by David Horne
“Stop!” Evan cried, and Dylan did, looking up. Sweat had begun to collect on Evan’s forehead and chest. His skin was most definitely red, and he was looking a little shaky. His mouth was open wide, and he was panting. “Okay, you’ve had your fun.”
Evan backed away and his cock fell out of Dylan’s mouth. It looked hard and slick, and Dylan wanted it back. Evan got back on the bed and smoothly slid Dylan’s pants and boxers off in one pull. His cock was practically weeping and was painfully hard.
“Turn around,” Evan commanded. Dylan did as he was told, turning onto his stomach and presenting his ass. His cock swung beneath him, begging to be touched.
Evan hummed and blew cool air over Dylan’s hole. Dylan shivered, goose bumps rising on his bare skin.
The bed creaked as Evan got off and grabbed something from the dresser. It didn’t take a genius to know what it was. The mattress dipped, and a second later, Dylan felt something cool and wet being drizzled over his hole.
A single finger prodded Dylan’s entrance. He tried to relax and let the tension bleed out of him, mitigate the resistance. The finger, slick with lubrication, slipped in easily enough.
Evan’s fingers were exquisitely long. They were made for holding paintbrushes and pencils, and for Dylan’s hole. A second finger joined the first, and they worked as a unit, carving out Dylan’s insides, stretching and scissoring his rim, preparing him. Then came a third finger, and then a fourth, all working to spread him apart and ruin him, make him writhe before the main event. They were such lovely fingers, gently brushing his prostate, caressing it, make bolts of arousal shoot through Dylan’s system.
Then the fingers were gone. Dylan sighed deeply, pressing his face hard into the mattress.
More lube was trickled into the cleft of Dylan’s ass, and he felt something gently poking his hole, something hard and larger than fingers.
Slowly, Evan pushed inside him, inch by heavenly inch, until he was completely seated inside Dylan, who couldn’t suppress a moan at feeling so completely full.
Hands gripped Dylan’s hips, nails leaving crescent-shaped grooves in the delicate skin. At a pace that was not fast enough for Dylan, Evan pulled back until there was only the head of his cock still inside, catching on Dylan’s rim.
Dylan breathed deeply and opened his mouth to tell Evan off.
It was then that Evan slammed back inside him, rocking him forward. He set a punishing pace, every hard impact against Dylan’s prostate making him cry out, his voice dissolving into nothing more than whines.
The heat was brutal, the friction at Dylan’s rim, slickening his skin. His body was tired, pitching forward every time Evan slammed their hips together.
Dylan’s hands clutched the sheets tightly, anchoring himself. His teeth were grit, and his forehead was pressed into the mattress so hard it hurt.
Suddenly, a hand slithered into his hair and yanked his head back. Dylan’s arms came up, planting themselves on the mattress to support himself. He groaned loudly when Evan thrust into him, feeling a painful, pleasurable jolt in his scalp.
Evan kept going, mercilessly pounding into him, chasing his own release. Dylan’s own cock remained untouched and leaking, rock hard, yearning for something—anything—to touch it. Dylan’s arms were beginning to shake with effort, and his scalp was throbbing where Evan’s fingers were knotted in his hair.
Dylan could have cried when Evan’s hand, spit-slicked, finally wrapped around his cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts. A familiar tingle began to run up his spine, down his arms and legs, and through his flushed cock.
Evan was audibly gasping and was growing sloppier in his thrusts, but he never stilled, never stopped, kept pushing on,
Dylan could picture a wave looming over him, coming down, coming down, coming down—
And crashing into him, flooding his lungs and choking him, overwhelming him, blindingly hot. Dylan’s arms collapsed and he barely registered Evan’s hand slipping out of his hair as he fell, consumed as he was in the throes of his climax, rushing through his veins and nerves, setting him on fire from the inside.
When he came back to himself, Evan was sliding out of him, heavy breathing matching Dylan’s own. Dylan could feel his hole clenching around nothing. He could still feel the echo of Evan’s cock driving into him. He could feel the heat of friction subsiding at his rim, cooled by the steady stream of Evan’s come dribbling down his thigh.
