Return to Sender

by Ashlyn Kane

  “Hmm, you know what else I want, Em?” Jonah asked, curling a lazy hand around his own erection. He wouldn’t stroke himself, not yet, not until he let Emerson do the same. “I want to see what you look like with my cock in your mouth. Would you do that for me, Emerson? Suck my dick?”

  He was pretty sure of the answer, or he wouldn’t have asked, but it still sent a jolt through him when Emerson let out a shocked noise. “Would you, Emerson? Tell me.”

  “Yes!”

  Jonah shuddered. “You want that, Em? Want my dick in your mouth?”

  “God, Jonah.” Emerson sounded totally wrecked.

  Jonah took pity on him. “Put your hand on your cock. Just through your underwear. Don’t grip it yet, but you can rub it if you want. Just lightly.”

  The moaning was getting louder. Emerson was definitely enjoying himself immensely, if the sounds were anything to go by. “You like that, Emerson? You want me to keep going?”

  “God, yes.”

  “Then while we’re on the subject, I’m sure you’ve noticed how much I enjoy sucking you.”

  “Uhh.”

  “I don’t mind telling you, Emerson, I love it. Love making you come apart, making you feel good. I like the way you feel in my mouth.”

  “Jonah!”

  “Take your shorts off,” Jonah said a little breathlessly, scrabbling for the lube. “Right now, Emerson. Get your hand on your cock, I wanna hear you.”

  That earned him the loudest groan yet, followed by a hot whimper as Emerson started jerking himself off. Jonah was totally going to convince him to do this on speakerphone next time so he could hear everything. Jonah himself tried to set a slow pace, knowing that with how vocal Emerson was he wasn’t going to last for long. “Tell me what you do when you jerk off, Em.”

  “Oh, God,” Emerson gasped. “Jonah, I—”

  “Do you play with your nipples? Your balls?”

  Emerson’s breath caught on a loud moan.

  “You do, don’t you? Do it now.” Jonah fisted his own cock faster. “And then get the lube, Emerson. Make sure you’re nice and slippery for me.”

  “Jonah,” he whimpered. “God—close.”

  “Me too,” Jonah admitted hoarsely. “Tell me what you want, Emerson. Huh? What else do you do to yourself to get off?”

  “Jonah—” A deep, choking groan.

  “I bet you push your fingers up inside yourself,” Jonah said, imagining it. “Get them good and wet and fuck—fuck yourself on them. Do you?”

  The sound Emerson made was answer enough, and Jonah squeezed hard around the base of his dick in a desperate bid not to come until he heard Emerson fall apart. “Do it for me now, Emerson. I want to hear you. It’s my fingers you’ve got inside you”—he shuddered hard at the idea and allowed himself a single stroke—“and I’ve got my mouth on you, Em. I’m fucking you with my fingers and my mouth—”

  Emerson cut him off with a gasping wail that went on and on, and Jonah let go of the phone to jerk his cock with both hands until he came all over himself, shuddering.

  When he could breathe again, he wiped his hands off on his (probably ruined) shirt and reached for the phone. “Emerson? You still there?”

  “Oh my God,” Emerson said. Jonah detected equal parts satisfaction and embarrassment. “Um.”

  “So,” Jonah said conversationally, “is it presumptuous of me to say you’d like to do that again?”

  “God, you’re smug.”

  Jonah hummed in agreement. “Also extremely satisfied. In case you were wondering.”

  “I… might do that again,” Emerson hazarded.

  “And the rest?” he asked, referring to the laundry list of depraved acts he’d recited.

  “Um. Those too.”

  Looking down at his twitching dick, Jonah decided that he really had to stop getting into this kind of post-coital situation with Emerson, or neither of them was ever going to get out of bed again, and they’d die of dehydration. “No pressure,” he assured him. “Just, you know, when you’re ready.”

  “Jonah.” Emerson sounded almost amused now. “All evidence to the contrary, I am perfectly capable of telling you ‘no’.”

  Laughing, Jonah said, “I know it.” Then he let the laughter fade from his voice. “I have to go—big project due Monday. Call you next week?”

  “You will if you know what’s good for you.”

  “All right. Love you, Emerson.”

