Rocket Science

by K. M. Neuhold

  “What?”

  “I don’t think I want to flirt with random guys. Not tonight anyway,” he confesses. “I’ll just get an Uber home, and you can stay and have fun. I’ve been cramping your style the past few weeks anyway; I’m sure you’d like me out of your hair.” He gives a quiet, self-deprecating laugh.

  “If you’re not up for a night out, why don’t we head back to your place and order a pizza, watch a movie, or something,” I suggest.

  “You don’t want to do that.” He shakes his head, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets. “You said this is your idea of a fun Friday night.” He nods toward the throngs of people filling the bar.

  “Nah, I’m not into it tonight.” I push my half-finished drink away and stand up. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 7

  Elijah

  Butterflies assault my stomach as Pax drives us back to my apartment. I made such an idiot out of myself trying to flirt with him at the bar. I don’t know why he didn’t just put me out of my misery and let me get a ride home on my own.

  “You really don’t have to come up,” I assure him as he pulls into a spot in front of my building. “I’m sure spending a Friday night in a tiny apartment watching movies isn’t your idea of a good time.”

  He cuts a glance in my direction, eyeing me for several seconds before responding.

  “What if I want to come up?” he challenges.

  “That’s fine. I just don’t want you to think you have to.” That’s what this is all about after all, isn’t it? He’s only here because Theo made me sound like the most pathetic loser on the planet, in desperate need of a friend.

  “Einstein, do I seem like the type of guy who does anything he doesn’t want to do?”

  “No, I guess not,” I concede.

  He nods and turns off the car, getting out without another word.

  As soon as we’re inside my apartment, he makes himself at home, grabbing my remote and opening the Netflix app on the TV. I watch him in awe for a few seconds, wondering what it must be like to feel so comfortable in your own skin, to go through the world with confidence and ease. I bet it’s wonderful. If I had that, I probably wouldn’t want some awkward dork trying to flirt with me either.

  “Do you want me to order a pizza?” I ask, not feeling particularly hungry but happy to have an objective to focus on.

  “In a minute, come here first.” He pats the couch cushion next to him, and I hesitate. Am I about to get some kind of speech about how he only sees me as a friend? It’s not necessary; I already know it. Of course, Pax isn’t into me, it wouldn’t make any sense to think otherwise. The attempt at flirting was a lapse in judgment on my part, temporary insanity.

  I sit down anyway, bracing myself for an awkward end to our fragile, short lived friendship.

  Pax doesn’t say anything right away, simply looking at me with an intensity in his eyes that I can’t interpret. Is he mad? He must be, that’s the only thing that explains it.

  “I’m so—”

  But I don’t get the chance to get the apology out, to tell him I never should have flirted with him and beg him to forget it ever happened. For reasons I doubt I could decipher if I spent the rest of my life contemplating them, he cuts me off with his lips against mine.

  My breath catches, and my brain short circuits. Did I give him a sign I didn’t know I was giving? And if so, what was it so I can be sure to do it again.

  Regardless of how or why it happened, Pax’s mouth is moving against mine, warm and firm, commanding the kiss, consuming me as his fingers slip into my hair, using the grip to tilt my head and deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past my lips. I couldn’t begin to guess how many times I imagined what it would be like to have Pax’s mouth on mine, but every fantasy pales in comparison to the reality of the hungry way his lips move, the feeling of his teeth as they scrape across my bottom lip, his body pressed against mine as his tongue dips into my mouth, making me shiver with need.

  He swallows my moans, my fingers gripping tightly to the front of his shirt, my lips desperately trying to keep up while my heart beats wildly against my ribcage.

  Pax’s free hand slips under my shirt, his fingers ghosting along my stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I want to take my shirt off to feel his skin against mine, but I’m afraid to break the moment. I have no idea what’s happening or where this is going; all I can do is hang on for the ride and pray that whatever insanity has Pax’s hands and mouth on me doesn’t pass before I have a chance to see how this plays out.

