors closed. When it had arrived, and we'd gotten in, he pushed me against the wall again. To resume where we'd left off.
As the doors opened on the basement floor, he grabbed my hand and dragged me towards my car. Then he pushed me against the drivers-side door and continued kissing me. I tensed — we were still in full view of the security guard.
"He doesn't care," he said. "We're making his dull job a little more exciting tonight."
It kind of drove me wild that he wanted me so much that he didn't care about who saw us. I was fully hard at that point, and it was getting difficult to think. And to breathe.
"Do you..." I gasped, trying to get a handle on the sentence. "Do you want to come back to my house?"
"Yeah, that would be nice," he said, still leaning into me. "We still don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I'm happy with anything."
"I want to do... some things."
"Then let's go." He pushed himself off of me, and walked around to the passenger side. I regretted the abrupt end to what we were doing, but I gathered what was left of my ability to move and unlocked my car, climbing in.
The drive back home happened on complete autopilot mode. I had my eyes firmly on the road, and we weren't touching each other, but my mind was raging the whole time with thoughts of Eric. The way he smelled — sandalwood soap, deodorant and a light undertone of sweat — the taste of his mouth, the way his lips felt when he pressed them against my jawline, and the way I could feel his breath on my neck while we were standing up against each other. It was all I could think about, and it was almost a surprise when I noticed that I had pulled my car into the parking spot next to my gate.
I got out, and he was immediately all over me, pushing me against the exterior wall and kissing me in a way that made me glad I had something behind me to lean on. It was going to be difficult getting all the way to my room. I didn't care that my back was against the cold stone of the wall, or that anyone could walk around the street corner and see us like this. I only cared that Eric was there, and I could feel the warmth of his body pressed against me as his tongue probed my mouth. When he pulled away, I would have groaned, but it occurred to me that we could move this to my room.
"Don't kiss me in the path." I headed over to open the gate. "I don't want to give Ellie a show."
"Okay," he said. "I'll try to behave. No promises though."
I moved down the path pretty quickly, and he followed just behind me. The main windows of the house were all dark, and while I couldn't be sure about the outward facing ones, it did seem like we were probably alone. Looking up, I could see a light coming from what I now knew was Ellie's room, but I couldn't tell if she was watching. I didn't really care. I went over to the glass door, and led Eric into my room, closing it behind us.
"Is anyone home?"
"I don't think so. Just us."
He was giving me a mischievous grin, and I had to turn my head away and compose myself. I made my way around, making sure both the doors were locked, and that my curtains were properly closed, with no gaps to let light out. As I finished, he stepped up to me, and started kissing me again.
Kissing him that first night had been like lighting a fuse. But kissing him then, and going further — touching him, feeling his hands running all over me — wasn't like exploding. It was like being caught in a dangerous tide. Like being thrown around in the waves, and dashed against the rocks. The rest of the world didn't matter so much any more. Nothing really mattered, except that I was being carried away by the sensation, gasping for air.
My hand moved down from his shoulder, to trace its way across his chest. I felt an electric tingle every time my hand crossed the line of a muscle underneath the fabric of his shirt, and he moaned softly into my mouth — a sort of vibrating hum that reverberated its way through my head and shook its way violently down the length of my body. It made me less afraid to touch him where I wanted to, how I wanted to. I began to lose all sense of myself.
And I didn't particularly care.
He started to slowly unbutton my shirt. Too slowly. I found it infuriating. He broke off the kiss to undo a button, and took a step back. I followed, seeking out his mouth, but we only kissed for a second before he did it again. And again. When I reached down to undo a button myself, he grabbed my hands, pulling them back down. I let out a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, and he chuckled.
"So impatient."
I didn't say anything — I just grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Taking the hint, he stepped back slightly to give me the room I needed to lift it the rest of the way. He wriggled out of it, and I tossed it behind when he was done. I cautiously put my hand on his shoulder, biting my lip as I felt his muscles ripple under the surface of his warm skin. He finished undoing my buttons, and pulled the shirt open. I shrugged it off the rest of the way, letting it fall onto the floor behind me.
