by Sarina Bowen
With an eye roll, Kyle bends over to retrieve his butt, and then follows me across the yard and up the front path.
“Nice house,” Griff says.
“I couldn’t afford it if I were paying the market rate,” I admit, unlocking the front door.
“You need chairs on this porch,” my brother says.
“It can wait. I need a hell of a lot more than that.”
When we step into the living room, they chuckle at its barrenness. “You’ve got the couch,” Griff says. “But no TV?”
“Later,” I grunt. It’s not like I ever have time to sit down.
I show them the kitchen, where I spend a lot of my time, anyway. I toss my keys and phone onto the counter. Then I realize I still have Roderick’s in my other pocket, so I set it down where he’ll find it later.
“Hey,” Kyle says. “You didn’t tell me your roommate was a queer dude. Isn’t that kind of weird for you?”
Everything inside me sort of freezes up.
“Jesus.” Griffin gives Kyle a non-serious slap to the side of the head. “Don’t be that guy. What does Kieran care?”
“I only meant that maybe if he brings guys home with him, Kieran would have to listen to ’em…”
“Oh, shut it!” I sputter, finally finding my voice. “Jesus.”
That’s when I hear Roderick’s door close softly, as if someone has just attempted to shut it noiselessly.
“Oops,” Kyle says, and I want to punch him.
“He’s probably heard worse,” Griffin whispers. “But you could apologize, maybe.”
Kyle’s gaze flicks toward the back of the house. I can’t imagine what my boneheaded brother might say for an apology. He might actually make it worse.
“No,” I grunt. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Show us your room,” Griff suggests.
“Nah,” I say, suddenly eager for them to get gone. “Nothing there but a bed and a desk. I don’t even have a dresser, yet.”
“I think Mom has an extra one,” Griff says. “Want me to ask?”
“Sure,” I say, just hoping they’ll leave. “Thanks.”
Griff squeezes my shoulder. “Good to see you, dude. You’re pressing cider with me tomorrow night, right?”
“Yeah, but I’ll be late,” I point out. “Somebody has to water the cows.”
“Ah,” he says. “Is your dad doing better?”
“Still kinda rough,” Kyle says. “Progress is slow.”
They make their way out, and I say my goodbyes while trying not to sound hasty.
When they’re finally gone, I head toward the one place in the house where I never go—Roderick’s room. The door is shut, but there’s a strip of light showing beneath it. I knock. “Hey man, can I come in?”
“Sure.”
I open the door and find him lying on his back on top of his sleeping bag, hands folded behind his head. “What’s up?”
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“About…?” He looks confused.
“My brother talking like a doofus. Maybe you didn’t hear him. But he was wondering whether…”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “I heard him fine. But—like your cousin said—I’ve heard worse. Kyle was just thinking out loud, displaying his discomfort with listening to two guys get it on. I hated it for you much more than for me.”
“Why?”
Roderick sits up and looks me right in the eye.
“Oh,” I say slowly. “Yeah.” Because I’m not as straight as Kyle thinks I am. And won’t that be a fun little chat someday? I can’t even imagine.
“Your cousin seems nice,” Roderick says. “Griffin. Another lumberjack.”
I grin, because he really does look like one. “Totally. That side of the family is great.” I sort of look around for a place to sit, but there’s only the floor. I lower myself down, still feeling tipsy.
Even though there isn’t any furniture in here, Roderick’s room is nicer than mine. He’s begun to hang things on the walls, I’ve noticed. There’s a poster of a baker kneading a loaf, announcing a contest that took place a couple of years ago. And postcards from here and there dot the walls.
“You’re more moved in than I am,” I observe.
“I work fewer hours than you do,” he points out. “Although—look at you! Drunk on a Thursday night.”
“That was intentional,” I admit. The last drink especially. I did a final shot of tequila to amuse Griffin, but also to loosen me up. “Liquid courage.”
“For?”
“Well…” I clear my throat. “I need to ask you if you were serious. About what you said.”
