He pulls back a little. "You can't stay the whole night," Dillon protests. It's not even twelve o’clock.
"Gimme an hour," I insist. "I’ll have you in bed by two." I’ll fucking have him in bed in ten.
Dillon looks unsure, so I put both hands on his face and smush. "Or just tell me what big-ass secret you've been keeping."
He steps back and pulled his phone from his pocket, texting quickly. I’m already starting to breathe a little heavy. Like, this wasn’t the plan, not at all, but fuck me if I don’t take this opportunity, right? If Dillon’s willing…Holy shit. Are we seriously going to fuck again? Like for real? Holy fucking shit. I’m so excited.
Dillon shifts his weight while he waits for Brantley’s reply, and glances up at me kinda embarrassed. When he looks at me like that a warm spot in my chest starts to grow. I want my hands on him again. I want his hands on me.
“This is so fucking gay,” I say, mostly to myself, but Dillon busts out laughing.
“Oh,” he giggles, “you think?”
Wrapping my fists into his coat lapels, I pull our bodies together. “I mean,” I say, “you’re the expert, but it does all read pretty gay to me.”
His long, curly eyelashes brush his brown cheeks before he meets my eyes, still smiling. “Are you sober?”
Dillon’s lips are so fucking full. It makes everything he says, like, fascinating. Especially when I can look at them this close.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, distracted.
“Are you concussed?” Those lips ask again.
“Ha ha. No.”
“Faded?”
“I said I was sober.” And then because I can’t, like, not after Dillon basically gave me an electric fuckin’ shock with a little peck, I lean in and kiss him. So fucking soft.
Here’s my deal: I feel like if I don’t give into every minor, like, impulse, that Dillon will run away again. He’ll be all, “Oh, Jay, I'm always initiating or whatever. You clearly don’t actually like me, you just like what I do to you. No fucking and no friendship again, buh bye.” And that would lay me out. I’d have to just, like, quit school. Like, I for real want to do more than just fuck him, but at the same time, you know, that part was honestly so, so good. The way he touched me so gentle, and then let me fuck him so hard…like, who does that? Who is able to do that? And I’ve been trying so goddam hard for that not to be the only reason I want to hang out with him, and it’s not. It’s not! But it’s not, like not part of it, if I’m honest. Like how one of the things I learned about Dillon is that he’s a really, really good kisser.
“You’re sober and sound of mind, and you want to come back to my room and fool around,” Dillon states like he’s a fucking lawyer and I’m on the stand.
With my hands tangled in his clothes already, it’s real easy to slide one hand fully inside his coat and around his waist. “I want to come back to your room.”
“Okay.” He still sounds like he doesn’t fully believe me, even though we’ve smooched out here in plain fucking view a couple of times already. What’d I say about him running away?
“And inside you,” I add.
Dillon laughs. “Jesus Christ, Jay.”
I wrap my other arm around his back, holding him so close that we have to lean away a little bit so our eyes don’t cross. “Hey. You kissed me, motherfucker.”
Dillon looks embarrassed again.
“That’s a can of worms you fucking opened on your own. All I told you is that I miss studying together, and now look at you.” I bite at his lips, just a little bit, in case he likes it as much as I did. “Ready to take me home.”
“You’re right,” he says against my mouth. “This is pretty fucking gay.”
Whatever; my body is remembering how it felt when Dillon was hard and spooning me, and how getting me off made him get off, and how nice it was to have him touch me.
“I’m gonna get a chubby,” I say.
DIllon, to my surprise, rolls his pelvis against mine. He’s got that challenging look on his face, the same one from right before he kissed me that first time. Leaning away, he goes, “Hold it in. Brantley might be in the room.”
“Check your fucking messages!”
Chuckling, Dillon steps back just enough—not all the way out of my arms—to hold his phone in front of his face. “We have one hour.”
“An hour? That’s all he could give you?” I shout “A fucking hour?”
Dillon pretends to think. “Hm, I guess if Brantley comes back before you’re satisfied then you could just take a turn with him. After all—”
“I’m gonna fucking punch you in your goddam mouth.”
Dillon laughs. “Come on, then.” And this motherfucker starts actually jogging back to the dorms.