"You know, it's a little unfair that you've seen me shirtless like three times now, and this is only my first time seeing you."
I wanted to respond with a joke. Something about how if he was keeping count, that made him a massive dork. But he'd started to run his hand lightly across my chest, grazing a nipple and slowly dragging his fingers down my side, then moving them around to my back. It was more than a little distracting, so I couldn't really put the words together properly. What came pouring out instead, somehow, was honesty.
"I don't think I'm as confident shirtless as you are." For good reasons, too. I'd finally gotten a bit of definition over the last summer, but Eric was almost unrealistically toned. I would have bet there was a home gym in that huge house of theirs, and I also would have bet that he used it, and often. He was all bulging pecs, and defined shoulders, and rippling abs. If I looked like that, I'd be taking my shirt off all the time too.
"Well, you," he stepped in again, giving me a quick kiss, "are all kinds of crazy." He kissed me again. "Walking around like you're not the hottest guy I've ever met." As if to emphasise his point, he ground his hips against mine, causing our erections to rub together through the fabric of our jeans. I gasped, and he pulled me into a much deeper kiss.
His hands wrapped around me, and he began to pull me backwards. I split my attention between focusing on his tongue in my mouth, and running my hands over his muscles, feeling every ripple and bulge that I — somehow — had permission to explore. I was so immersed in it all that I didn't even notice that we had reached the bed, until he held me out at arms length to look at me.
"You okay?" He asked, his blue eyes fixing seriously on my face.
What kind of stupid question was that? This was so much better than okay. I was staring at ‘okay' as a distant object in the rear-view mirror. I let out a small laugh. "Um, yeah, very okay."
He grinned. "We can take our jeans off, if you want."
I just nodded, and reached forward, running my hand down his treasure trail until I reached his belt. Feeling momentarily bold, I dropped my hand and felt along the outline of his dick, eliciting an approving groan and a smile. I reached out with my other hand and undid the belt buckle, and then began to struggle with the top button of his jeans.
"Here, let me." He swiftly undid the button, then pushed his jeans down, causing them to collapse around his ankles. His underwear — a pair of briefs that looked expensive, and delicate — was having a much harder time constraining his erection. He kicked off his jeans and then sat on the bed, pulling off his socks.
"Come here," he said, gazing up at me.
Whatever was in control of my body — it didn't feel like me, at that moment — complied. He reached up with both his hands, running them along my sides. He gave my dick a squeeze through the fabric, chuckling as I groaned, and then began to undo my belt and unfasten my jeans. Clearly, he was better at this than I was, and soon I'd stepped out of my jeans and kicked off my socks.
"Boxer briefs. I should have known."
What that could possibly mean, I didn't know, but it was hard to care. I pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, grinding my crotch into his, and gasping at how much more intense the sensation was without the extra barrier of two layers of denim. I needed to take it easier, or I was going to embarrass myself.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked as I pulled away.
"Yeah. Why?"
"I don't know. I just feel like you're being very quiet."
"Yeah, I'm a quiet person."
"Only sometimes."
"Eric."
"Okay, okay. Sorry." He grinned. "Just thought I'd check."
I leaned in to kiss him again, trying to avoid too much friction between our dicks. Just having him like this though — our tongues in each other's mouths, our hands running across each other's bodies — was already driving me wild. I occasionally had to pull back for air, and to calm myself down.
"Should we," he looked up at me cautiously, "take off our underwear?"
I jumped back off of him, and he looked really worried until I slipped my thumbs into my waistband and pulled down, causing my cock to pop out and point at him. He grinned, and wriggled out of his, lifting his legs to let them drop to the floor.
