Power Plays & Straight A's

by Eden Finley

  “The Colchester U community or the queer community?”

  “Queer. I love that you can pick and choose however you identify. Sure, there are assholes out there who say apples can’t identify as oranges, but that’s not going to stop us. I’m a cis white guy who’s more gay than straight, but I get to choose to label myself as bi or pan or even mostly gay if I want to. I wish I could label myself as any hole’s a goal, but apparently that’s crass. Who knew?”

  Zach snorts. “As much as I loved your hearts over parts analogy, any hole’s a goal fits you a lot better.”

  “Stop, you’re making me blush. Anyway, you get to choose your own label, your own identity, and if that doesn’t fit the mold of what ‘a gay man should be,’ guess what?”

  “What?”

  “You can tell anyone who tries to say differently to fuck off. It’s very cathartic.”

  Zach smiles. “So, you’d be all right if I didn’t like it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Something happens with his face, as if he’s disappointed by my answer. I don’t understand the thought process behind everyone thinking gay guys have to love it up the ass or they’re a bad gay. Or not really gay. It’s like saying every straight person has to like penetrative sex.

  “Seriously, it’s completely fine to like what you like and not what you don’t. We don’t even have to do that if you don’t want to.”

  “I want to,” he says quickly. “I just … it looks like it hurts? And apparently lube is super important, but all the porn I’ve watched uses barely any, and—”

  “Whoa. Please tell me you’re not getting sex tips from porn. It’s hot, but it’s unrealistic compared to the real thing.”

  “Oh, now someone tells me. I swear every time the pizza delivery guy comes over, I think he’s going to have sex with me and then he doesn’t. I wondered if he was broken.”

  I can’t help grinning. “I think my sarcasm is rubbing off on you.”

  “All of you was rubbing off on me before.”

  I cock my head. “Is this what you’re like with Seth?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem … more relaxed around me.”

  “Two orgasms in twenty-four hours are probably to blame.”

  “Want to make it three?” I waggle my eyebrows.

  He bites his bottom lip and nods. “I want you to fuck me.”

  22

  Zach

  “Zach, I …” Foster bites off what he was about to say, but I read it on his face. He’s unsure.

  “Is this because of my virgin status?”

  “No … Yes? Don’t get me wrong, I definitely want to fuck you. Like, a lot.” Foster rolls on top of me and his long body covers mine. “I wanna make sure that this is what you really want though.”

  “Are you kidding?” I manage a smile. “Besides, isn’t dorm room sex somewhere on your list of college experiences?”

  “Only if you want it to be.”

  Am I scared? Yes. Terrified, actually.

  But when I look into Foster’s eyes, all I feel is certainty.

  “Please don’t make me beg you.”

  “No jokes.”

  “I’m not joking.” I run my hand over his solid jaw. “I’m ready to beg.”

  “As hot as I’d find that, there’s no need.” He shifts so his erection presses against mine. “Now who’s dumb idea were all these clothes?”

  “You mean this one T-shirt I’m wearing?”

  Foster’s hum is low and intoxicating as his hands trail up my thighs and under the shirt. They come to rest on my hips. “No underwear suits you.”

  “No clothes suit you.” I barely get the words out before I’m pulling at Foster’s shirt and he reaches back to yank it over his head. His underwear follows, and as I’m reaching for the hem of my shirt his hands cover mine.

  “Let me.”

  I inhale sharply as Foster ducks his head to trail light kisses over my thigh. His stubble scratches my skin, and I swear it’s impossible for me to get any harder than I already am. He slowly creeps the shirt up, following the hem with his soft lips, and even when he exposes my cock, he ignores it and trails after the material over my stomach. He licks my nipple, then sucks on my collarbone before shoving the shirt over my head. As soon as I’m free, he seals my mouth with his own.

  Foster’s kiss is deep and needy. I love it when he doesn’t overthink the way he treats me, and I let myself enjoy it. Let myself sink into the burning kiss, the soft hands, the warmth of his large chest against mine.

  I forget to be self-conscious.

  I do as Foster said. I focus on what feels good.

  “You’re so fucking sexy,” Foster pants.

  “Have you seen you?” My legs draw him in closer, and then I give in to the urge to wrap them around him.

  If he can touch me anywhere, I’m going to take full advantage of returning the favor.

  Foster grinds our cocks together again then jolts back. He presses a quick kiss to my lips and reaches for the side table. “I’m going to make this so good for you.”

  I want to tell him to stop promising and start doing, but it occurs to me that he’s potentially feeling a little pressure as well. Sure, he knows what he’s doing, but I don’t even know if I’m going to like it yet, and even if this isn’t a long-term thing, I know he’s concerned about more than getting himself off. If last night is anything to go by, he clearly enjoys making me feel good too.

  “Lots of lube,” he says with a smirk, and there’s a loud snap as he flips open the lid. He covers two fingers then leans down to give me a quick kiss. “I’ll go slow, but if you want me to back off at any time, just say so.”

  “I will.”

  “And head’s up, there will be a bit of pain. It’s normal, but it also shouldn’t last long. Just keep breathing. I’ll be paying attention.”