Dylan allowed himself to collapse completely and he lay on his stomach, eyes squeezing shut. He felt the mattress dip as Evan lay down next to him.
“Was that okay?” he heard Evan ask.
Dylan tried to speak but couldn’t. He nodded.
Sometime later, Evan spoke up again. “Listen, I’ve been thinking.”
It was then that Dylan turned onto his back, not liking the note in Evan’s voice. “That’s never a good thing,” he joked.
Evan huffed. Dylan looked over at him. Evan’s hair was messy and sweat-dampened. His chest had stopped heaving and was now rising and falling in deep breaths. There was a mole above his areola that Dylan hadn’t noticed was there before.
“I think,” Evan started, then took a breath. “Okay, so next month, we have to start applying to grad programs, right?”
Dylan nodded, already having an inkling of where this was going and not liking it one bit.
“I know that all these years,” Evan continued, “I’ve said that I don’t wanna leave here. I’ve always wanted to stay here.” Dylan didn’t dare interrupt. “But I think maybe…a change will be good for me? I don’t know, it’s just an idea. But going across the country, maybe even abroad, that would be good. If anything, I’ll get a good experience out of it.” He paused. “What do you think?”
Dylan thought that his heart was splitting in two, that’s what he thought. His mouth felt like parchment, dryer than the Sahara, and he darted his tongue out to wet his lips. “Uhhmmm,” he said stupidly.
“I know it’s a lot,” Evan sympathized. “But I’ve been doing research and shit and…I dunno, it seems like a good idea. Plus, everything’s way too expensive here.”
Dylan found his voice. “Shit’s expensive everywhere,” he argued. “And you’re getting a deal here, being a domestic student.”
“I guess,” Evan admitted. “But think about Europe. They’re cheap, even for internationals.”
Dylan’s throat was closing up. Europe? Europe was a long way away. A very long way.
Evan’s voice was quiet when he spoke again. “If you don’t want me to…”
“It’s not that,” Dylan said. He sank into the mattress. “You should do it. If it makes you happy.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the look Evan was giving him, the sort of what the fuck is up with him look.
“Thanks,” Evan said. His voice was strangled.
Pursing his lips, Dylan rolled over and faced the wall.
***
In Dylan’s dream, he was young again. He was barely older than two decades, but still. In his dream, he was younger.
It felt like he was four years old again. He was clinging tightly to his mom’s hand, and she towered over him, though not in a scary way, but like a gentle, calming presence, one that made him feel safe despite the apprehension he was feeling about stepping out into this brave new world, a place far away from home. Even though, in reality, it was only a block away.
It went the same as it had all those years ago. His mother bent down and took his hands, held them reassuringly in her own. When she sent him off, he could hear her voice, calm, a voice he’d known for all his short years, telling him to be good, that everything would be okay.
Dylan could feel the unsteadiness of his knees. He could picture every tacky poster pinned to the walls of his kindergarten classroom, toting slogans like “Mistakes are proof that you are trying”, and “Education is a journey”, and “Never stop doing your best.” Those posters probably hadn’t been there in real life. His mind was just fi
lling in the blanks. Even if the posters had been there, Dylan doubted that at four years old, with his slippery grasp on rudimentary English, he’d even be able to read them.
There was a list of classroom rules, too. The teacher had them sit in a circle and read them out one by one. Be nice to others, keep the classroom clean, sharing is caring, play safely, listen to the teacher, don’t talk when the teacher is talking, raise your hand, show respect to the teacher, the property, and your peers, hands to yourself.
Hands to yourself. That was a funny one. It was one that always had a place on the classroom rules list no matter how old Dylan got. It was there in kindergarten, and it was there in eighth grade, and he’d laughed when he heard that two of his classmates had been caught groping and kissing in the janitor’s closet.
Hands to yourself. Evan had never been a stickler for that particular rule. He was all energy, wild slaps on the arm to get attention, gentle rubs on the back to soothe pain, to distract from a scraped knee or a nasty insult. He was flicks across the forehead when Dylan said something idiotic or mean, he was kicks from beneath the table when he was getting bored of his work.