  He caught the hitch of breath as loudly as if it were one of Emerson’s moans. “I—yeah. Goodnight.”

  §

  EMERSON ambled into the room and sprawled out onto the couch. He was feeling loose limbed and content. So much so he was pretty sure nothing could get him down right now.

  Zack was already sitting on the couch and watching a football game on the TV. He grunted a greeting that Emerson happily returned with a cheery “hello.”

  Zack turned his head slowly to regard his friend. “What’s with you?”

  “What?” Emerson said, though he couldn’t stop the silly grin.

  “You? You’re all… cheerful.” Zack somehow made this sound like a bad thing.

  Trying to appear cool, Emerson shrugged. “No reason.”

  Zack grunted again. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you got laid.”

  Emerson felt himself turn bright red. Sometimes it was not a blessing to have friends who knew you so well.

  “Emma? Okay, that blush says you did, but I know you couldn’t have because Jonah isn’t here, and you would never cheat on that boy.”

  Improbably, Emerson’s face felt warmer.

  “Em… why are you blushing? You look like I just found you sleeping with your boyfriend….” Zack slowly trailed off. Then he let out a bark of laughter. “You didn’t?”

  Emerson sank into his seat.

  “Well, shit. You know, I have to give that boy of yours credit. I can’t believe he talked you into phone sex.”

  Letting out a groan and covering his face, Emerson wished he could block out the sound of Zack’s knowing laughter.

  “Remind me to compliment his skills next time I see him.”

  Emerson was wrong—something could ruin his mood.

  §

  DESPITE the major distractions provided by free beer, live music, and not being able to figure out what time zone he was in—a condition exacerbated by the beer—Jonah managed to meet Emerson at the door when he finished his exam.

  Then again, “meet” might not have been a strong enough word for what Jonah actually did, which was haul Emerson bodily inside by his wrist and push him very carefully up against the wall so he could kiss him properly. Emerson made a brief noise of surprise in his mouth—Jonah had switched his flight a day earlier—but then he relaxed with a quiet sound of appreciation and let Jonah eat at his mouth until Greg stopped playing the guitar and someone whistled.

  Emerson turned his head away then, which was fine since it gave Jonah access to the long, pale column of his neck instead. He applied his mouth to Emerson’s pulse point immediately. It was just wrong for Emerson to go around without Jonah’s marks somewhere on his body, and he wanted this first one to be somewhere everyone would see. “Um,” Emerson said, and Jonah felt him swallow, felt the vibrations of his vocal cords under his lips. “Zack, did you”—his breath hitched—“what did you give him to drink?”

  Zack had handed him a beer the second they’d got in the door, and then after that there had been an arm-wrestling match (Jonah won, but it was close) and a drinking contest (despite the size differential being very firmly in Jonah’s favor, Zack had beaten him handily, not that he was going to admit it). He remembered something about tequila, or possibly Jägermeister. Or both.

  “Jonah.” The tone was encouraging. The hands pulling at his hair, however, were going in the wrong direction. “Jonah, you should probably stop before I die of embarrassment.”

  With a heroic effort of willpower, Jonah dragged his mouth away from Emerson’s neck. Hi
s hard work did not go unrewarded: there was a decent-sized bruise already purpling the skin. Satisfied, he kissed Emerson on the mouth again, with somewhat more restraint this time. “I missed you.”

  “I guessed,” Emerson said, flushing prettily and fingering the mark. “Are you always like this when you’re drunk?”

  Jonah thought about it. The first time he’d been drunk was high school prom. He’d gone down on Deanna Carlisle for the better part of two hours in the back of the limo, making her come over and over again, and she’d jerked him off three times before they finally gave up and he took her home.

  They never did make it to the dance.

  “Yes,” he decided.

  “Jesus,” Emerson muttered, shoving him away. “I need a drink.” He wasn’t fooling Jonah, though; he’d felt his erection when he had him up against the wall.

  Jonah wasn’t so drunk as to be unreasonable. He knew Emerson was never going to put out for him when so many people were hanging around. Besides, it was a good opportunity to get to know Emerson’s friends, most of whom he’d only met a handful of times before. It didn’t stop him from wanting to grab the back of his T-shirt and drag him upstairs and fuck him stupid, but there would be time for that—or at least the part of it that mattered—later. In the meantime, he vaulted over the back of the couch to sit next to Hayley and make increasingly improbable song requests.