I couldn't really look directly at his. Old habits, maybe, but on some instinctive level it felt like I would be inviting trouble if I stared too much. I only caught glimpses of it in my peripheral vision — hard, leaking, and beautiful. I fixed my eyes on his face instead, and it was clear he had no such aversion to looking.
His eyes openly fixated in front of him, where I stood, and I almost felt like I should be covering up. But I didn't — I couldn't be the one to knock that look off of his face. He cleared his throat, and looked up at me. "Can I... touch it?"
"Yeah." I stepped closer, my dick bobbing in front of me.
He wrapped his fingers around my shaft, holding his head close. I groaned, and he inhaled deeply. He began to pump up and down, and my knees buckled slightly.
"If you do that too much more..." I moaned.
"Yes?" He grinned, and then when I didn't answer, he loosened his grip slightly. "You can cum whenever you want."
"Not yet."
"Okay. Lie down." He let go and patted the bed next to him.
I sat down, and then swivelled so that I was facing him, my back against the headboard. He turned, and then began straddling me as I extended my legs out underneath him. He reached out a hand to the bedside table to steady himself as he got in position, and knocked over a small stack of books I'd left there.
Looking over to where the books had fallen, he paused. "Oh crap, sorry, I-"
"Just leave them." I grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him in to kiss me.
He melted into it, his tongue probing further and further into my mouth. Every time his dick grazed mine, it felt like waves of sensation were layering on top of each other, building to impossibly high peaks and drowning everything else out. Then his hand wrapped around our shafts, forcing them together, and I was instantly at the edge.
"Oh fuck, Eric, I'm-"
I had no time to finish that sentence, as I began to spurt jets of cum onto my stomach and chest. As it ebbed, the weaker dribbles coated his hand and dick. I panted as the tides of pleasure roiled through me, and let out a small, solitary sigh of triumph and joy. I looked up to Eric, while he loomed over me, his eyes tracking across my face and spattered torso.
He took his cum covered hand and began pumping at his own dick. He locked eyes with me and started panting. Drawing in a sharp breath, he threw his head back, and blasted his load all over me, some of the shots even going as high as my neck. His breathing was heavy as his body relaxed. He looked down at me and grinned.
"Hang on," he levered himself off of me. "Don't move. I'll get you a towel."
"Through there." I pointed weakly towards the bathroom. "Just by the door."
He was in and out pretty quickly. "Here," he said, tossing the towel to me.
"Thanks." I gratefully mopped myself up, and then turned over to face him.
He'd settled down on the other side of the bed, leaning against the headboard. He was frowning slightly.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, great," I said, smiling. "A little sticky, but mostly great."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"I just don't want you to freak out or anything."
"About being with a guy?"
"Yeah."
It was my turn to frown.
"Don't get me wrong," he said quickly. "I don't think it's bad or anything that you're NOT freaking out. I just don't get it."
"I don't know why I would freak out. I've known I've wanted to do stuff with guys for a while now. I'm more just... happy about it. That makes sense, right?"
"I guess." He looked away. "Sorry, maybe I'm worrying too much. I had a major freak-out the first time I did stuff with a guy. And the second guy I did stuff with freaked out because it was his first time. I guess I thought it was normal."
"Maybe it is." I shrugged. "I've never exactly been an expert on normal."
"Right."
I clambered over to the bed next to him. "So... you've been with two guys?"
"Three, actually. Well, four now." He grinned. "I've also done stuff with two girls." He must have noticed my expression shift. "Is... that okay?"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, it's not that. It's just... I'm just a bit worried I'm not being very responsible."
"That seems like a boring thing to worry about."
"Yeah, but I'd rather worry about that than about whether I have Chlamydia or not."
"Right. Well, I haven't given you Chlamydia."
"Have you been tested?"
"I have, actually." He immediately relaxed. "Really recently too. December. Completely clean. I went with a friend who was freaking out about a hookup. Pretty funny story- although, crap, actually I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"It's another gay guy who's not out yet. So I feel like I shouldn't be talking about him."