I, because I’ve been doing good with my PT, can actually run past him with no pain. “Fucking slow!” I yell, and he lets me be just ahead of him right until we have about a hundred yards to go.
“All State!” Dillon shouts in return as he reminds me why we could never catch him in high school.
And then it’s all a little funny, because why did he smoke me so bad if he has to wait so he can let me in the front door? And he did all that in fucking dress shoes.
“Rude,” I tell him, and he kisses me. So of course I have to chase him again. Down the hall, up the stairs—I catch him on the landing and fully put my tongue in his mouth—down the hall again and to his door.
He pauses to open the door, and I feel like a fucking moth to a flame when I step in close.
"I want you to ride me," I say hotly in his ear.
Dillon fumbles the keys. I know I'm being a little heavy handed, but I like the way he shivers when I breathe on his neck. When I slide my hand into one of his back pockets the keys drop to the floor.
"For fuck's sake," Dillon grumbles in a shaky voice. He bends to pick up his keys, and I push my pelvis into his ass.
“Ooh, stay there,” I joke.
Dillon, grabs his keys, stands up, and—you guys, I didn’t know this was allowed but it’s so fucking hot—grabs me by the fucking throat to hold me still.
“No, you stay there,” he orders as he finds the correct key without even looking at me.
Oh my god, like, yes, whatever you say. What the fuck? And then he’s pulling me into the room before I have time to think too much about it.
By the time Dillon locks the door behind us I have my shoes and socks off. He takes his coat off, turns around him, and I am on him like a horny dog on a leg. I need him naked, to prove that I hadn't lied to him, that I really was attracted to him. Dillon laughs a little when I shove him up onto the bed and hoist myself after him.
"Tell me the thing," I order, unbuckling his belt.
Dillon's eyes grow wide with false innocence. "What thing?"
I throw his belt to the side. "Your confession."
He shakes his head. "I don't what you're talking—" he sucks in his breath when my hand finds his cock. He needs to quit playing; dude's already hard. "I don't, ah, remember."
I pull my hand out of his pants and get off him. "Okay. Bye."
"No, wait!" Dillon sits up to grab my waist. "Come here, come here, I'll tell you." He puts my hand back on his dick and shoves a pillow under his head.
I squeeze a little. "Get to confessing."
He gives a sassy look. "The moment is gone, though."
"Put your head down and power through." I take my shirt off.
"Argh. Fine." Dillon stares at my navel. "I was gonna say that I've been holding you at arm's length, kinda."
Tapping the underside of his chin, I say, "Oh, you fucking think? Explain, asshole."
"I mean…" he puts his arms—still so cut— over his face so I can only see his mouth. "I mean I knew you were straight, so I was trying really hard not to like you. Like really, really hard. Yeah, I was kind of mean to you, but I was afraid that if we were too nice to each other I'd slip up, and you'd notice how into you I was."
I fold my arms. "You were worried I’d think you liked me?"
"You seemed oblivious!" Dillon exclaims. "I thought you thought of me as Gay Number Three after Aaron and Crispin."
Though I'm still horny as hell, I scold him, "You're a fucking idiot. Just because I'm not as smart as you are doesn't mean I have no feelings. I obviously at least thought of you as a friend." Maybe I’m not that mad, but it kinda feels like the tables have turned and I like it.
"I get that! I'm sorry." Dillon peeks at me between his forearms. "I was just…scared. Because I know in the back of my mind that you're still straight, and it just takes one, like, faggy slip-up before you tell your buddies I tried to seduce you and you all come beat the shit out of me."
My eyes bug out so far that it hurts. “Seriously?” I ask. “That's how you've been thinking of me this whole time? After you kissed me that first time? After we fucked? After I’ve been trying so hard to just, like, get you to fucking talk to me? The fuck, man!”
“You aren't the first straight jock I've ever liked,” Dillon explains sheepishly.
It feels a little better to not be the only moron in the room. "Put your hands down now."
Dillon does, and looks hilariously shocked when I slap him lightly. "The hell?"
"That's for being a shitty friend," I say, and bend over to kiss him. Dillon grabs my ass so hard it makes a smack.
"You will pay for that," he warns, grinding against me.
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