by Anyta Sunday
“So you do have a pathetic crush on me.”
His mouth closed on mine, and with a quick spin of my body, Quinn pinned me to the doorframe, one hand cupping the back of my head, cushioning it from the wood.
Our breathing quickened. Warm, delicate puffs escaped between the meshing of soft lips and nipping teeth, and each time his tongue touched mine, my blood seemed to sing and I shivered. My cock ached like it never had without my hand on it.
A rasp of Quinn’s stubble moved from my cheek down the side of my neck as he tasted the skin below my ear. His tongue flicked, and the air quickly cooled the spot. I threaded my fingers in his hair, slightly stiffened at the tips with product. I squeezed, pushing him and his lips toward that spot again.
This time he moaned as he tasted me and sucked hard until it stung. I let out something between a groan and a pant.
“Touch me,” I said, cocking my hips and thrusting my crotch against his. The bulge of his hard cock had mine pulsing.
My hands trailed over his shoulders to his chest and I squeezed his nipples. “I need your hands down my pants now.”
“Fuck that’s so hot.” Quinn stole my lips once more and his fingertips worked the buttons of my fly, his knuckles brushing over my length in a way that had me clutching at his back for him to hurry.
He chuckled and spoke in my ear as his slightly cool fingertips darted into the waistband of my boxer-briefs and drew an agonizing line from one side of my hips to the other, crossing over the head of my cock to finish.
“I want you to remember this.”
I thrust toward him again. “I have a good memory. I doubt I’ll be forgetting any time soon. Grab me. Jerk me.”
His groan rumbled at my ear, and his stubble came hard and rough against my neck as he drew his chin from my ear to my shoulder. He had to know it felt good. Had to know how much it made me want to spill in my pants.
His hand fished into my briefs and took hold of me firmly, just like I wanted him to. He pumped slowly, the throbs tightening my whole body. I rested my forehead against his smooth, slightly freckled shoulder. “Yes, like that.”
The light from his room made a silhouette of Quinn’s stiff cock tenting his sweatpants. “I want to touch you too,” I said, my breath hitching as Quinn circled my pre-cum around the head of my cock with his thumb.
A hummed “yeah” brushed through my hair.
“Tell me what to do. I haven’t touched a man before.”
He didn’t lift his hand off me, but slowed his movements as he shifted, taking my hand and pressing it against the taut material and his even tauter cock. “Touch me like you do to yourself, in the shower.”
He squeezed me and along with the pleasure, I took the encouragement, peeling back his sweatpants and underwear until Quinn’s cock sprang free. I closed my hand around it. Thicker than mine, though not quite as long. Warm, with such silky skin at his head. I jerked him to the rhythm he was working me, getting used to the new, hard weight.
I circled his pre-cum and flicked my fingertip lightly over the slit at the top, where it was most sensitive on me. He twitched and groaned, lips seeking mine and jamming them into an ardent kiss.
Our hands worked faster, thumbs banging against each other in our greed.
What would Quinn’s velvet length feel like rubbing hard against mine? “I want our cocks together,” I said. “Fuck me.”
Quinn let go of me and pried my hand from him too. He widened his legs and leaned forward, taking both our lengths in his large hand.
I whimpered at the electrical currents that zapped through me at that touch, at the deep stare Quinn gave me. He pumped a few more times, my climax building rapidly. And then his head fell back, lips parted in a moan—
I stiffened, my release coming to a sudden, urgent end. Quinn jerked us twice more and braced with me as spurts of our hot come shot over his chest and abdomen, mingling and dribbling a crooked path over his skin.
Quinn slowly released our cocks, tucking mine away and then his own as he caught his breath.
I pushed away from the doorframe, my back definitely feeling the effects of the hard wood. Tentatively, I fingered our come on Quinn’s chest. “That clears some things up. I must be gay.”
Laughing gently, he fell back a few steps into his room. He picked up a T-shirt off the floor and wiped himself with it. He looked up at me with a slightly raised brow and a quirked lip. It almost came off as a leer. “If you need to prove it again, you know where my bedroom is.”
“Thank you for the offer.” I buttoned my pants. “Will it be awkward now?”
He gripped his shirt. “No. We won’t let it be.”
“Good. I like you as my friend.”
Quinn’s mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something more, and then he shut it again. “Sure. Me too.”
I turned and left. “Good night, then,” I said, and made a path to the bathroom. I looked just the same as I always did when I looked in the mirror. To myself, I said, “You learn something new every day.”
Then, teeth brushed and ready for bed, I went to my room and drafted an outline of Letting Loose after Lectures on my laptop before falling into a heady sleep.
I clicked my pen, narrowing my gaze on the notes scribbled before me. My office-friend stapler kept staring at me and I slid him out of view. Though it was late in the evening, Scribe was still thrumming with life. From the chief’s open office door, I heard murmuring as he conversed with Jack. Something about one of his projects needing more expansion.
Words swam in my open notebook. A vortex of doubt regarding my final feature article swirled in my mind. It had to be pitched just perfectly to get the chief’s approval. I knew the chief was fascinated by modern technology, and the way he divided his trash into garbage, compost, and recycling suggested he might be swayed to accept an environmental angle.