"Okay."
"Anyway, I've got the results document on my phone if you want to see it."
"No, that's okay. I trust you." I bit my lip. "I probably should have asked you before, though."
"Probably, but oh well. I guess you're just lucky it's me."
"Yeah." I grinned broadly. Pretty damn lucky.
He leaned over and pecked me on the lips, smiling, and then hopped off the bed and began to wander around my room. Everything he came across, he spent a minute or two inspecting — my guitars and keyboard, the fancy marble chess set on my desk. He even opened some of the cupboards in my little kitchen area when he reached it. At my bookcase, he tilted his head to the side, and stood there like that, reading the titles. He wandered over to my TV, and began picking up and examining some of the video games there.
This kind of behaviour normally would have annoyed me. I don't really like people invading my private space, and I definitely would have shouted at any of my siblings for roaming around with the intention of touching all my stuff. But I just calmly watched Eric making his way around my room like it was some kind of museum exhibit about me, and found I didn't mind at all. I started to almost see myself through his eyes, and I felt like I came across pretty well.
"Why'd you get a PlayStation and not an Xbox?" he asked, holding up one of the games he was looking at.
"Because I wrote to Santa asking for a PlayStation, and I was a good boy last year?"
"Smartass."
"Thank you."
"Seriously though. PlayStations suck. You should have gotten an Xbox instead."
"Do you want to argue about consoles like a couple of nerds, or do you want to come here and kiss me again like a couple of nerds in a porno?"
Instead of answering, he hastily dropped the game and hopped back on the bed, and shoved his tongue in my mouth. Our bodies coiled together, and we let our hands roam over every inch of surface we could reach. It was only now that I felt I could be more patient, and take the time to let every possible aspect of him flood my senses. By the time we broke apart, we were both fully hard again, lying side by side on the bed.
"Can I ask you something?"
"As long as it's not about gaming consoles."
"It isn't." He laughed. "You can say no. I know you want to take things slow... But I kind of want to suck your dick."
"Okay," I said, far too quickly, but I wasn't really feeling self-conscious any more.
"You don't have to feel like you need to reciprocate or anything. I just... really want to do it. I want to taste your cum."
"Yeah." I nearly choked. "Yeah, that's fine."
He pulled me in for a brief kiss before slowly working his way down my torso. I lay back, and watched with fevered anticipation as he got nearer and nearer. Every kiss or stroke of his tongue as he moved down my chest and stomach drove me wild. Even the way his stubble grazed me slightly, and the warmth of his breath on my skin, was driving me wild. By the time he reached my dick, I was already pretty much right on the edge.
He began to tease me with his tongue, eliciting moans from me as he ran it lightly over my balls, shaft and head. After a short round of that, he clearly got impatient, and went for what he was really after — completely engulfing me with his mouth.
I wasn't quite prepared for the sensation. I'd sort of assumed I'd know what it would feel like — everything else so far had been incredibly hot, and every graze of skin tended to send pleasure flowing through my body. But I hadn't been surprised by any of the basic sensations of touch or temperature.
This was different — his mouth felt impossibly warm and impossibly wet, and I let out a massive groan as he took me in. His eyes locked on mine as he did it, and he looked pretty pleased with himself. His mouth was alive in ways I just didn't expect, and it felt like the entire length of my dick was being actively stimulated all at once. He bobbed up and down, and I could feel his tongue running along in certain areas in a way that was both repetitive yet completely unpredictable.
He got into a rhythm, and I quickly got carried away by the flow, the waves building and building again until any effort on my part to hold back was rendered insignificant. I gasped, my hands roughly clenching the sheets.
"Oh god, Eric, I'm going to cum."
He looked up at me again, fixing his gaze to mine, and that did it. I felt myself releasing, gushing into his mouth. He swallowed every last drop, and lingered down there, milking me for everything I had. He eventually pulled away and lay back down on my right.