  Wanting to feel more of his body weight against me, I lean back, pulling him along with me until he’s blanketing me, pressing me into the small couch. I can taste the ghost of the strong drink he had at the bar, and when both his hands find their way under my shirt, caressing my skin, I’m sure I’m going to lose my mind, completely drunk on him.

  “Can we…” I gasp against his mouth, barely able to hear my own words over my pulse thundering in my ears.

  “Anything,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along my jaw, the rough stubble on his cheeks abrading my skin. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

  His words wash over me and lick at my skin like fire. His teeth scrape along the juncture of my throat, and I moan, pressing my hard, aching erection against his through our jeans.

  “Bed,” I manage to gasp, protesting immediately when he responds to my request by climbing off of me. I reach for him with a whimper, catching his shirt in my fist and attempting to drag him back.

  “Come here,” he encourages, laying his hand over mine, twisted around the fabric of his shirt, the other looping around my waist to pull me up off the couch. His lips crash into mine again as soon as my feet are under me, and I cling to him like he’s the port in a storm.

  I don’t even realize we’re moving until the back of my legs hit the bed.

  “You’re in the driver’s seat here, Einstein. Tell me what you want,” Pax says, his voice thick and deep, his eyes wild. His neat hair hangs mussed over his forehead, the first few buttons on his shirt undone, likely when I grabbed him, exposing his tattooed chest, rising and falling with each rapid breath.

  “I don’t know,” I gasp, fingers fumbling to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt as he kisses along my throat, nibbling and sucking. “I don’t…um…oh god.” I moan as he bites down on my collar bone, my cock pulsing, trapped in my jeans.

  “Do you just want to kiss a little?” he suggests.

  “No, more.” I push his shirt off his shoulders and watch as it falls to the floor at his feet. He’s nothing but miles of colorful skin stretched over muscle, and I think it may be making me even stupider than the alcohol did before. All I can do is stare at him and try to think of a million different ways I could touch him. But I don’t have time for a million ways, this might be the only chance I have, so I start by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the center of his chest, taking a deep breath, filling myself with the scent of his woodsy soap and sweaty skin.

  The dusting of hair on his chest tickles my face, and all I can think about is how it would feel to be skin to skin, with nothing else between us.

  Pax’s hands cup my face, his lips finding mine again as I struggle to get my blazer off, dropping it to the floor as soon as I’m free, and then grabbing the hem of my shirt to pull it over my head. Our lips part for a fraction of a second but it’s physically painful. Dramatic, I know, but now that I’ve tasted Pax’s mouth, I’m not sure how I’ll survive without it when this is all over and reality leaks back in.

  The feeling of bare skin against bare skin is even better than I thought it would be, heat sparking at every point of contact between us until I’m sure we’re seconds from going up in flames.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Elijah,” he murmurs against my mouth. The sound of my name on his lips sends a thrill through me, my cock jerking and my balls tingling as a moan forces its way from me.

  “What question?” I ask, unable to remember any
thing other than the feeling of his body grinding against mine.

  “Tell me where the line is so I don’t cross it.”

  “I don’t know,” I answer again, vaguely recalling already having had this conversation. “Not…um…not everything.”

  “Got it,” he assures me. “Pants on or off?” he checks, his fingers grazing along the waistline of my jeans, making me tremble.

  “Off,” I answer instantly. Oh my god, I’m going to see Paxton without pants on. If this is a dream, please, please, please don’t let me wake up before I get to see his dick.

  My fingers are shaking almost too much to get the button of his pants undone, but by some miracle of god or science, or possibly sheer luck, I manage it. As soon as the zipper is down, the bulge of his erection strains forward, stretching the front of his underwear to the point that I can see the entire outline through the strained material.