I dropped my pen and sank my tired body into the chair.
Across my desk, Hannah twirled a thick strand of hair around her finger. Giant Guy—who turned out to be called Roger Delaware—stood chatting with her. His dimpled smile and soft gaze as he looked at Hannah had my approval.
Hannah yanked on her hair and hurriedly let go, as if she’d just realized what she’d been doing. She straightened and cleared her throat. “I just don’t know,” she said, a quirk in her lips betraying her attempt at a tease. “Going out for a fancy dinner with a handsome hulk or curling up on my worn couch with my history assignment? Tough call.”
Roger grinned. “If you put it like that, what was I thinking? Dinner with a beautiful smartass over doing my math assignments?”
A sweet, nervous laugh floated around them and Hannah lightly got to her feet, fisted Roger’s shirt, and pulled him down. She kissed him quickly on the mouth and nodded toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”
Roger nodded mutely, but when Hannah twisted to leave, he snatched her hand and hauled her back. Cupping his hands on her face, he kissed her again, this time longer. When he pulled back, he was smiling and she looked like her bones had melted.
I lightly tossed my pen toward them, breaking their long, searching gaze. “While you may be tempted, there are still far too many people in here for you to attempt ravishing each other on the desk.”
With a bright blush, Hannah laughed and—tugging Roger with her—left the building.
I stared from my notebook to my pen on the floor. I spun my chair slowly and peeled myself up to retrieve it. An article on the invasion of internet mass media? A look into student involvement in environmental protection?
Or—yes! What if it was something combined? How the internet and mass media support student involvement in environmental protection?
With a whoop! I swept up my pen. It almost felt hot in my hand with all the thoughts streaming toward it, begging to be written.
A step before my desk, the chief caught my eye, beckoning me over.
“Yes, chief?” I asked, stopping in front of him. He stood solidly in the doorway
, arms folded.
“You were in here until late last night, are you planning to be again?”
I nodded my head. “I also have the feature article you requested me to write.”
“Ah, that.” His frown lightly dented his brow. “Let me stress again, writing it is not assurance you will get the features editor position.”
I clicked my pen. “But if I wow you, I have a chance, right?”
“Right.”
I stopped clicking. “Then my article will be in your email by no later than midnight, Friday, the fifth of December.” I turned to leave, but a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I glanced back at the chief, his lips in a firm line.
“The office will be closed over Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Oh.” A shame, but as long as I organized myself, I could work from home, so it wasn’t the end of the world. I slipped from his gentle grip. “Okay.”
I worked another hour until it was only me, Jack, and the chief. At nine, Hunter texted. He’d just finished basketball practice and wanted to know if I was up for a drink. I texted back that I was still working, and fifteen minutes later, Hunter rolled through the doors.
“Shut that thing,” he said, chin jerking in the direction of my laptop. “We’re going for a drink.”
“I can’t, I have to plan this article—”
Hunter’s chest puffed up as he folded his arms and directed me a hard look. “Can’t or won’t, Liam?”
I pushed up my glasses. “This article has to be perfect or my father won’t let me work for him.”
Hunter nudged his chair forward, pressed save, and shut my laptop. I just watched, twiddling my pen as he did it. “You’re smart, there will be other people to work for.”
Numbly, I nodded, but when Hunter slipped my laptop into its gray skin, I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s just about the position,” I said quietly. Standing up, I packed the rest of my bag and followed Hunter to his van.
He drove with purpose and speed—in the opposite direction of home.
“Where are we going?” I asked, gripping my seat belt as we whipped around a corner.
“Cryptions. A bar on Liberty Avenue.”
“Since we could get a drink on Ellsworth without the detour, I am guessing something else is at Cryptions. Perhaps a someone else?”
Hunter grinned, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “Mitch texted me. He said he’s working there and wants to see me.”
“And I am here because . . .?” I clung onto the arm of the door as Hunter swerved around a deep pothole.
“Because I like your company, you need a stiff drink, and I like having someone to yak with until Mitch gets a free moment.”
The parking lot was busier than I thought it would be for a Tuesday. Inside, a thick crowd of mostly male students undulated to noisy music. I stuck close to Hunter as we threaded our way through the crowds. Thankfully, most were decent enough to make way for Hunter’s chair, though Hunter’s You better fucking move look was likely helping.
“What can I get you?” Hunter yelled over the noise as I squeezed into a free spot at a corner booth.
“Some peace and quiet would be nice. But seeing that’s unlikely, a Coke will do.”
A mid-twenty-something with a double nose-piercing leered at me. I quickly choked out, “And spike it with bourbon!”
Hunter chuckled and left, and I studiously avoided eye contact with anyone. Taking out my notebook, I sketched a few ideas for my environmental angle, and when my phone beeped, I took it out and read the new e-mail from Mom:
Liam,
I don’t want to disturb you, love, but a couple of things:
1) What are your plans for Thanksgiving? I have been asked to work that day, which would be great for getting in the good books with this new job, but I wanted to make sure that you’d be okay with it?