In later years, Evan was a guiding hand at the small of his back, kneading in Dylan’s tense shoulders. In recent times, he was skims up the insides of Dylan’s thighs, he was fingers circling his hole, and firm pulls of his cock.
But older Evan wasn’t the Evan that Dylan was seeing in his dream, not just then. This Evan was young and naïve but still intelligent. His hair was wild like a rat’s nest and bright, white blond, though in recent years, his hair had faded into honey.
Evan sat across from Dylan in the circle. He was the only blond kid of the group. Everyone else had brown hair or black hair, and Evan’s hair was stark against the rest of the kids.
In this dream, Evan couldn’t pronounce generation, just like real Evan. In this dream, Dylan had laughed, just like real Dylan, and offered Evan his friendship. That had been very brave of him. It seemed Dylan’s childhood courage had deserted him in his time of need.
The dream faded into another dream. Evan appeared older and the world seemed a little less big. They were playing grounders with the other kids, and one girl named Emily had her eyes shut and was stumbling around on the wood chips crying, “Grounders!” but nobody was on the ground.
Evan was being particularly risky, swinging to and fro on the monkey bars, somehow keeping them from creaking and alerting Emily.
Dylan remembered this. This was the time Evan had broken his arm.
Evan was agile as he made another pass of the monkey bars. Unfortunately, the monkey bars groaned, and Emily whipped around, arms raised, hoping to smack into Evan somewhere.
Evan swerved and swung, narrowly missing Emily’s hand, and also narrowly missing the next handle. His other hand slipped and he fell to the ground with a thud and a shout.
Uncaring of the game, Dylan felt his feet carrying him to Evan, kneeling beside him. Evan’s face was sweaty and stoic, his mouth controlled but trembling with the effort not to break out into wails.
“Get a teacher!” Dylan called out to nobody in particular.
Emily’s eyes were open, now, and she was looking down at Evan, panicked. The other kids were watching at a distance, some of them with pity.
Dylan wasn’t allowed to accompany Evan to the hospital, but as Evan left the school, he offered Dylan one last brave smile.
The dream twisted again. Evan looked around fifteen now. They were in gym class, and Evan was one of two remaining members of the opposing team in dodgeball. Dylan had long since been eliminated from the game, and he sat on the sidelines, admiring Evan’s nimble steps, the way he arched away from the balls, the way his face was red from running around.
A ball collided with Evan’s teammate with a thud, and Evan saluted him as he made his way off the court.
It was just Evan now, and though Dylan was on the opposing team, Dylan felt compelled to cheer for his best friend, but he refrained, if only because his teammates would give him dirty looks.
Of course, since the other team had nine and Evan’s team only had Evan, Evan was too busy dodging to throw anything. He put up a valiant effort but was eventually hit in the ankle by a wayward dodgeball. His team gathered around him, but through the crowd, Dylan caught his eye and gave him a congratulatory smile.
Evan looked even older when the dream changed again. His face had lost its fat and his shoulders looked broader. A tiny pimple had cropped up on his chin. He was holding an envelope tightly between both of his hands.
He looked Dylan straight in the eye. “This is it,” he said, voice unwavering.
Dylan nodded. He remembered this, too. This was the day Evan had gotten his letter from the university. Dylan had already gotten his and was putting off accepting the offer until he knew what Evan was doing first. Oh, the toils of codependency.
With steady hands, Evan tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. He skimmed over the words, and his face fell.
Dylan’s heart dropped.
Evan looked up, then cracked a grin. “I got in,” he said.
Dylan breathed out. He leaned over and smacked Evan’s arm, then snatched the acceptance letter from him. “Asshole,” he said, but his voice was too mirthful; there was no malice.
The dream shifted once more to a scene Dylan knew all too well. It was Evan, lying on his bed in their shared dorm, some lanky, brown-haired kid bouncing up and down on his cock. For a second, Dylan stood there, gripped by the same horror and heartbreak that had closed around his heart when this had happened for real.