  When Emerson walked by on his way back from the washroom, Jonah didn’t hesitate to reach out and pull him down into his lap.

  “You’re disgusting,” Hayley informed him seriously, gesturing with her wine cooler as Jonah bit Emerson’s shoulder playfully through the fabric of his T-shirt.

  Jonah narrowed his eyes. “What kind of fag hag are you, anyway?”

  She laughed and leaned into his shoulder. “It wasn’t a complaint.”

  “God, Hayley, don’t encourage him.” But it wasn’t like Emerson made any real effort to escape from Jonah’s evil clutches, unless you counted the squirming, and Jonah was sure that was mostly a delightful punishment. Jonah got him back by curving his hand around the flesh at Emerson’s waist under the hem of his T-shirt, letting his fingers drift lightly over the sensitive skin.

  Zack obviously wasn’t pleased by the headway Jonah was making. “Jonah, if you undress him on the couch, I will get the ice from the cooler. Don’t test me.”

  “Spoilsport,” Hayley griped, eyeing Emerson speculatively. Jonah put a proprietary hand on his thigh, still distracted by Zack’s ice idea.

  After a few more minutes of good-natured teasing, Greg lured Hayley away—or actually, now Jonah thought about it, vice versa—to “look at the stars,” which was code for “have sex outside” if Jonah had ever heard it—and a pretty Asian girl took the seat next to him instead.

  “Hi,” she said brightly, sticking her hand out for him to shake. “I’m Surya.”

  Reluctantly, Jonah unpeeled himself from Emerson. “Jonah.”

  “Yes, we all know who you are,” she smiled.

  “Oh? Has Emerson been telling stories? Only half of them are true, I promise.” Jonah poked him with his left hand. Emerson barely looked away from the conversation he was having with one of his former TAs, just slapped Jonah’s hand away from his stomach.

  “No, I mean, he does,” she rambled, “but that’s not—that is—God, this is embarrassing.”

  Jonah waited patiently for her to get the point.

  “The thing is, I’m an English student,” Surya finally said. “Um. One of my profs sort of recommended your book this semester.”

  Jonah said, “Oh.”

  “And I just—I was wondering. I mean it’s sort of a personal question. But. It always seemed to me—I mean this was after I met Emerson—”

  The poor girl had to be drunker than Jonah. Maybe even drunker than Greg, who from all reports was buck naked on the back porch with Hayley. Jonah did his best to follow her babble.

  “But it is about him, right? About you?” Surya managed to spit out at last.

  Jonah looked up. Emerson was still chatting away at the TA, who was starting to list to one side where he was perched on the armchair. Then he looked back. He didn’t need to answer.

  Surya sighed. “God, that’s so romantic.”

  “It was a tragedy!” Jonah protested.

  “Not the story itself. The gesture, you know, the gesture was romantic.” She looked a little teary-eyed. “Don’t—you never talk about this, do you,” she sighed, seeming to deflate and sink into the couch. “I’m the only person ever to fangirl you outrageously and make a fool of myself. God, I should have stayed home. I have another exam tomorrow anyway—”

  Wow, where to begin. “Uh, I’m not exactly, you know.” Jonah flailed his hand around, meaning “recognizable,” though even in his somewhat compromised state he realized that it was probably not obvious. “People don’t just come up to me on the street and say, ‘Hey, you’re that guy who wrote that book named after that Eagles song.’ My picture isn’t even on the cover.”

  “But you live here,” Surya pointed out. “Or you’re from here, whatever.” For the first time, Jonah noted her accent: definitely northern, maybe New Hampshire? Jersey? He was too drunk to tell. “Didn’t it make the papers? ‘Local boy makes good’ and all that?”

  Jonah stared. “I wrote a book about a closeted gay protagonist,” he pointed out. Even if the character himself had never come right out and said it, it was pretty much there on the page for everyone to see. “We’re in Texas!”

  Surya was clearly still waiting for him to get to the point, so he added, “I didn’t even know you could buy my book in Texas!”

