Just typing those words felt like winning the fucking Super Bowl. Breathtaking.
Carlos: Fuck. Good. Because I was gonna feel like a total asshole for thinking the shit I’ve been thinking.
Deion: Like. . .?
Carlos: Like you’re only here for two weeks and you’re the only bi guy I know who doesn’t want to hook up with dudes on Grindr and you don’t want to obsess about it with your friends, but maybe you do want to . . .
Deion: Try things.
Carlos: Yeah. Try things.
Deion: Like . . .?
He left the sentence open for Carlos to finish. Now was not the time to make assumptions. Clarity was key in a situation like this.
Not that he had any fucking experience with a situation like this. Jesus.
Carlos: Dude. I’ve never done it either, so I think I’d sound like an asshole trying to sext it. I figure instead of pretending to watch a zombie movie next time, we could just see what happens.
Deion: I knew you were only pretending to watch it.
Carlos: Yeah, well, now I’m pretending you’re naked and I get to find out what it’s like to suck cock. I think I’d be good at it.
Yup. Hard-on engines engaged, right there. He wanted to reach down and grab himself, because his dick ached for a touch, a hand, a mouth. For someone specific’s hand or mouth. But Deion couldn’t stop texting right now if his next breath depended on it.
Deion: Holy shit.
Carlos: Too fast?
Deion: Not really, no. I mean, NO. Just frustrating. LOL.
Carlos: Tbh, I’m mostly trying to sound like I’m not freaking out about bringing this up.
Which was maybe the best thing Carlos could have said to him right now. Because Deion’s entire body was confused and wanting and vibrating with need, and his brain was even worse. Hearing that Carlos was less than 100 percent confident in his moves here was strangely reassuring.
Deion: Ha. You don’t sound like you’re freaking out at all. But I might be, a little bit.
Carlos: We don’t have to do anything, really. I just wanted to try. And I have this thing for your body.
Deion: A thing?
Carlos: Yeah. You’re just so BIG. I feel like a skinny little punk next to you. Kinda weird, but I like it. And I keep thinking about biting the muscles of your neck. Like, the big ones between your shoulder and your neck.
He knew what Carlos meant. His traps.
Carlos was still texting.
Carlos: I don’t normally look at guy’s neck and think about biting them, but looks like you’re my type. Just didn’t know it before now. Explains why I never hooked up with Benji back in the day when he used to flirt with me.
Deion: Don’t tell Josh! My boy is mad jealous of his boo.
Deion was having more than a minor moment of jealousy himself at the idea too. Which was ridiculous. He ignored it and went for a compliment instead.
Deion: I think you’re my type. ;)
Carlos: Nice.
Deion: I mean, I like Benji. He’s definitely very, um . . .
He sent the sentence unfinished because he couldn’t think of the word. Carlos supplied it a moment later.
Carlos: Fuckable.
Deion: Yeah. LOL. He seems really bendy, like he’d be ready to do the splits or something. Plus, he gets that look in his eye.
Carlos: Like he knows all the secrets of the human body?
Deion snorted, remembering that shared moment at Joe’s the day before.
Deion: YES. And you want to be all, SHOW THEM TO ME, MASSAGE GOD.
Carlos: Lol. IKWYM. Just so you know, he was like that back in high school, way before massage school.
Deion: But he’s not really my type. Like, I get why Josh developed a thing for him in one weekend, but I’d be freaking out about accidentally breaking him.
Carlos: My boy’s tougher than he looks.
Deion: No doubt. I’ve seen Benji kill it in paintball. He’s ruthless. But little guys were never the ones who made me think, you know?
Carlos: Yeah.
Deion took a deep breath. Fuck. It was making him light-headed and hot at the same time, having this conversation with a guy he knew was as curious, and as into keeping things on the down low, as he was. Who’d already basically propositioned him for the kind of secret experimentation Deion had never thought he’d get to try.
He bit his lip. And texted.
Deion: Fact. I only ever got curious looking at guys like you.