"Fuck, that was hot. You taste amazing." His dick was leaking pre-cum, and he reached down with his right hand and began to pump it, as he gazed intensely into my eyes. "Kiss me."
I happily obliged, and his mouth tasted faintly of my cum. I turned over and pressed my body against him as the rhythm of his pumping quickened. He began to start uttering little moans periodically, and I was almost at the point of starting to get hard again when I felt his whole body tense.
"Oh fuck."
We both looked down as several streams of cum shot out onto his abs, and began pooling in his belly button. His heavy breathing subsided, and I grabbed the towel we'd been using and wiped him down.
"Thanks." He yawned. His beautiful blue eyes suddenly looked like they were struggling to stay open.
"No problem." I lay back down next to him, and just ran my hand up and down his chest. His skin was so smooth and tan, and the muscles underneath fascinated me. I could have easily kept doing that for hours.
"What are you thinking about?" He asked lazily.
"What?"
"Tell me what you're thinking."
"Okay, um." I looked away, studying the books that had fallen off my bedside table. "We used to spend a lot of our December holidays in Margate — it's near Durban."
He laughed softly. "Okay..."
"The water's warm there, not like here. You could stay in it all day. So we did."
"Sounds nice."
"It was." I smiled. "We usually spent the whole day jumping up and down in the waves, only stopping for lunch, or to reapply sunblock. But when we got back to the apartment, and I lay there on the bed or the couch, you'd sort of feel like you were still in the waves. Like you'd gotten used to going up and down the whole day, and when you stopped, it was staying still that felt like movement."
"And that's what you were thinking about?"
"Kind of."
"Okay." He grinned at me lazily, leaving it at that. We lapsed back into a comfortable silence, and since he didn't seem to mind, I just kept running my hand over his upper body.
At some point, the garage door rumbled. My room is pretty much right next to it, so it tends to feel like a seismic event when it happens. A car door slammed, and I heard a voice I was pretty sure was my mom's. Eric seemed to wake up a bit, and gave me a nervous look. I reached over and turned off the lamp. The room plunged into relative darkness, with only filtered street-light coming in from the exterior window. The sounds of activity in the garage quickly faded, and no one knocked on my door.
"Do you want me to go home?" Eric asked softly.
"Absolutely not."
"Won't it be a problem for you if I'm still here tomorrow morning?"
"Not really," I said, propping myself up. "We'll probably be up before anyone else in my family is."
"And if we're not?"
"Then I'll tell my mom that you're a friend who crashed here last night."
"Think she'll buy that?"
"Well, if she suspects anything, she'll suspect the same thing about Arthur and Marc, who really were just friends crashing here." I shrugged. "So at least my mom will think I'm a lot cooler than I actually am."
"You're cool." He laughed, and then settled back, yawning.
"I'm very cool." I said. "I've got like a million books and a marble chess set. That's cool, right?"
"Very cool." He agreed drowsily.
I didn't know if he'd gotten the joke or not, and he seemed very tired. So I just let the conversation drop, and lazily draped myself over him. His breathing slowed, and I could tell he'd fallen asleep. It would take me a bit longer — it wasn't that late, and I wasn't drunk and fatigued like I'd been last time we'd fallen asleep next to each other. I got up and gathered the books he'd knocked off my bedside table, putting them in a neat stack on my desk.
On my way back to the bed, I paused — just to look at him. His face was relaxed, with eyes closed and his hair all messed up, and the muscles of his upper body moved up and down as he took deep, steady breaths. I felt my stomach flutter just thinking about him. He was mine. He wanted me, of all people. It almost didn't seem real. I just stood there for a few minutes, basking in the feeling, before I decided that I should probably settle down for the night.
&color=03a154&style=for-the-badge&logo=google-chat&logoColor=white)
&color=125F9E&style=for-the-badge&logo=vercel&logoColor=white)