2) We have a new neighbor here. Every morning at seven he walks his Persian cat by our house and waves. I think I shall introduce myself to him.
Look forward to hearing from you,
Mom
I quickly wrote back:
Mom,
1) I have plans for the weekend, so no problem.
2) Introduce yourself. Tell me the details.
Liam
Hunter bumped his chair against mine and snagged my notebook from the table. “I’m confiscating this until our bro-date is over.” He slid it down one side of his chair. “Drinks are on the way.”
I glanced toward the bar. Mitch was at the far end, wearing a net T-shirt and thick eyeliner; his skin glowed the same red as his hair in the orange lights above him. “Did you get to talk?”
“Not yet, he said he’d come over soon.”
At that precise moment, as Mitch filled a glass with ice, he looked across the room toward us.
Hunter shot him a wink, and Mitch fumbled with the glass, ice scattering over the counter. “He’s adorable,” Hunter murmured. He focused back on me, his lips curving downward at the edges. “I had another chat with Jill today.”
“You did?”
“Caught him hunched over a book at the base of a tree by the cathedral.”
That explained why it was only Jack in the office today. “Bit cold for that, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I thought. It was almost as if he were waiting for someone. Anyway, not great news on that front.”
“Did he tell you to fuck off?”
“Among other things. He’s got a foul mouth for such a pretty boy.”
“The foul part is right.”
“Yeah, well.” Hunter scrubbed the back of his head and casually locked his fingers together. “He’s not ready to talk. It’s more than the arm and fear that’s hurting him, I think. Can’t push that.”
Mitch set our drinks down and scouted the booth for seats, but nothing was free.
Hunter slapped his lap. “You can sit here if you like.”
Mitch grinned and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I picked up my drink and sipped. Sweet and smoky.
Hunter snagged Mitch’s fingers and drew him forward one step. “Yeah, and I’d like it even more if it came with an answer.”
Mitch’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “What answer?”
“Why didn’t you show up the other week?”
Mitch and I stared at his and Hunter’s entwined fingers. Such a simple touch, yet it made their faces glow like the New York City skyline.
“I’m sorry. I”—he glanced uncomfortably at everyone around the table—“I’m really sorry.”
Hunter played with Mitch’s fingers, looking into his eyes. “Look, you can talk to me okay? I know things aren’t ideal. I expect there to be issues. Just let me know what they are, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Lean in, I have something else to tell you.”
With a curious frown, Mitch leaned in. Hunter cupped a hand behind his neck and drew him closer still, as if to whisper in his ear. His lips brushed against Mitch’s jaw, then swiftly to his mouth. Their kiss wasn’t delicate in the least. Hunter locked him into a tongue party that had Mitch moaning and crumpling toward his lap.
With a murmured laugh, Hunter slapped Mitch’s ass and pulled back. “More of that on Saturday, after a date. What do you say?”
Mitch gulped and nodded, touching his ass in wonder. “I mean, no, I can’t.”
Hunter stilled his hands on the arm of his chair and a strange desire to pat him came over me, but I reined it in.
“Wait, this is coming out wrong,” Mitch said. “I’m leaving for home at the end of the week. My sister is getting married, and since Thanksgiving is next week, I’m taking the whole week off.” He bit his bottom lip as he continued, but I got the feeling there wasn’t much enthusiasm behind his next words. “Will you maybe come to the opening party of the 32nd floor of the Cathedral of Learning? With me? As a date?”
Hunter needled a finger into one of the netted holes of Mitch’s T-shirt
and drew him in again. “You betcha,” he said with one last nip at his lips.
Mitch floated back to his position behind the bar, and Hunter drank his lemonade with the most enthusiasm I’d seen yet. I snuck a sip to make sure it hadn’t been spiked. Nope, unless plain ol’ good mood counted.
When we twisted and turned and rolled our way out of the bar, he asked about my work and the article I was intending to write for the chief.
“Sounds okay,” he said, unlocking the van.
“Just okay?”
“I mean, I’ve read your work. You’ll make it awesome.”
Once we were settled and strapped into the van, Hunter rested his arms on the steering wheel and looked over at me. “I just—”
“What?”
He started the car and reversed. “You said you didn’t think you were doing it just for the position at your dad’s company.”
He had heard me then. I’d just assumed it wasn’t worth acknowledging. A slight twist in my gut had me swallowing hard. I liked that he listened.
“That’s right,” I said, counting each wave of light rolling over us from the lampposts we passed. “I never thought it bothered me, but I want him to recognize me. See me as someone worth getting to know. I think I’ve associated winning the spot at his company with a chance for him to do that.”
The waves of light were coming slower now; Hunter must have lowered his speed.
“I get it,” Hunter said, his thumbs tapping against the wheel as if he were deep in thought. “I’m sorry for dragging you away from your work tonight.”
I rubbed my hands together, jamming them for warmth between my thighs. “I was probably too tired to produce anything of quality, anyway. Thanks for the distraction. Which reminds me”—I tugged at my seatbelt strap—“I’m gay, or—heavily leaning toward males.”
The van lurched, throwing me forward a couple inches; the seatbelt locked hard across my chest.