Carlos: :)
Deion: I figured if I ever, you know, got together w/someone, it’d be a guy like you.
Carlos: Yeah?
That was an invitation for elaboration if he’d ever seen one.
Deion: Yeah. Someone who looks like he could hold his own in a wrestling match.
Carlos: Shit. That’s hot.
Yeah, it was. He was picturing it now. Carlos wasn’t as ripped as he was, but he wasn’t a skinny little punk, at all. The man had muscles and was almost as tall as Deion, and the idea of all that strength pressing against his own was making him dizzy.
Carlos: Well, we’ll have to see what we can make happen while you’re down here. Maybe we can both live out some fantasies.
The texting went on like that until Deion’s eyes were so heavy he couldn’t keep them open any longer. He texted good night and tucked the phone under his pillow without thinking about why.
He fell asleep imagining it. Imagining everything. Hard hands on his hips, the heat of a wet, wide mouth on his cock, the feel of things sucking and pressing and entering and thrusting, until he wasn’t sleepy anymore. Until he had to grab himself and stroke and imagine it more, swallowing his shout and striping his stomach with come. Then he fell asleep still imagining it, again.
6
Deion: So, where should I go if I need to get in a run?
He’d woken up wanting to text Carlos immediately, but that had seemed like a revealing thing to do. Fall asleep jerking off to the idea of getting naked with a guy and then text him like a loser at dawn the next morning. Because that’s when he’d finally admitted he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anymore, since all his brain did with downtime at the moment was try to picture what Carlos would kiss like. Or fuck like. Not that he even knew how he wanted that whole thing to go.
But thinking about it sure did set his skin on fire.
So eventually he’d come up with an excuse to text. A reason that didn’t sound entirely stupid. Even if he was being transparent as shit. Probably.
Carlos: Well, first off, you go at dawn, or before, because it’s fucking hotter than ass out there by now. You should have called me earlier.
Deion: I was *trying* not to look like the loser who talked about sexting at midnight, then stalked you by texting you at dawn with a bullshit story about wanting to go running.
Carlos: So it’s an excuse?
Deion: Of course it’s an excuse. My dick’s been hard for, like, twelve fucking hours now. I wasn’t going to sit around and not find out what we do now.
His phone rang.
“Hey.”
Just one word in Carlos’s deep voice in his ear and Deion’s skin tingled. His fingertips were buzzing, and he rubbed them against his stomach to try and quell the sensation. Instead, his hand drifted down until it was wrapped loosely around the base of his cock. “Hey.”
“Are we really doing this?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?” Carlos’s voice rose on a question.
“To be honest, I’m not sure I can, sober.” Which was kind of a chicken-shit thing to say, but Deion had decided to be honest about his nerves. No sense pretending this wasn’t intimidating as hell to him. “I mean, I want to. But I’ve been making myself not think about it for so long now, it feels . . .”
“Dangerous.” Carlos sighed out the word.
“Yeah. Dangerous, to think about it. Or talk about. Like, it’s making my heart race right now, having this conversation with you.”
>
“I know what you mean.” Carlos’s murmur rumbled out of the phone, along with noises like he was rolling over in bed.
And now Deion was trying to picture his bed. A giant lake of white sheets and white pillowcases and white blankets? A mess of navy or gray on a small mattress? A hodgepodge of mix-and-match bedding?
Stop thinking about his bed. You’re never going to get there if you can’t even admit . . .
“I keep worrying I’m going to chicken out. When the time comes.”
“When the time comes to . . .?”
Suck your dick. Or take it. In my ass.
Football had grounded Deion’s team player mentality deep in his bones. You never let your teammates do all the work. You always worked as hard as they did, if not harder, because to do anything less would be to let them down, and letting down a teammate was unacceptable. So as much as his Nervous Nellie ass might want to focus on what it would be like to get blown by a guy, or to fuck one, his sense of sportsmanship wouldn’t let him stop there.
