“Oh! Uh.” Rob withdrew his hand.
Instead, Dylan leaned forward, cupped Rob’s nape to gather him in, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Happy sigh.
“All done with this, Puny?” Dylan’s hand covered Rob’s holding the bowl.
Yes, yes, he was. In fact . . . Rob slumped sideways, quite suddenly unable to remain upright. Luckily, Dylan got the half-finished bowl of congee out of his hands before it had a chance to spill. He set the bowl aside, and then turned to tuck Rob in, gently smoothing the blankets over his chest.
“You need anything else? Meds?”
“Nuh,” Rob slurred, eyelids drooping.
“Okay, you just let me know, then.” With that, Dylan stripped his sweatshirt, leaving him barebacked, and then stood to shuck himself out of his jeans.
“Whu ya doin’?” Rob fought off the bizarre urge to avert his eyes.
“Getting under the covers?” Dylan replied. And so he did. Climbed into the bed beside Rob, elbowing him over a few inches, and then settled back using his upper arm as a pillow. “I assume the offer to stay the night is still open?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “But it’s not night.”
“If you must know my itinerary, I plan to snuggle until you fall asleep, then snoop through your shit—kidding, I’m kidding!—and then get this project typed up. Where are your notes, by the way? Otherwise I will have to snoop.”
“Desk. Composition notebook.”
“Composition notebook,” Dylan mimicked with a derisive snort. He shook his head. “Fucking hipster.”
Rob was asleep again before he could reply.
Rob woke up the next morning to two very pleasant surprises: one, that he could breathe out of his nose for the first time in days, and two, that Dylan was still in bed with him, his big body spooned up against Rob’s back.
Okay, make that three very pleasant surprises. The third, of course, being the wonderful, thick erection nudging Rob’s ass.
“Mmm.” He wiggled in Dylan’s arms and not-so-subtly pressed that erection closer. “Good morning.”
Dylan chuckled into his hair. “Is it, now? My congee work its magic?”
“Either that, or you snuck me some heavy duty cough syrup while I was out.”
“I would never.” A big palm caressed Rob’s flat belly and slipped downward, gently cupping his growing cock. “This okay?”
That woke Rob up the rest of the way, from sleepy-slack to totally tense in a matter of seconds. “Yes, for God’s sake. Do you need it in writing or something?” He cleared his throat and spoke in a stuffy, official voice: “This is to state that the undersigned, Rob Ng, gives Dylan Ford permission to manhandle his dick in perpetuity.”
“Smartass.”
“My sister’s in pre-law.”
“And do you normally invoke her in matters of the boner?”
Rob twisted around until they were face to face. He gave Dylan his very best I’m being serious look. “If it gets you to stop treating me like your very own No Means No PSA. Because, dude, I’m all for enthusiastic consent, but it’s pretty weird when every time you ask, you make it sound like I should be saying no.”
Dylan’s brow crumpled, his eyes glancing away, avoiding Rob’s stare. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Rob took him by the chin and pressed their lips together in a quick, but he hoped meaningful, kiss. “I mean, here I am ragging on my boyfriend for being too considerate. Sounds like the only person who needs to apologize here is me.”
That perked Dylan up, because his chastened expression broke into a big lecherous grin. “Well, in that case . . . I dunno about an apology exactly, but I sure do have a few ideas on how you can make it up to me.”
“Oh?” Rob cooed back, giving a girly little one-shouldered-shrug-and-head-tilt combo. “I hope some of them include your dick inside me.”
Dylan gulped, eyes going wide. “Uh,” he said.
“I think you’ll find you mean ‘Uh-huh,’” Rob replied with a wink. He’d never seen Dylan speechless before, and, to be honest, he kinda liked it. Not the speechless part, necessarily—because he loved hearing Dylan talk, loved the things he said and the totally unabashed way he said them—but the part where Rob had the power to make that smart mouth speechless? Hell, yeah, he liked that.
He didn’t know what was going to come of their relationship, exactly, especially considering Dylan’s plain-stated timidity about commitment, but he knew that for as long as it lasted, Rob would be on a never-ending quest to make Dylan speechless.
Starting now.
Before Dylan could find his voice again, Rob gave him a peck on the chin and shimmied down under the covers.
Hot under here, and Dylan’s masculine scent filled Rob’s senses.