  “Well, to be fair, I did buy it on the Internet. It was cheaper!” she defended. “Oh my God, if I bring it over tomorrow, will you sign it for me?”

  Jonah considered his plans for the next three days. None of them involved clothes or even getting out of bed for longer than it took to keep hydrated. “Let’s aim for next week,” he decided.

  A sudden draft and a tug on his hand got Jonah’s attention, and he looked around to see that everyone was leaving.

  “Zack is kicking everyone out,” Emerson explained. “Well, not really. They’re going a few houses down to play pool in Jim’s basement.”

  Jonah stood. “Are we going too?” He noticed that Emerson hadn’t let go of his hand.

  “No,” said Emerson. Something about the way he said it made Jonah shiver.

  Emerson didn’t even let Jonah say goodbye to the guests at the door. As soon as they were left alone, he put his palms squarely on Jonah’s chest and stood on his toes, brushing a feather-light kiss across Jonah’s mouth. Humming in approval, Jonah let him lead, keeping the contact fleeting, teasing, until Emerson made a really hot frustrated noise and dug his hands into Jonah’s hair instead.

  Then Emerson started backing him toward the stairs, and really, Jonah wasn’t so stupid that he would resist that. He let himself be pushed along, up the stairs, stumbling, until his knees hit mattress, and he toppled over backward. He sat up in time to see Emerson close and lock the door behind him.

  Jonah raised an eyebrow as Emerson crawled up over his body to kiss him again. “Exactly how much have you had to drink?”

  “Enough,” Emerson said with a slight flush. He pushed up the hem of Jonah’s T-shirt with both hands and laid a hot, wet kiss just to the right of Jonah’s belly button.

  Never one to dissuade Emerson from taking the initiative—it happened infrequently enough as it was—Jonah gave a mental shrug. “Am I allowed to participate?”

  Emerson looked up at him through slitted eyelashes. “Participation is mandatory,” he affirmed, deftly sliding Jonah’s belt out of its loops. He’d certainly got better at that over the Christmas break—they’d practiced it enough. “Pop quiz at the end.”

  Something important was going on, but Jonah wasn’t quite with it enough to be able to work out exactly what it was, partly due to alcohol consumption and partly because Emer
son was rubbing his palm in small circles over the cotton covering the head of his dick. “Was that a really awful double entendre?”

  “I’ll show you double entendre,” Emerson muttered, which made no sense, and it made even less sense after he worked Jonah’s boxers down to his knees and put his mouth on Jonah’s cock, but Jonah was too invested in positively reinforcing this unexpected new behavior to mention it.

  Oh, Jonah thought, caught between dazed and incredibly turned on. So that was what had Emerson’s metaphorical panties in a bunch. Suddenly energized, Jonah propped himself up on his elbows to watch Emerson—face flushed a brilliant red—lick carefully around the head of his erection. Well, all right then. And that was really all it took for the sex filter between his brain and his mouth to give way. “Jesus,” he breathed. “God, Emerson, do you have any fucking idea what you do to me?”

  Emerson breathed a low groan of approval and took the tip of Jonah’s erection into his mouth, and Jonah just about did himself an injury trying not to shove his way deeper.

  “So hot,” Jonah told him, barely trusting himself to let go of Emerson’s comforter with one hand so he could cup his cheek. He curled his thumb under Emerson’s lower lip, brushing across it gently. “Love your mouth, feels so good. Make me so fuckin’ hard, Emerson.”

  Emerson whimpered around Jonah’s cock, and Jonah swore, ran his thumb over Emerson’s lip again, pushed the pad just inside as Emerson started to suck him.

  It was almost too much to see and feel and hear at the same time: Emerson’s flushed skin and the sight of Jonah’s dick pushing between sinful lips, the almost unbearable heat and suction and the vibrations of Emerson’s constant moans. Jonah lost the plot completely when Emerson wrapped a confident hand around the part of Jonah’s erection he couldn’t fit in his mouth. He began spewing filth he could barely even hear over the roaring of blood in his ears. “Fuck, Emerson, you should see what you look like right now, kneeling over me like this with my dick in your mouth. It’s fucking unreal, you know that? Sucking me so good.”