Honor demanded he at least try it both ways, because anything else would feel like he was taking advantage. But yeah, some ideas were scarier than others. Even the ones that turned him on like whoa. And maybe a little bit of his competitiveness factored in here too. “Plus I’ve never liked being bad at something, so you know . . .”
Carlos laughed softly and the sound made the back of Deion’s neck tingle. “I hear you athletes are pretty competitive. Maybe you’ll be inspired to try harder.”
“Ha,” Deion snorted, loudly enough to be glad Josh and Benji’s room was at the other end of the apartment. “That’s a devious kind of way to get me to do things.”
And by things we mean sucking your dick. Just to be clear here.
“I always wanna be the man with the plan,” Carlos said cheerfully. “And hell, if we can’t have fun, what’s the point? Right.”
“Fun. Right.” His heart was racing so hard, fun wasn’t the problem. Not keeling over the first time Carlos touched him was the problem.
“Hey.” Carlos’s voice modulated sharply, losing some of its good cheer and picking up more concern. “I think I need to be clear about this.”
Oh, fuck. Had he changed his mind? Just because Deion could hardly think straight or get the words out half the time didn’t mean he didn’t want to do this. Or that he wasn’t going to be fucking awesome at it.
Carlos was still speaking. “Look, I like you. You’re hot. You’re fun. You seem like a pretty low-drama guy. And, frankly, you’re leaving town soon. I’m not looking to start an ongoing thing with you. That is a large part of your appeal. I don’t want to have long, detailed conversations with my friends and family about coming out as bi, because I’m not planning on pursuing anything with men. Plus, I don’t want to get into it with Benji or Josh.”
“Fuck, no. I don’t want to talk about it with them either.” Jesus. From what he’d seen, Carlos had at least established a level of comfort with Josh and Benji and the rest of his friends where he joined their gossip about hot guys or joked around in a way that made it clear he was comfortable with anyone thinking he was bi, even if he didn’t actually claim the label by word or deed. Deion hadn’t ever even hinted at anything like that being possible. The strongest indication he’d ever given that he might not be happy with his current choice to date women exclusively was the fact that he never kept a relationship going longer than a month.
Three weeks, if we’re being honest. It’s been since college that you last dated someone for a whole month.
And if he came out as bi, plenty of people would point to his lack of long-term relationships with women and decide he was really gay, not bi. He wasn’t an idiot. He watched as many shitty celebrity gossip shows when stuck away from home in hotel rooms as the next guy. The idea of arguing or explaining or even imagining the energy it would take to ignore that noise was exhausting.
It wasn’t because he was gay that he’d never formed a permanent attachment to a woman, he was pretty sure. It was because he was suppressing a giant chunk of his personality and his sexual desire and his emotions.
Hard to make a permanent connection when you’re only operating with half a heart.
Regardless, he had no intention of discussing this shit with Josh or Benji, and he’d like it best if they never had any idea at all that anything had happened between Carlos and him. “I definitely vote no talking about it. At all.”
Because it wasn’t just the talking-with-his-friends thing that freaked him out. It was half of his attempts to talk about this with Carlos, even. He couldn’t get the words out, or he didn’t even know what the words should be. Everything made him nervous. Excited, hard as a fucking rock, crazy eager to give it a try. But nervous. Yeah, he was nervous as shit, and trying to talk things out only made him more anxious.
Not a situation Deion loved being in.
“Sounds good to me. I also vote we just take things as they come. Do what happens naturally.”
“What happens naturally,” Deion repeated doubtfully. How could anything happen naturally if he’d never done any of this before?
“It’s not a race. Or a competition. That’s all I’m saying,” Carlos clarified.
Deion nodded, even though Carlos couldn’t see him. That made sense. Went against every instinct he’d developed since he was ten, but he could see the logic behind it.
“We’re all going out to the clubs tonight,” Carlos was saying. “We can just . . . see what happens.”
Life was about to get fucking interesting as hell.
