Must Love Pogs

by Xavier Neal

  She carefully removes herself along with the condom from my dick. “Let me dispose of this while you open,” her head motions towards the present on the table, “ that .”

  I watch her perky ass flounce out of the seating area before I give into her instructions. It doesn’t take any time to tear off the paper revealing a plain white keepsake box like the one I keep my milk caps in. I hesitate to continue to open it. London also keeps her strange connections to the universe in boxes like this. Crystals. Potions. Oils. Lucky animal teeth. After giving my scruff covered jaw a minor scratch, I remove the lid and toss it onto the table. My eyes settle on the contents of the box, my brain once more lacking the ability to process what it is that’s in my possession.

  “So, I did a little research and apparently these POG things are still like a really big deal. We’re talking baseball card collecting level of cut throat.” She leans against the wall near the kitchen. “It took a couple favors and one shady deal for an early pair of my father’s latest shoes that don’t go live to the public for another few months , but I managed to score those.”

  Disbelief has my mouth barely moving, “Do you have any idea how valuable these are?”

  London shoots me her smart ass smirk. “I have a clue .”

  I grab another glance of the rare No Fear POGs, all ability to form words disappearing again.

  Her footsteps approaching pull my eyes back up to hers. “They’re in amazing condition. The guy said they weren’t for playing. I, however, reminded him for the amount of money I just put in his bank account they were for whatever I wanted them to be.” She sits on the arm of the chair that’s beside me. “I even bought a cheap set for myself so next time we play, we can play for keeps.”

  If only she knew I’ve been playing for keeps from the minute I saw her…

  Overwhelmed not only by the thoughtfulness, but the validation someone other than my parents give a shit about me on today of all days, my gratitude comes out in almost a whisper. “Thank you, Sunshine.”

  She avoids letting her heavier emotions get the better of her. “That’s what you say until I’m taking a few of those babies home. I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing.”

  I carefully place the box on the glass table, grab her hand, and tug her into my lap. “Is that righ’?”

  London winds her arms around my neck and nods. “Oh yeah. And I’m gonna kick your ass at it, Hot Stuff.”

  “Doubtful.” Before she can argue I briefly fuse our mouths together. When I pull back, I pin her eyes in place with mine. “Thank you, London. I think this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

  “It was nothing.”

  My lips feather hers. “It was everything .”

  She is everything to me. Even if she never says the words I wanna hear or uses the phrases I’ve always longed to have muttered, I know deep down inside she feels the exact same way I do. Flying across the world last minute with a unique and very expensive gift isn’t the shit you do for just anybody. It’s the kind of action you only take for someone you truly love. I lied before. Knowing she loves me back is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. And I do love London Hall. I love her with every inch of my bruised soul.

  “Now hit that button to have him build a wall,” Oliver instructs from beside me in his king-sized bed.

  I tap the H key and the character on the screen begins to hammer away. Shaking my head, I give him a perplexed expression. “Hate to get actually dirty but you will spend hours making your online doppelganger do it.”

  He lightly chuckles at the same time he shrugs.

  “You’re so weird.”

  “This from the woman who slept with a piece of bark under her pillow last night.”

  “Hey, that medicine woman I met while I was in Cambodia promised it wards off the negative spirits that have been attaching themselves to me lately.”

  Spent three days there chatting with this extreme diver and Suzy, our foreign agent specialist. Unfortunately, Azura stayed behind to work on a different project, leaving me alone with ‘How Can We Make You Make Us Profit’ Barbie. She was so busy trying to gage his interest in competitions she missed the beautiful struggle he had growing up. I texted Oliver the entire trip. He originally offered to go when he found out Azura wouldn’t be coming. The proposal hit me with an uncomfortable mix of emotions. I was thrilled over the idea of traveling around the world with him yet disgusted over the notion this was some weird Neanderthal way of keeping tabs on which male figures I was spending my time with. I also wasn’t keen on the idea of him using the trip as a way to declare to his friends that we are indeed just as valid of a pair as they are. Check list comparisons make me queasy. I’m fairly certain those are the negative spirits keeping me up at night. Despite politely denying his wishes to come along, he didn’t seem to pout. We still made the same effort to communicate, though the twelve-hour difference really made us work for it. I’m honestly a little surprised he hasn’t griped once over these past six months at his outrageous phone bill.

  “Did she also promise you it would be cheaper if you bought two?”

  I flash him my middle finger.

  She did, but that doesn’t mean the charm doesn’t work!

  “Click the H again to start on the other side,” Oliver advises, his thumb stroking my bare hip. “You’re going to have to move him around each time you want to build a different side.”

  Watching the man hammer the wood in place, I sigh, “I am so glad you have your brother’s fiancé to play this game with.”

  Oliver chuckles again and sweetly bumps into me. “I’m glad you’re willing to play it with me every once in a while.”