  “You’re being very serious.”

  A smile creases his eyes. “It doesn’t happen often. Take advantage of it while you can.”

  “I—”

  He dives on my cock. There’s no build up, he swallows it right down, and I feel the tip slide into his throat.

  My head drops back.

  I have no idea what I’d been about to say.

  Foster works up a rhythm as he eases my legs wider and then … there’s a brush of fingers over my hole.

  My first response is to freak out and run at the thought of the pain, but I take a deep breath instead. I’ve gotten comfortable with my own fingers recently, so this shouldn’t be any different. This is what I want. Even though I’m nervous and exceptionally uptight, all I need to do is relax. To trust Foster.

  And trusting Foster is possibly one of the easiest things I’ve ever done.

  He starts to apply pressure, and I slam my eyes closed, trying to focus on his mouth, rather than what his hands are doing. It’s impossible to ignore the pain, but he works me open so frustratingly slowly that it’s more of a dull burn than anything.

  I force myself out of my head and will my body to relax and just feel. The burn holds off my orgasm, and I’m able to focus properly on the way he sucks and licks and works my dick over until I’m leaking.

  He seems to know when the pain in my ass has stopped because that’s when he works in another finger, and then, he brushes over my prostate.

  I almost launch from the bed at the sudden unexpected surge of pleasure that shoots through me. “Argh, yes,” I pant, shifting farther down. “Do that again.”

  “This?” he asks, sounding entirely too smug, but the second he hits it, he’s forgiven—so forgiven—because who knew that someone doing that to you could make your limbs tremble?

  As though he senses how close I am, he avoids stroking it again as he works his fingers in and out of my body. He’s being so gentle and slow I can barely remember the pain until he starts to work in a third digit, and the stretched feeling returns. This time it’s a little more intense, and I let out a whimper. Foster s
lides back up and distracts me with a kiss that seems to make everything feel more intense. My hands card through his hair as I pull him closer, deeper, wanting more of … of everything. It’s not enough.

  “Please …”

  “Not yet.”

  “Foster, please …”

  “No. I’m not going to hurt you.” He keeps kissing, stretching, and rutting against my leg. “Fuck, you’re so tight. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

  “Then do it.” I’m well aware I sound desperate, but now that it doesn’t hurt anymore, I have to acknowledge I like it. A lot. I push back on his hand, and if I feel this amazingly full on his fingers, I can’t wait to take all of him.

  Foster makes a deep growly noise. “Oh yeah. You’re ready.”

  Thank God.

  His fingers slide out of me, and I groan in disappointment, which brings that smug look back to his face. I’ll never be able to see that expression again without getting hard.

  Then he reaches for the condom.

  Everything gets real. The intense need ebbs until I can think more clearly, and as I watch Foster roll the condom over his long, thick cock, I realize this is going to hurt more than a slight burn.

  I’m ready.

  I’m so painfully ready for it.

  Foster looks down at me as I reach up to trace his impressive abs, wanting to feel them under my tongue. He catches my hand and lifts it to his mouth, eyes falling closed as he presses a hard kiss to my palm.

  When he blankets me with his weight again, I pull him as close as I can. His forehead rests against mine, and then I feel the head of his cock at my entrance. My swallow is hard to get down.

  “You can do this,” he reminds me, pressing forward.

  I was right about it hurting.

  But what I wasn’t expecting was how I welcomed the pain.

  Foster moves slowly, pauses, and lets me adjust. His kisses are firm and sweet, a reminder that he’s here with me, and that I’m safe. I’ve never believed in anything as ridiculous as fate, but this moment feels undeniably like it was always meant to happen.

  Perfect.

  As he pushes in, his murmurs are filled with reassurances and promises that I’m doing well. When his hips finally press firmly against my ass, he kisses me bruisingly hard.

  “Tell me when to move.”

  It only takes a minute. “Okay, umm, slowly.”

  Foster presses my legs up and starts to rock. I wonder for the briefest moment if this is what he’s like on the ice. All fierce and focused and completely sure of himself. His lips brush my temple. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

  Baby.

  The word zaps through me, and combined with how patient he’s being and how he’s taking care of me, it’s all too much. It’s becoming too hard to distinguish between how Foster’s making me feel versus how he’s making me feel, and the pressure in my chest is increasing.

  I try to remind myself that I’m in control of my emotions, but at this very moment, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  I pull him into a kiss, needing the connection as I tilt my hips so he can get deeper. Foster groans into my mouth, and his thrusts increase, getting faster and harder. Then he pegs my prostate.

  I gasp and my head drops against the pillow, eyes rolling back at the pleasure. Why did I wait so long to try this? Why?

  Foster presses filthy, open-mouthed kisses over my neck, and the second he wraps his hand around my cock, I come. My limbs shake, and I’m sure I completely check out for a moment.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Foster grunts. He stills and his mouth is back on mine, hands cupping my face as his hips twitch with aftershocks. He pulls back to let out a long exhale. “I love kissing you.” So he does it again. And again.

  When he finally slips out of my ass, it feels weird. Empty. He cleans us up and hugs me close, and with my eyes closed and his warm chest under my cheek, I let sleep slide over me.