Roderick sits up a little straighter. “About…you being as hot as Henry Cavill?”
I laugh, which is proof that I am still drunk. “I’ll take the compliment. But I meant about you being willing to, uh…”
“Tutor you,” he guesses.
“Yeah.”
“Any day of the week, hottie. Except for right now. Because you’re wasted.”
“Not wasted,” I argue. But it doesn’t help that I slur the word a little. “I’m a little drunk, but I did that on purpose.”
Roderick chews on his lip, and it only makes me want to push him down and own his mouth. But then he shakes his head. “Nope. If you have to get drunk to let me suck your cock, then it definitely isn’t a good idea. That’s a big problem for me.”
I let out a groan that’s half frustration and half lust. “You have it wrong. I don’t have to be drunk to do it. I have to be drunk to ask for it. I hate talking.” And just to demonstrate my willingness, I lean forward until I can cup the side of his face. With my thumb, I trace the shape of his top lip. I’ve been picturing this mouth on my body for quite a while now. Years, if I’m honest.
Roderick’s eyes gleam. Then he stuns me by opening his mouth and sucking the pad of my thumb inside. Those eyes are full of challenge as he gives a good, hard suck, his tongue sliding hotly against my flesh.
I make an unrecognizable noise as my body flashes with heat. Everywhere. “Jesus.” And it’s only my thumb. If he puts that talented mouth of his on my cock, I’ll probably die.
Roderick pops off me and sits back, grinning. “You’re drunk, and I have poor impulse control. What a pair we make.”
I’m breathing too fast, and my dick is already hard inside my jeans. “Look. If you won’t come upstairs with me, you know I’m just going to go up there and jerk off. And the whole time I’ll be thinking about your mouth on me.” This wordy bit of honesty brought to you by Jose Cuervo.
He lets out a dramatic sigh and then falls back down on his pillow. “Nobody is fucking anybody while drunk. But I want to watch.”
“What?”
His eyes find mine. “Show me how much you want it. And then some other time we’ll fool around.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure.” He shrugs, as if he’s made a totally normal request. “I used to put on a show for you. Seems like you’re overdue to return the favor.”
I blink. Is he even serious? Right now I’m not thinking very clearly—he was right about that. But I’m overheated and horny and about to pop out of my skin. “Okay. I’ll be upstairs. Show starts now.”
I stand up and walk out of his room. I take the stairs two at a time. In my room, I don’t bother turning on the light. In the street lamps’ glow, I begin to shuck my clothing.
First my shirt hits the floor, and then my shoes. Socks. My jeans land with a jingle. I’ve lived in a small house with my family my whole life, so I’m almost never naked unless I’m in the shower.
That seems like a mistake now.
I pull my comforter down and expose the white sheets. They’re the brightest thing in the room. I lie down diagonally across my new bed. It’s no accident that a bed is the first thing I purchased. I’ve waited too long to unpack certain truths about myself—things I never felt comfortable exploring before. One second after my back hits those sheets, my hand is on my coc
k.
The house is quiet, though. I guess he wasn’t serious after all. But, fuck it. I need to come.
Touching myself isn’t something I ordinarily do. I could blame the thin walls of my parents’ house, but my reasons were bigger than the limitations of four walls. I’d felt claustrophobic because of the constant sense of being judged, being found wanting.
That place is behind me now. So I make myself comfortable, curving my hand around my aching dick. I’m desperate for relief, but I make myself go slow. First I just touch the shaft. I let my fingertips drift low, measuring the weight of my balls in one hand. I spread my legs wider, because this is my house and the only other person home is the one I’m fantasizing about.
I picture Roderick crouching between my legs, his eyes on me as his cheeks hollow…
Then I hear a beautiful sound—the creak of a stair tread. And then another. He’s walking slowly up the stairs. Or at least considering it.
“Get your ass up here,” I growl. I don’t sound like myself at all. But I don’t feel like the same old me, either. That’s the point.
Roderick appears in the doorway a moment later, his big eyes taking in the scene. “Hello, fantasy. Wowzers.”