  My mouth goes dry, my heart in my throat. I am in so far over my head right now I don’t think I could find the surface if I tried, and I’m not sure I want to try. No, what I want is to run my finger along the outline of his cock and memorize the way every hard ridge feels. I want to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. The fact that I don’t have the first clue how to please him that way barely crosses my mind. I want to figure it out with my mouth so full of his cock that I can hardly breathe. Actually, forget breathing all together, I’m almost certain that’s how I’d like to die, choking to death on Pax’s cock.

  And then my pants and boxers are around my ankles, and Pax is touching me.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” I pant, my entire body nearly convulsing at the feeling of his warm, firm grasp around my erection, stroking me slowly from root to tip. My eyes roll back, and my toes curl into the carpet, my balls constricting. “Wait, oh my god, wait,” I manage to gasp before it’s too late.

  “Was that too much?” he asks, concern filling his tone. I shake my head quickly, pulling at every ounce of courage I can find and using it to shove his underwear down too.

  His cock is huge, slapping against his stomach with a resounding thwack once it’s freed from its prison. My eyes go wide, and I try to calculate the proportions, absolutely positive that there’s no way that thing would fit inside any part of me. There must be a way, right? He can’t have the largest dick in all of existence, and people find ways to make it work all the time.

  I reach out slowly, pressing my palm against his shaft and wrapping my fingers around it. I gasp at the impossible heat radiating off of him, the smooth feeling of his silky skin in my hand, sheathing the hard steel of his arousal.

  “I don’t know what I want because I don’t think I know everything there is. All I know is that I want to feel you against me, I want you on top of me and all around me, I want to see what it’s like when you fall apart from pleasure.” If they weren’t coming out of my own mouth, I wouldn’t believe the words were my own. There’s a desperate, lustful edge to them…I sound sexy.

  “You have no fucking clue how irresistible you are, do you?”

  The question confuses me. I’m sure it’s rhetorical, but it doesn’t make sense either. Before I can puzzle over it for too long, Pax pushes me onto the bed and climbs on top of me.

  He fits himself between my spread legs, his hot, hard cock lining up against mine, pressing against me in the most mind-melting way. His mouth devours mine, and he starts to thrust against me.

  My moan is muffled by his tongue, pleasure like I’ve never felt before rushing through me as his cock grinds against mine. I can’t begin to count all the places our bodies are connected, but I swear every single one of them is an erogenous zone. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t do anything but feel.

  With every thrust against me, Pax grunts around my tongue, and I’m certain I’ll never hear a sexier sound in my entire life. My skin grows damp with a mixture of sweat and precum, his and mine. His arms rest on either side of my head, caging me in, as if I’d ever want to get away. I drag my fingers through his hair, over his chest, along his back, desperate to feel and memorize every inch of him before this is over.

  His thrusts are hard and fast, and it’s too easy to imagine he’s inside of me instead of on top of me. What would it feel like to have him stretching and filling me? It’s not something I’ve thought much about, figuring maybe I wasn’t so into the idea of penetration at all. But I’m thinking about it now. Oh boy am I thinking about it. My hole clenches and aches at the idea, my whole body on edge as he ruts against me.

  “You’re so sexy,” he murmurs against my lips, his words catching me off guard. “So sexy, so perfect, so fucking good,” he groans, moving faster, pressing me harder into the bed until I can’t fight it any longer. I cry out, a scorching wave of pleasure washing over me as my cock pulses cum onto my stomach. He doesn’t stop thrusting, the feeling of his cock dragging against mine prolonging my orgasm until I’m sure I’ll never be the same again. In French, the word for orgasm is le petite mort, the little death. That’s exactly what this feels like. I’ve died and been reborn in an instant.

  Pax lets out a loud groan, and his hot seed joins mine in covering my stomach and my softening cock.

  Pax

  “Wow.” Elijah breathes out the word as if he’s just seen the face of God, a blissed-out smile on his lips, his skin flushed pink, sweat clinging to him along with our release, smeared on his stomach in the most obscenely sexy way I’ve ever seen.