  “In exchange for sexual favors.”

  His fingertips glide towards the inside of my thigh. “You ready for that favor now?”

  My legs open wider to answer the question without words. I toss the laptop to the side and bend my legs to allow him more room to work with. Oliver leans into the crook of my neck and uses the tip of his tongue to tease it with light traces. I whimper for more, lifting my hips up to silently echo the verbal pleading. His thick digit doesn’t deliberate on whether to fulfill the request now or later. It pierces past the scorching muscles with one sharp thrust and curls upward grazing the spot that makes my toes curl. Instinctively, I move my hand to cover his, to encourage it to move faster, but am taken by surprise when the hand that was stroking my hip seizes it. Oliver’s clasp becomes a carnal cuff at the same time his teeth sink into my skin like a lecherous leash.

  The moans leaking from parted lips are practically air. “Oliver….”

  He growls his gratification of his name being called and the vibration lights every nerve end on fire. The thrusting of one finger swiftly transpires into two. His palm lightly taps my clit causing my ass to tense as I lift myself up, anxious to meet each sharp push. My cries of his name grow louder. More urgent. My rasping for air is matched breath for breath between the frantic moving of his fingers.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m coming!” I scream as if the announcement needs to be heard by everyone in the building and Xochiquetzal, the Aztec goddess.

  His movements still and my pussy tenses wildly around him. Oliver groans his appreciation for being the reason it’s constricting like a boa around his fingers. My bobbing head bounces its way his direction and the moment our mouths are in the same vicinity he melds them together.

  We exchange heated roll after roll until my mind is spinning out of control.

  He slips his lips away at the same time he slowly slides himself out. I watch him suck the sticky reward off his fingers with a smug smirk. Afterward, he states, “You know I hate having my hands dirty.”

  I roll my eyes and give him a gentle push away.

  Oliver chuckles, grabs his vibrating phone, and checks the cause of the ruckus. “Brando and Natasha were wondering if we wanna have Swinging Sushi tonight.”

  Wasn’t wrong about the two of them the first time we met. About two days after we had dinner
together, Brando asked her out and she said yes. I guess seeing Oliver all worked up over me helped the obvious pining die, which was great for everyone. Apparently, they’re moving in together next month. It’s amazing how life just falls into place when we have a little help getting out of our own way.

  “Is that the place where we can sit outside on actual swings?”

  He looks up from his phone with a playful smirk. “Sure is, Sunshine.”

  “Then yes.”

  “Time?”

  “Seven.”

  “Eight it is,” Oliver agrees, typing away on his phone.

  With a crooked grin, I reach for his laptop to resume chopping wood or laying bricks or whatever it is the computer version of the man I love was doing.

  The thought of using the L word gnaws at me uncomfortably again.

  It’s not that I don’t love Oliver. In fact, every time I look back on the first time we locked eyes, I’m pretty sure that was the moment it happened. What I hate is how once those words are on the table certain expectations join them. As someone who lives by her own rules and regulations ninety-nine percent of the time, the idea of suddenly being chained to a set of out of date bylaws irks me. I don’t want things to change with Oliver just because those words are proclaimed out loud. We’re so damn happy the way we are. If I honestly believed he wouldn’t try to push me into the parameters that come with exchanging those sentiments verbatim, I would’ve shouted them from the rooftops a long, long time ago. I’d also stop feeling compelled to light the sensual incense around his apartment to reassure his soul on a spiritual level.

  “Hey,” Oliver calls to me just as I begin to push the H button again. “My brother’s birthday is coming up in a couple weeks.” My attention swings to him. “Wanna come to dinner out at my parent’s place with me?”

  “If I can….”

  He tilts his head in anticipation for more information.

  “Next couple of weeks are insane. I’m in New South Wales, Australia for a skiing competition. Saturday’s Azura’s baby shower in Austinlania and then a BBQ at Preston Wyatt’s that Sunday-”

  “The actor?”

  The irritation in his voice is irrelevant by this point in our relationship. I’ve learned if the opposite sex is mentioned, straight or gay, he seems to involuntarily grow a hint of jealousy in his voice. It’s just his protective nature overthrowing his sanity. “Yes, the actor. He’s actually a really big extreme sports fan.”

  “Makes sense. He’s an action star. Probably similar adrenaline rushes.”

  “Probably,” I agree and continue. “The following week I think I’m in Colorado or California or Canada, I don’t know something with a C. After that….I’d have to ask my assistant and check my calendar.”

  Two things I don’t enjoy having, but are must haves in my life.

  Oliver tries to bite back the resentment that always creeps out when he realizes he won’t be seeing me a long span of time. “I understand. Will you check for me later? Possibly move some things around?”