I close my eyes and stroke myself. Faster now. I love that he’s watching, even if I’m way past my comfort zone.
Again, that’s totally the point.
With my thumb, I catch a bead of pre-come on the tip of my cockhead and smear it around. I’m rewarded with a breathy little sound of appreciation.
He’s watching. And he likes what he sees.
I’ve got goosebumps up and down my body now. I feel his eyes on me, and it’s invigorating.
“Touch your nipples,” he whispers.
With my free hand, I do it. Circling one and then pinching the other. A new bolt of lust runs through me.
The bed depresses slightly, and my eyes fly open. He’s right there, eyes wide, pupils enormous. “Close your eyes,” he orders.
So I do.
“Rub your taint.”
“My what?”
“Your…” Roderick swallows a laugh. “Below your balls.”
I drop my hand to that stretch of skin, and everything tingles when I probe there.
“Unngh,” Roderick says with a sigh.
“Touch me,” I beg, opening my eyes again.
“I’m here to watch,” he says. “Not that it isn’t tempting.” Roderick lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it off the bed, and I feel like cheering. Now I can see his lean, seriously fit chest, and those strong arms I dream about. He’s a smaller man than I am, but the proportions are nice.
“Close your eyes,” he repeats quietly.
“Why?”
“Because I’m a bossy little fuck,” is his response. “Close them.”
I do it, because arguing would just take longer. I feel his hand land on my thigh. He lets out a sigh, runs his hand up to my hip, and gives me a squeeze. “So fucking hot. I thought so when you were seventeen, too. But the view is even better now.”
The words of praise make me swell with pride. Fine—they make me swell, period. My cock has never been so hard. With my eyes shut, I can’t anticipate Roderick’s next move. All I can do is take a deep breath and experience the drag of his fingertips across my stomach. My abs clench under his touch.
“Nice,” he whispers. “Turn your head away from me.”
I do, not knowing why. But a moment later, his lips drag along the sensitive skin on the underside of my jaw, and I groan from the contact. “Yes, fuck. Kiss me,” I beg.
Those firm lips find my neck, then my clavicle. Slowly he kisses his way to my chest. I’m dying as he licks and sucks and nibbles across my ribcage. I weave my fingers into his hair and rub my hands all over his bare shoulders and back. I want everything at once. I want kisses and a blowjob, and I want his hands to roam the way they are right now—over my knee and up my thighs.
Being tortured by Roderick is the hottest experience of my life. Not that there’s a great deal of competition for that title. I spent my teenage years trying to pretend that I was attracted to girls. Although when Susie Nordstrom put her hand down my pants on prom night, it felt pretty great. Teenage hormones powered me through a few hasty sexual encounters. I lost my virginity on the backseat of a pickup truck, like every other kid around here.
But nothing I ever did before felt as right as this. Every inch of me wants Roderick. I’m made up of yearning. And it’s not because of the tequila.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and repeats the torture he began when we were downstairs—he sucks on my thumb. On my forefinger. Then he places my wet fingers on my dick. “Jerk for me,” he says. “I want to watch you shoot.”
Making another desperate noise, I start stroking. That’s when he leans down and kisses me hotly on the mouth.
I lose my rhythm, because I’m busy adjusting the angle of my head and pushing my tongue into his mouth. Fuck, the heat and taste of him are just what I need. Stubble scrapes my lips and I just want more. I grab him with both arms and pull him down onto my chest.
“Unnngh,” he says into my mouth. He pushes his body closer to mine, scrambling to get his legs onto the bed.
His weight on my body makes me feel crazy. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. His chest is hard and warm against mine. Our mouths are fused together, and I never want it to end.
Roderick is kissing me like there’s a meteor heading for the earth, and we have five minutes to live. Each time his mouth leaves me, it returns instantly, as if he can’t get enough.
I know I can’t. I have one hand on his ass now, for leverage. I grind against him, finding a slow rhythm, but I still want more. I snake one shaking hand to the front of his jeans and pop the button.