Heady, that was the word, and oh yes, so appropriate. Rob rucked up Dylan’s soft red T-shirt, exposing his soft, almost smooth belly. Kissed him there, loving the give of Dylan’s flesh under his lips. Cupped Dylan’s hips in his hands and pressed his whole face in, kissing him, breathing him in, nosing the soft near invisible hair under his belly button. Dylan didn’t touch him, didn’t push him down, just kept his hands fisted in Rob’s sheets, so tight they were white-knuckled.
Rob lifted his head. “You can touch me,” he said. “Mister Needs-Permission.”
Outside the blankets, Dylan laughed, and his whole body shook, exposed belly jiggling a little with the force of it. “Forget Thomas Builds-the-Fire. Make way for Dylan Needs-Permission,” he said.
Rob flicked him in the side. “Shhh,” he said. “Unless you’re dirty-talking.”
“Dirty talk, huh? Okay, how about this.” The blanket flew off Rob’s head, exposing him to the cold air of the room and dissipating Dylan’s intoxicating scent into the air. “Get rid of that blanket so I can watch your pretty face when you suck me off.”
Pretty, he called me pretty. Rob’s bones wanted to melt, but he had a job to do. So he looked up Dylan’s body—he’d propped himself up on a pillow and was now looking down on Rob with one arm tucked lazily under his head—and gave him a slow lick of his lips.
“Mmm,” Dylan said, and reached down with his free arm to press the pad of his thumb to Rob’s lower lip, tugging it down until Rob could feel his fingerprint on the wet inside of his lip and the bottoms of his lower teeth. Not breaking eye contact, Rob opened his mouth and drew that thumb in. Drew Dylan in, body and spirit, capturing his thumb and his attention. He sucked gently, tasting familiar salt. The whole time, Dylan watched him, eyes dark, lower lip caught in his teeth. At last, he found his voice to speak. “That’s not my dick, you know.”
Rob freed Dylan’s thumb with one last lick. “You’re the one who put it in my mouth.”
“Allow me to rectify the situation, then.” Dylan used his spit-wet thumb to hook the waistband of his boxers and pull them down. His cock sprang free in all its magnificent uncut glory, thick and hooded with a pair of tight, dark balls at its base. Practically hairless, except for a neat, dense bush. Rob watched, salivating, as Dylan jacked himself with just his thumb and forefinger. Watched that meaty foreskin slide up and down, revealing the tiniest sliver of deep purple crown. And then he pressed that mouthwatering monster to Rob’s lips, just as he’d done with his thumb.
And just as Rob had done with Dylan’s thumb, he caught and held Dylan’s gaze and drew the offered member into his mouth with a cheeky smile. Sucked briefly, and then—pop!—let it slip out again. Dylan grunted in frustration. Rob was having too much fun teasing to stop, though. Keeping his hands to himself, he caught that dick in his mouth over and over again, alternating hard, vigorous sucks with light, cruel ones. Dylan tossed his head on Rob’s pillow, bit his lip some more, but didn’t speak. He really was too considerate. Damn but Rob fell a little in love with him for that.
Time to take pity on the guy. Rob swept his hair behind one ear and took the very tip of Dylan’s dick in his mouth once more, but this time, rather than the suck-and-release game,
he forced his head down, down, down, to take at least half of that huge shaft into his mouth. The slippery, taut head bumped the insides of his cheek, and then down it went, hitting his gag reflex hard and then barrelling right past it. Rob loved it, loved taking a man deep and feeling him squirm. It made him feel sexy, powerful, and the drool on his chin was pornographic and oh-so-good.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Dylan roared, trying to sit up, abs visibly clenching under that soft outer layer, but then he fell back again as Rob pulled off him. His big dick was coated in a thick glaze of Rob’s spit, and Rob used it to jerk him off while the fingers of his opposite hand tickled down Dylan’s taint and back to pet his tightly furled hole.
“You ever bottom?” Rob asked conversationally, prodding just the tip of his middle finger into that clenching ass.
Dylan didn’t reply right away. Rob wasn’t sure he could, the way he was panting. A hot, red flush covered him from neck to nipples. Sexy. “You wanna top?” Dylan finally managed to grit out, his voice rough.