  I bite back a groan as the reality of the situation crashes down around me.

  What the fuck did I just do?

  His eyelids flutter closed as soon as I climb off of him, desperately fighting against the panic rising in my chest, squeezing my lungs until I can hardly breathe.

  Can I claim temporary insanity? Because that’s what that felt like. It was like an out of body experience. I can’t pinpoint the moment I even decided to kiss him; it was like someone else was in control of my body, some lusty beast who’d been watching Elijah through my eyes for weeks now and refused to be contained any longer.

  I need to get out of here.

  “Stay?” he asks in a voice so quiet I almost don’t hear him. It’s only a single word but it carries the weight of the world with it. I can’t stay. I don’t stay. I’ve never wanted to stay, and I’m not sure I would know how even if I did. But the vulnerability in his tone—even with his eyes closed, I can feel him bracing for rejection, and I can’t bring myself to do it.

  “Sure thing, Einstein. Why don’t we get cleaned up first though,” I suggest.

  “Nuh-uh,” he mumbles, shaking his head back and forth against the pillow and yawning.

  “You don’t want to go to sleep covered in…” My breath catches as I take in the sight of him for a second time, so perfectly debauched. “Like that.”

  “I want to,” he argues, his voice low and a little throatier than usual, his fingers trailing from the middle of his chest down to the mess on his stomach. He drags them through our release, rubbing it into his skin, and my cock twitches, attempting to get hard again at the unintentionally erotic display.

  I decide not to argue, pulling back the blankets and slipping beneath them. Elijah reaches over and turns off the light, and within seconds his breathing is deep and even with sleep.

  Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, the only light from a streetlamp just outside. My stomach twists itself in knots that I’m not sure I have any hope of ever unraveling. Sweat cools on my skin, my heart pounding too hard, whether from the sex or from my racing thoughts, I can’t say. It’s probably a bit of both.

  My brother asked me to look out for his best friend, and I end up humping him like a horny dog. Classic fucking Paxton. I grit my teeth and clench my eyes closed, wishing like hell I was someone else, someone who didn’t let his dick make decisions that inevitably blew up in his face.

  I turn my head to look at Elijah, fast asleep beside me, lying on top of the bedsheets, gloriously naked in the moonlight. Hi
s pale skin looks almost luminescent in the darkness, and the urge to reach out and touch him again is almost too much to bear. I clench my hands into fists at my sides, determined not to give in to the urge.

  I always wondered if Theo had a thing for his best friend, considering how much he’s always talked about Elijah, how the two of them were joined at the hip since middle school, how protective of him he’s always been.

  Fucking fuck.

  I scrub my hands over my face wishing like hell for a way to set this whole situation right, to make it like it never happened. Except…

  Elijah gives a snuffly snore, and my heart cracks open a fraction.

  No.

  I steel myself against the longing threatening to wash over me. I fucked up, and I need to set this right.

  Pushing the covers back as slowly and quietly as I can, I climb out of bed. It takes me a few minutes to locate all of my clothes in the darkness, but eventually I manage it, dressing as silently as possible and watching for any signs of Elijah waking up.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I make it out of his apartment and into the hallway without him stirring. I sag against his door and close my eyes, refusing to acknowledge the ache in my chest or the part of my brain that’s still gloating about being the first person to taste Elijah’s lips, to hear the sounds he made just before he came, to feel him writhing in my arms.

  I swallow around the lump in my throat and force myself away from the door, refusing to be drowned in the hurricane of emotions swirling through me—guilt, longing, despair…

  I manage to push myself away from the door and walk away from the apartment where Elijah is sound asleep, still covered in my cum.

  Chapter 8

  Elijah

  The sound of my phone buzzing drags me from a very deep and pleasant sleep. I grumble and rub my hands over my eyes, dislodging the crust that formed while I slept. My eyes aren’t the only thing that’s crusty, the skin on my stomach itches from the dried ejaculate, the rest of my body sticky with sweat.