  That . That is the type of presumptions that come with professed loves and pinned titles. He asks because there are no societal expectations on our mating. Not because you’re my girlfriend you have to make your schedule fit mine. There’s no animosity or building dread of having to submit to someone else’s priorities. I love that he asked me to try to rearrange rather than commanded. I don’t wanna lose that once we say I love you….

  “I will definitely see what I can do for you, Hot Stuff.” I try to comfort with a sweet chaste kiss. “Now, show me how to build a fireplace. I don’t wanna accidentally burn all my hard work down.”

  He lightly laughs, tosses his phone back on the bedside, and resumes the gaming lessons.

  Our energy levels don’t always flow without hardships. Scheduling always has a tendency to make our relationship a little rocky. I wonder if there’s a lucky love feather or healing stone that could help bring some positive compromising vibes our way. Something whispering to my soul tells me we’re going to need it.

  I drop down onto the edge of the bed in my childhood room with a huff.

  This has been such a shitty week that I don’t know why I’m honestly surprised it got shittier. I had to fire three employees. Cancel two planned merit bonuses because someone in accounting made a mistake. My work computer crapped out while my gaming one caught a virus. Got my car dinged in the parking garage when I went to dinner with my friends after my baby brother cancelled on dinner with me again . As if I wasn’t already in a foul mood when I got there, Matty couldn’t seem to stop making jokes about London finding my replacement at her father’s banquet today. He spent what felt like hours playfully joking that I better learn more about sports if I ever wanna be more than an in town hook up. And as if I needed one more extra fuck you, London hasn’t been in my bed or my arms in exactly two weeks. Fourteen long fucking days. Dating her phone and email account is definitely taking a toll. Our calls have been short when they get answered. Her photos from work always contain her, surrounded mainly by men. I’m starting to doubt the conclusions I had come to about us feeling the same way about one another. I’m starting to think maybe Matty isn’t completely wrong. What if I am just the at home guy she sleeps with? I’d ask, but I’m not sure I can handle the answer.

  There’s a knock on the open door, and I turn to see Blake leaned against the frame with a sympathetic smile.

  Oh, and let’s not forget that instead of making my brother’s birthday a joyful event, I exploded at him over a harmless joke like a child in need of a nice, long nap.

  “You okay?” Blake cautiously questions.

  “Been better.” I shrug. “Sorry about downstairs. I-”

  “What’s going on?” The concerned tone is so foreign it silences me. “For once why don’t you talk to me ? Let me see if maybe I can help?”

  A deep exhale escapes.

  “Look Oliver, I may not be as smart as you or fancy as you, but it doesn’t mean I’m useless . That I can’t be trusted . That my two cents is automatically less in value.”

  My face morphs into one of bafflement. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “That’s why you don’t talk to me, righ’?” His voice noticeably shakes. “’Cause you don’t think I could ever be useful to someone who is so much better than me.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not better than you.”

  “You don’t think so? The fancy car you drive? The stuck up drinks you drink? The six-figure job you have-”

  “I’m just different not better !” I bark. “And you know what, Blake? It’s you…all of you who are better than me !”

  Consternation cloaks his face.

  “You all fit into this family! You all hang out and make time for one another and getting you to have anything to do with me is a chore . You all like the same shit. You’re all proud of who the hell you are, not afraid of what the world thinks about you. And you all have women who…,” the last words suck all the air out the room, “who aren’t afraid to admit they love you.”

  Turning away from him, I give my exhausted face a good scrub.

  Unbelievable. This day really is getting worse . If everything keeps up at this rate I can pretty much guarantee I’m gonna be single again by the end of it. Am I already single? It’s not like she ever refers to me as her boyfriend in particular. It’s always something like mate or partner or synced spirit . Is good ol’ fashion boyfriend really that hard?

  Blake flops down on the bed beside me. “You are different , Oliver. You always have been. But we’ve never hated you for it. We’ve never once not considered you a part of this family. You’re our brother. You matter. You’re like having a silent business partner. You give and you guide for none of the credit. For none of the glory. You bend where the rest of us break. You’re understanding where the rest of us are stubborn. You always focus so selflessly on what’s going on with everyone else that we often forget you need to be checked on too.”

&nbs
p; I shift my weight yet remain silent.

  “Now why’s your girlfriend afraid to say I love you.”

  “Not even sure she’s my girlfriend.”

  “How long you been sleepin’ with her?”

  My glower deepens. “Is sex really how you measure how long you’ve been in a relationship?”

  Blake shoots me a smirk. “Nah. Just get a kick out of watching your forehead wrinkle. When we were kids I would say stupid shit to watch your eyes cross.”

  The memory causes me to shake my head.

  “Seriously, how long you been seein’ her?”

  “Few months.”

  “Sounds like she’s you’re girlfriend to me. Why didn’t you bring her over today?”