* * *
Carlos backed Deion into the alcove next to the elevator bank. Not entirely private, but they’d probably hear the elevator doors opening in time. And he couldn’t wait any longer. Deion’s eyes had been locked on his mouth since the moment Carlos entered Josh and Benji’s apartment to find the three of them pregaming it with margaritas and shots of tequila. More than a couple of shots in Deion’s case, if his careless display of sexual attraction in front of their friends was anything to go by. Carlos was going to lose his fucking mind if he had to go through a whole night out, wondering when something, anything, more than Deion’s hungry eye-fucking was going to happen.
“What are you doing?” Deion asked, voice low and husky. His gaze was locked on Carlos’s mouth.
“They’ll be down in two minutes.” He licked his lips. Watched Deion’s eyes track the movement. Inhaled and sucked in the scent of Deion’s aftershave. Crisp, rich, masculine. He wondered if he’d taste it if he licked a stripe up Deion’s neck. “Wanna make out?”
Deion’s pupils dilated. “Okay. Yeah.”
“Yeah?” he asked, teasing now, because Deion’s hair-trigger attraction to him was super flattering.
“Uh-huh. That works.” Deion licked his lips until they were shiny and pink. “A lot.”
Carlos leaned against that broad chest and pulled Deion’s head down, hesitating with their mouths a millimeter apart until Deion surged forward and kissed him. God, he’d wanted it that way. Hadn’t wanted to be the only one making the first move when every move felt risky and uncertain as hell.
But nothing about this kiss felt uncertain now. Deion’s mouth moved over his possessively, nipping and sucking and licking his way into Carlos’s mouth like he belonged there. A groan vibrated in someone’s chest and someone else pressed their hard dick into an equally hard stomach. Deion’s hands dropped to Carlos’s ass and pulled him even tighter, fingers digging in deep until Carlos gasped into his mouth and Deion sucked on his tongue, frantic now.
A ping echoed in the marble-floored lobby.
“Auuuuuuugh.” Deion pulled away far enough to drop his forehead until it pressed, briefly, against Carlos’s.
Who only let them stand there for a split second before separating them and turning to wait for their friends to pile off the elevator.
Benji gave Carlos a look. “Why do you radiate I’m damn pleased with myself?”
“I have no idea what yo
u mean,” he said, keeping his voice innocent and light. Behind him, Deion snorted. Carlos fought to keep a grin off his face.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” Josh said as he thumbed his phone off and put it in his pants pocket. “Tomás and Axel are going to meet us there, by the way.”
Eyes narrowed, Benji tucked a hand through Josh’s arm and led the way out of the apartment building, tossing speculative glances behind him at Carlos and Deion every ten steps. Carlos waited to see if he’d grill them further, but nothing more was said.
Their Lyft was waiting at the curb and Deion got into the front with the driver, thank God, because Carlos was half-afraid Deion would just up and grab his dick in front of Benji and Josh.
Yeah, this was going to be one hell of an interesting night.
7
Deion didn’t want to dance. He didn’t want to laugh and flirt and joke around, like every other dude in this wild-ass bar with neon lights under the glass dance floor and the smoke machine cranked on high.
All he wanted to do was sit here and stare at Carlos and imagine what it would be like to kiss him again.
To do more than just kiss.
The world’s most eclectic DJ had melted the R&B groove of Blackstreet’s “No Diggity” into a house remix of Miley Cyrus’s “Jolene” when Carlos finally noticed.
They’d been at the first club for a half hour or so, and Deion was buzzing with too many shots of tequila he’d downed out of sheer nervousness, a state that was normally a challenge to reach for a guy his size. Deion excused himself from the group to go to the bathroom.
When he exited the bathroom, Carlos leaned against the wall across from the open doorway, partway hidden by a massive glass column that split the corridor wall in two. He was long and lean in a black jeans and black Chelsea boots, with a dark gray dress shirt sporting a subtle sheen and unbuttoned one more button than Deion had seen him wear before.
Deion moved out the way as three guys pushed politely past him into the restroom, then moved across the way to lean against the wall, facing Carlos.
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