  Seeing Foster in class on Monday sets my cheeks on fire. I only left his bed two hours ago to go back to my dorm so I could shower and change.

  Doing a walk of shame is yet another college experience I can cross off my list.

  After spending the entire weekend together, I don’t think I could come again in my life, and even though the pain is gone, I’ll never forget the sex.

  Every time I feel his kind smiles directed at me during class, my body goes warm. That’s nothing compared to when we lock eyes and he looks at me knowingly. It’s like he’s reminding me he knows what I look like naked and writhing beneath him.

  Now my face is on fire.

  I manage to get it under control by the time class finishes, but then I find Foster in the hall waiting for me, and it happens all over again.

  “It’s a good thing you talked to Professor Lawrence before anything happened between us. These cheeks are a dead giveaway.” He runs a finger over my skin.

  “Your fault,” I murmur.

  “Grant!” Topher calls from the end of the hall. “We have to go before Coach has a coronary.”

  Foster sighs. “I’d better hurry, but I wanted to see you before I left. Practice is going to be crazy for a while. Our first game is on Saturday, and even though I’m not playing, Coach is riding me hard to make up for the Morris incident.”

  I nod and can’t help feeling responsible. At least partially.

  “See you ’round?”

  I nod again.

  It makes sense he’ll be busy with the season starting.

  I shift my messenger bag onto my other shoulder and make for my next class, reminding myself he didn’t promise anything more than sex, and the fact I even got that much from him is mind blowing to consider.

  The thing is, now that I’ve had him, I want more. My body already misses his, and not only because of the sex. While we spent a fair chunk of the weekend making each other come, there were all those moments in between too. The talking and laughing, the sweet kisses and gentle caresses.

  How pathetic am I that I already miss spending time with him?

  I remind myself not to be greedy as I try and dislodge the sudden melancholy at the prospect of not seeing him much this week.

  The emotion will only win if I let it.

  Yes. Control. I have it.

  It’s lucky I have so much to focus on that I’m able to lose myself in work to the point where days bleed together. Taking on another of Professor Lawrence’s classes and planning my thesis means late nights and early mornings. Breakfast is barely after dawn each day, and the only way I measure time is by my scheduled office hours.

  I’m staring blankly at my computer screen when my phone starts to ring. “This is Zach.”

  “One day you’re going to answer ‘hello’ like a normal person.”

  I smile at Seth’s voice. “We both know the likelihood of that is minimal.”

  “What’s going on?” His tone is tense. “It’s Thursday, and you haven’t called me. Usually we talk every second day.”

  Thursday? I quickly check my calendar. “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy …” He sounds suspicious. “Either my brother is taking up all your time and you’ve forgotten about me, or …” Seth sighs. “You’re deep in studying, aren’t you?”

  I push up my glasses to rub my eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Have you been eating?”

  I try to remember, but now that he’s mentioned it, I am a bit hungry. “I had a banana,” I answer as I pull up my to-do list and type in “get sustenance.”

  “For breakfast?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Seth groans, and I can picture him rubbing his temple. “Is this because of Foster?”

  “No.”

  “I swear to god, if he hurt you—”

  “He hasn’t.” It’s true. It’s not Foster’s fault I can’t stop thinking about him. “Everything was perfect. The weekend was amazing, and now I can focus back on my work.”

  He doesn’t immediately
answer. “Has he messaged you?” Seth’s tone has softened considerably, and at least I can relax knowing he doesn’t sound ready to go after his brother.

  “Yes.”

  “And did you write back?”

  “To his practice sucks texts? Yes. I said studying also sucks.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “That’s all you wrote? What exactly did he say?”

  “Practice has been crazy. Hope you’re okay … Something along those lines.” Exactly along those lines. “There was another where he was checking in, but it hasn’t been anything major.”

  “Wait, he said he hopes you’re okay and was checking up on you? What a monster!”

  “Seth, I might not understand dating, but I know Foster has a lot going on this year with hockey, and I don’t want him to feel pressured to make time for me. He’s busy. I get it.”

  “The season does start in a few days. He is busy. Dad said his coach is working him hard because of the UVM game.”

  “Precisely. And I’ve been busy too. I’ve been researching. So it’s fine.” And maybe if I say it’s fine a couple more times, I’ll believe it. It’s only been three days since I last saw him, so why do I miss him the second he’s mentioned? I refuse to go back to being reliant on someone again. Foster can’t afford that.

  “Zach … do you like him?”

  I’m not expecting the question. “What?”

  “Do you want more?”

  “I’m not deluded. I’m not some naïve swoony virgin who falls in love with the first person I have sex with.”

  “Again, don’t need to talk about that. But even before … you two were hanging out, so I wondered if there was more going on.”

  “Of course not.” I curse internally as my voice shifts to a higher register.

  “So you’re coming to his first game then? This weekend?” Seth’s casual tone tells me this is a test, but I’m not sure what the correct answer is. Yes, to prove I can watch him and behave amicably, or no, to prove I don’t need to because I have no further interest in him?

  Why is this so hard?

  “Why are you going?” I ask. “He’s not even playing because of the whole suspension thing.”