As a rule, Rob actually preferred to bottom, but if he wanted to keep Bobby at bay, he thought that a little unwise. Which was fucked up, considering his previous determination not to change that part of himself, not even for Dylan. Oh well, he could kick himself over it later. Right now, he had an ass to fuck. “If that’s okay with youuu,” he finally replied, in a way-too-whiny imitation of Dylan’s own words.
“Hell, yeah, it is, you little fucking smartass.” But despite the peevishness of his tone, Dylan still laughed. “How do you want me, then?”
Good question. “What do you like? And do you have a condom?”
Dylan kicked out of his boxers and hooked his hands under his knees, hitching them up to his shoulders in a silent-but-meaningful reply to Rob’s question, but he promptly dropped them again. “What? Please tell me I was just hearing you wrong when you said you don’t have condoms.”
“Uh, no, sorry? I haven’t gotten laid in a while, to be honest.” Between his shyness and lack of human interaction, never mind the incomprehensible tangle that was his gender identity/presentation, he hadn’t really gotten a lot of opportunities.
“Shit! I was counting on you there, Puny! Because I sure as hell don’t.”
“You don’t?” Rob’s mouth fell open. “You came over here without them?”
“Yeah, well, you were sick, remember? I’m not a sleaze.”
Rob’s aching dick dropped to half-mast. He puffed up his cheeks, then let out the breath in a huff. “Okay. Okay. Well, house of guys, right? One of ’em’s bound to. Give me a sec.” He got up, wrapped his duvet around his body to hide what was left of his erection, and steeled himself for the awkwardness to come.
First stop, Christian’s (and unofficially Max’s) room. Rob took a deep breath and knocked lightly.
“Go the fuck away!” Max shouted through the door, and it sounded like Christian was trying to say something else, but whatever it might have been was clearly being smothered by a palm. Oh, and there it was, the telltale slap of flesh on flesh.
Okay, there went the safest avenue.
Which left . . . Noah or Austin.
Yikes. Maybe Rob would be better off going back to Dylan empty-handed and they could sixty-nine or jack each other off instead.
Don’t be a fucking coward. After all, Dylan was worth being brave—and majorly embarrassed—for.
Okay, so Noah, or Austin?
Noah’s “room” was in the converted attic, so Austin was closer. But Austin was kind of a dick.
On the other hand, while he and Noah were on much better terms, he wasn’t sure if their newfound lack of awkwardness would extend to matters of sex. And what if his girlfriend was with him?
Austin it was. Rob strode up to his door, took another deep breath.
And then another. Okay. Okay. Okay.
He knocked.
“Come in!” Austin called.
So far so good. Better than his reception from Max had been, at least.
Rob opened the door and poked his head in. Austin was sitting on his computer chair in his boxers and a wifebeater, puffing and red-faced as he did bicep curls with hand weights. His sweaty muscles bulged, and Rob half forgot himself.
Dylan. His boyfriend. His boyfriend.
“Hey Austin,” he said with feeble wave.
“’Sup,” Austin replied, still lifting.
“I was just wondering if I could ask you for a, um, a favor. Maybe. Possibly.” His face felt as hot as a tea kettle. Maybe he’d start whistling soon.
“Sure. C’mon, spit it out and let me get back to my reps.”
“I kinda, I, well, that is, doyouhaveacondom?”
“A what?” Austin’s big blue All-American (Canadian?) eyes bugged out.
C’mon man, you fucking heard me. Don’t make this worse than it is.
“A condom. A rubber.”
“What the hell you need one of those for? You doing some kind of art . . . thing?”
Rob rolled his eyes. “Sex, Austin. I need one for sex. So do you have one or not?”
Austin dropped his weights and pulled a face. “Gross, man, I didn’t want to know that!” Then why the fuck did you ask? “What, with that guy who came to see you yesterday? Jesus, are all my roommates fuckin’ gay?”
“It appears so,” Rob snapped. “So better wear a face mask from now on. It may be catching.”
“Ugh, don’t say that.” Austin did a fake shudder, but he did stand and go for his bedside drawer, tossing a whole strip of condoms Rob’s way. Extra large size, of course. What a meathead. “Here. Take them all. Don’t want you coming here when you go for round two or whatever. And please don’t tell me who’s wearing them.”
Rob wouldn’t have dreamed of telling Austin that under normal circumstances, but that was the last straw as far as this conversation was concerned. “I am, Austin. I am going to fuck my boyfriend’s ass wearing your overcompensation condom. Better put on some headphones.”