Then, he entered the room, and the lanky kid startled, jumping off and reaching to pull the covers to cover both himself and Evan.
Evan’s face was as mortified as Dylan felt. In fact, it was almost ashamed, though there was no reason for it. Gently, he asked the kid to leave, and the kid got up and snagged his clothes from the floor, using them to cover his half-hard erection as he left.
Evan’s cheeks were flaming as he gestured for Dylan to sit down. “Sorry about that,” Evan said meekly.
“No worries,” Dylan heard himself reply, wanting nothing more than for Evan to explain what the fuck had just been happening.
Evan scratched the back of his head. “I suppose I should tell you I’m bi?”
Dylan wondered briefly why Evan had never told him before, if it was a lack of trust or shame in himself that had prevented him from coming to Dylan.
But Dylan smiled anyway and told him it was okay. All the while, hope was blossoming in his chest.
His dream twisted for the final time.
He sat beneath a tree with Evan now. It was mid-spring, the grass was green and a little damp, and small, pinkish flowers dotted the ground. There was a steady drip, drip, drip of water onto Dylan’s arm from an overhead branch, evidence of a recent rainfall.
Evan was looking so damn beautiful. The wind was cool and the sun was low. Evan’s tanned skin looked glowing and orange.
Dylan felt like everything he’d ever felt for Evan had culminated into this, right here. Every moment spent watching a bead of sweat run down Evan’s temple in soccer practice, watching his muscles strain as he lifted something, watching his pretty mouth curl up into a pretty smile, watching his eyes twinkled as he delivered his own special brand of wit—everything had led up to this.
Dylan didn’t know what came over him when he swooped in and caught Evan’s lips in a searing, clumsy, garbage kiss. Evan’s hands were waving around, not knowing what to do, but Dylan kept on pressing.
Suddenly, there was no more pressure on his mouth, and he was sitting on nothing. He looked down. Dylan was falling through the earth, down, down, down. He looked up. Evan was watching him, eyes calculating.
Dylan woke with a start, the dreams already beginning to slip away.
Chapter Four
Dylan was doing a very poor job of pretending he was entirely unaffected by Evan wanting to go to grad school outside of the country. He r
eally was trying his best to act normal. However, even to him, it was obvious that that was not how it was coming off.
He had declined every one of Evan’s invitations—much to Carly’s delight when he told her. He had practically turned tail and run every time he caught sight of him. Not exactly the most subtle way of avoiding someone, but it was effective.
“I’m proud of you,” Carly told him one day in the middle of their shift. She was standing and leaning against the counter, while he sat in a plastic lawn chair.
“Uh, why?” he ventured.
“Just, you know.” She shrugged. “You’re finally giving yourself the space you’ve needed all along.”
This again, Dylan thought. “I think I need some space from you, actually.”
Carly rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Look, I’m just happy you’re doing the right thing for yourself.”
“I’m not doing it for the reasons you think.”
Carly raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Why are you doing it then?”
Dylan looked down, playing with the hem of his shirt. Had he said too much? Should he have kept it to himself? For all he acted and sometimes genuinely felt annoyed by Carly’s poking and prodding, she honestly was a decent adviser and confidant. There was nobody else he’d rather dump his problems on.
Yes, Dylan decided. He would tell her. “Look,” he sighed. “So, you remember when Evan came in here and bought some gum and then invited me back to his place? Well, I went, we fucked—” he cut himself off with a laugh. “I came, I saw, I conquered. I came, get it?”
Carly wrinkled her nose but there was no denying the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“So anyway,” Dylan continued, “I’m over there, we do whatever, and then he tells me that he wants to ditch the country.”
“Ditch the country for what?” Carly asked.
“Grad school,” he said scornfully. “Fuckin’ Europe.”
“It’s probably cheaper.”
Dylan’s mouth twisted. “That’s what Evan said, too. But I’m here like, so the dude breaks up with me. Fine—well, not fine. Whatever. Then he tries his hardest to be my best pal, decides he wants to keep fuckin’ around with me, and then says he wants to leave the country? I don’t get it.”