Maybe he’ll argue. But no—he reaches down to help me, instead. We both tug down his clothes. I’m sure his jeans and underwear are still stuck around his ankles when I roll on top of him and fuck his mouth with my tongue once more. His fingernails are scratching my back, and I let out a bellow as our dicks line up and slide together.
Roderick yanks his head to the side, licks his palm, and reaches down between us, taking both of us in hand. “Go,” he says hoarsely.
I kiss him in fevered pulls as he jacks us together. “Gonna come,” I pant less than a minute later.
“Shoot all over me,” he gasps.
As if I have a choice. I blow like a canon with a moan of pure relief. I spurt twice more, seeing spots before my eyes. There’s a rush of excess heat as Roddy shudders and comes against my belly.
I collapse in the mess of us and groan, my limbs quivering, my heart racing.
“Jesus Lord,” he says in a whisper. “You don’t disappoint.”
I’m silent because my brain is gone. I manage to slide a bit sideways, so I don’t crush him. But then I bury my face in his hair and just try to breathe. Stillness settles over us while my heart rate tries to slow down.
“Are you okay?” he whispers eventually.
“I have honestly never been better,” I mumble.
His laugh is a sharp, surprised bark. “You went quiet on me.”
“Don’t like talking. Can’t top what we just did, so what’s the point?”
I can feel his smile against the side of my face. “If you regret this, I’m not going to feel okay about it.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
“A man of few words.” He reaches up and rubs one of my shoulders.
“Feel free to keep doing that.” I am spent, but my senses are still dialed up to eleven. The brush of his skin against mine is heaven. His fingers are divine.
He rolls onto his side, forcing me to do the same. “Can I kiss you again?”
Since I’ve already stated my position on excess chatter, I just lean in and offer my mouth.
He kisses me slowly, and then sighs. “I need to clean up a little.”
“I’ll bet,” I mumble. That sounds like a fine idea but I’m not up to moving. Not
yet.
Roderick slips out of the bed and goes downstairs, where I hear the squeak of water pipes as he turns on the shower. A few minutes later, he reappears with a wet paper towel in his hands. “Here. You’ll regret it if you fall asleep like that.”
“Thanks.” I take the paper towel and wipe myself up the best I can.
Roderick takes it from me and throws it away somewhere. Then he reappears, tugging the comforter into place over me. “I’m staying,” he says. “Your bed is nicer than my floor. And you’re catatonic anyway. You won’t even know I’m here.” I feel the other side of the bed depress as he climbs in.
I’m too sleepy now to turn my head. But I reach a hand out, finding his chest. I stroke it once, lightly. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t ask what for. “You’re welcome,” he whispers. “Sleep tight.”
I do.
Roderick
I’m not getting up.
Maybe ever.
My limbs are heavy against silky sheets. I’m stretched out on a thick mattress. My body hasn’t known such luxury in weeks. And when I open my eyes, I see the honeyed skin of a naked man spread out on the bed beside me.
It’s basically my version of heaven.
But as my consciousness comes fully online, paradise crumbles like a poorly made pie crust. In the first place, that’s my roommate, coworker, and landlord who’s naked beside me. And I distinctly remember telling him that I wouldn’t corrupt a drunk man.
And then I did exactly that.
Secondly—and I’m just realizing that this is far worse—it’s not nearly dark enough in this room. The gray sky outside Kieran’s window means morning is arriving.
Morning. On a day when I’m supposed to open the kitchen. Oh my God. What have I done?
I bolt upright and slide out of bed, almost stepping on my phone where it rests on the floor beside my underwear. I never plugged it in last night. And now it’s obviously dead, because the alarm failed to go off at five thirty like it was supposed to.
Grabbing my dead phone as well as the underwear, I sprint for the door, nearly turning an ankle as I go tipping down Kieran’s staircase, like some loser Cinderella whose job is about to turn into a pumpkin because he had some tequila and forgot to keep his dick in his pants.