And with that, he turned on his heel, savoring the look of horror on Austin’s stupid meathead face.
I am going to fuck my boyfriend. His chest puffed out in pride. I am all man, and I am going to use my dick to fuck my boyfriend.
He was rock hard in his boxers by the time he got back to his room. After how long it had taken to acquire condoms, he’d kind of expected to find Dylan snooping around impatient or fully dressed and ready to bolt, but instead he found the man sprawled out on his bed, naked and debauched and—oh good fucking God—fingering his own hole with two thick fingers while he jerked himself with the opposite hand.
“Found your lube,” he said once Rob had walked in and shut the door behind him. “Hope you don’t mind I went in your bedside drawer. I like your dildo.”
Rob blushed fiercely, but forced himself to own it. I am going to fuck my boyfriend, he repeated to himself. “Thanks, I like it too. A lot. Maybe sometime you and he can get acquainted.”
“Hmm, I think it’s a little early in our relationship to be suggesting threesomes, don’t you?”
“Too soon? Never,” Rob replied with a feral grin, and threw the duvet from his shoulders. Oh yes, he was going to fuck that ready, willing ass. He peeled off his T-shirt and boxers, tore open one of Austin’s condoms, rolled it down his dick, and threw the rest of the strip over his shoulder. Climbed onto the bed, right on top of Dylan, and gave him a deep, hard kiss.
“Damn,” Dylan said once they’d broken apart again. Rob grabbed his smooth legs and pushed them up again, letting Dylan hold them in place. Dylan’s slippery brown hole came into view and Rob’s cock jerked impatiently. “You don’t waste time, do you, Puny?”
“Chinese,” Rob said, his voice clipped. He took the base of his cock in hand and rubbed the sheathed head against that hungry hole. It twitched, opening a little in greeting. “Very efficient.”
“Efficient meets Indian Time,” Dylan said, looking him in the eyes, and in that moment he was strangely beautiful, the flat planes of his f
ace so open and honest.
“Thought you were Inuit,” Rob joked.
“Eh, without the mukluks and those bone goggle things, who even knows the fuckin’ difference anymore?”
Rob tilted his head, one hand still on his cock and the other resting on Dylan’s softly rising ribcage. Time seemed to stop. “You do,” he said.
Dylan blinked, and his eyes seemed wet and shiny, but then he smiled a jagged smile, all teeth. “Come on and fuck me then, my efficient artist.”
“Yeah,” Rob breathed back, and pushed forward, so slow. The tightness, the heat of Dylan’s body, the slightly pained expression on Dylan’s face, all combined to nearly knock the breath out of him.
“That’s good. Damn. That’s good. That’s good.” Dylan threw his head back, fingers digging hard into his own thighs.
Rob stroked Dylan’s tense fingers. “Wrap your legs around me,” he instructed, and Dylan did, his ankles hooking in the dip of Rob’s lower back, his hands stroking Rob’s shoulder blades and up to tangle in the long hair at Rob’s nape. Pressed close like this, Rob could feel Dylan’s cock rubbing against his stomach, could feel Dylan’s wet breath on his shoulder as he began to pump his hips and Dylan began to pant.
Hard, slow, deep fucking. That was what Rob liked, not that frantic jackhammering he’d heard going on in Christian and Max’s room. Truth was, he wasn’t efficient at all. He liked taking his time, liked to really feel his dick sliding up that tight channel, liked watching those slow shifts of expression on Dylan’s face as the angle and depth changed. It was like watching time-lapse photography of clouds passing overhead, a perfect, beautiful shift. Dylan’s eyebrows. His fluttering eyelids. His tightening jaw. His expressive mouth and Hollywood-white teeth. Even his nostrils flaring. Rob loved it all, loved controlling it, loved the sweet, undeniable magic of knowing someone else so intimately.
This wasn’t the Dylan who joked awkwardly with him at Rear Entrance Video, wasn’t the Dylan who kicked his feet up on his desk at school. This was Dylan stripped down to just his body, a Dylan that Rob could imagine was his alone. Not really, and he didn’t expect that or even want it, but for now, in this moment, their bodies locked together, the illusion was intoxicating and overpowering and all-encompassing. Alpha and the Omega biblical shit.
Wallflower (Rear Entrance Video, #2) Page 11
