by A. J. Truman
His cock disappeared into those pink lips. Eamonn grabbed his hair and pushed his head down, moaning for the whole pitch to hear.
Eamonn laid back and stared through the netting at the red and purple streaks flaring in the sky. “Fuck, mate, I’m gonna come.”
But Rafe didn’t move away from his cock. He continued to bob and down. “You’re going take my load in my mouth?” Eamonn teased. God, that would be so bloody hot. “You’re going to swallow my come?”
Rafe looked at him with a twinkle in his eye, something he would never forget for his entire life, a look that Eamonn felt in his heart as much as he did his cock.
“Fuck!” He jerked his hips up and drenched Rafe’s mouth.
Rafe took every last drop. As Eamonn came back to earth, he heard Rafe grunt with orgasm. His leg got very warm all of a sudden.
Eamonn sat up. “Did you spunk on my trousers?”
“Sorry.” Rafe tried to wipe it up with his hand, but he was making more of a mess.
“Forget it. Come over here.” He patted the patch of grass. Rafe lay down beside him. He held him close and breathed him in. Before he realized it, he kissed Rafe on the forehead, then the lips. They watched the final seconds of the day slip behind the horizon. It was the ideal cap to the evening.
Chapter 11
RAFE
So much for not hooking up with his broken-hearted flatmate. Rake awoke the next morning still buzzing from the night before. It wasn’t just that he gave his first-ever blow job. That evening on the soccer field with Eamonn was more than the sum of its sexual parts. To call it a success for Operation: Slut would be to cheapen what happened between them, and what he felt brewing inside him, even if it probably shouldn’t happen again.
Rafe texted his best friend and former roommate Coop to see if he was able to Facetime. It was two a.m. at Browerton, but Coop would be up, probably writing a paper or playing video games with other kids in the dorm. As he waited to hear from Coop, he put his ear to the door to listen for Eamonn out there. He wondered what Eamonn was thinking. Rafe believed he had done an adequate, if not superb, job yesterday.
His phone rang, and in seconds, Coop’s face took over his screen. Coop was buff with a serious expression forever on his face, but Rafe knew he was a big softie at heart.
“Hey, what are you doing up so late?” Rafe asked.
“I was working on a new rap for Squadron.” Coop fashioned himself the next Drake, and he liked to practice his material at this underground rap club that was a laundry room during the day.
“That’s awesome! I’d love to hear it.”
Coop cleared his throat.
“But not right now. Sorry. I have big news to share.”
“How’s England?”
“It’s great. I’m taking a class on Shakespeare. I can drink legally. And I gave a blow job.” Rafe’s eyes darted to the door. He should probably keep his voice down.
“That all sounds very fun.”
“Coop, the big question is how graphic should I get in my description?” Rafe sat on his desk.
“Not at all.”
“If we were characters on Girls, you’d let me go into detail.”
“Good for you, Rafe. Seriously. I’m glad you’re having fun.” Coop yawned, and it caused a chain reaction for Rafe. Rafe remembered talking to Coop as they fell asleep about the most random topics, like what if gyros were made with pizza as the pita. It was fun having a roommate.
“So, I’m not sure what to do now,” Rafe said. “The guy I was with is my flatmate, and my friend.”
“Were you drunk?”
“No.”
“Was it awkward?”
“No. It was actually really nice,” Rafe said wistfully.
“Do you want it to happen again?”
“I…I don’t know. Eamonn, the guy, he’s one of my only friends here, and he doesn’t do casual hookups. I don’t want to make things weird since I’m only here for a few months.” Rafe knew of plenty of gay guys who hooked up with each other yet remained friends like it was no big deal. That’s what Louisa and Heath did. He didn’t know if he was capable of that with Eamonn, though.
“Then leave it alone,” Coop said. “Acknowledge what happened, then move on and go back to being friends.”
“Right. You know best, Coop.” Deep down, Rafe had hoped for a different answer, but this one was the wisest. It was the answer that would ensure he wouldn’t mess this friendship up.
Coop yawned again.
“You should get to bed. Hey Coop! I’m technically calling you from the future!”
“Don’t ruin the surprise.” Coop cracked one more smile before yawning again.
* * *
Rafe spent his day away from the dorm. He attended his sedimentology and physics classes, then did homework at the library. He was grateful for the chance to bury his head in schoolwork. It was dark by the time he left the library. On his walk back to the dorm, he went over things to say to Eamonn about what happened. Maybe some guys could just shrug it off, say “duuuuuude,” and laugh about it. Rafe was not one of those guys.
“What happened was animal. Chemical,” Rafe said to himself as he walked down the sloping hill. “I read this article that said guys are sexually attracted to the scent of each other’s sweat. We were sweating. It makes perfect sense that this would happen. But it happened, and…” Here was where Rafe got stuck. It happened now let’s never speak of it again? Too harsh. It happened and now it will never happen again? Too severe.
Rafe entered his flat and went to the kitchen for some tea. Eamonn sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his laptop.
“Hey.” Rafe rushed to the tea kettle. The lines he had for this conversation vanished and left him with the verbal skills of a goldfish.
“Y’alright?” Eamonn mumbled, eyes focused on his screen.
“Yeah. You?”
“I bloody hate applications.”
“What are you applying for?” Rafe filled the tea kettle and lit the stove.
“My uncle’s company has a management trainee program, so I’m going to do that.”
“That sounds great!”
Eamonn didn’t seem to share Rafe’s sentiment. “I have to fill out this application with past work experience and what I hope to accomplish.”
“I hate those questions. I wish I could just say ‘I like your company because you’re hiring.’ Don’t you have a résumé or C.V. to go off of for the first part?”
Eamonn blinked at him like a deer in the headlights. “You don’t need a C.V. to work in a warehouse or run a paper route. I have no relevant experience. I’m wasting my time.” Eamonn pushed his computer back.
“You’re in luck then.” Rafe took a seat next to him. “I am the résumé whisperer. I’ve applied for summer programs, research programs, internships, externships, and college, obviously. I am a master at spinning nothing into gold.”
Rafe took Eamonn’s computer and looked at what he had already. He’d been a dishwasher, box folder, and paper delivery boy. All great and noble positions that unfortunately carried little weight in the professional world.
“You have ample experience, but you’re problem is you’re being too honest,” Rafe said. “You need to give the people what they want.”
“I’ve never worked in an office. It looks rather boring.”
“Don’t put that down on this. First, we should make your C.V., in case there are other jobs you want to apply for.” Rafe logged onto his email and pulled up one of his old résumés and copied the formatting.
“You’ve done a lot!” Eamonn said.
“That’s just how it seems.” Rafe had never worked hard like Eamonn had at his old jobs. His responsibilities had included making copies, fetching coffee, transcribing interviews, and lots of data entry.
Eamonn shuffled closer to Rafe, his familiar combo of cigs and cologne commingling in Rafe’s nose. Rafe tried to ignore how close his beautiful face was. They had a résumé to create.
“Some people say you should have an objective at the top of your résumé. I call bullshit. If you’re applying for a job, then they know what your objective is. That’s just wasted space. It looks like your most recent job was working at the box factory warehouse.” Rafe read what was on Eamonn’s application. “This is the same company with the management program, yes?”
“Yes.” Eamonn jumped up and took the screaming tea kettle off the stove. “It’s my uncle’s.”
Eamonn did not sound thrilled about benefitting from nepotism. He poured them both a cup of tea. There was something hot about a guy making himself tea. In America, he would be looked down on for doing something so girly. But when Eamonn did it, it was the perfect mix of masculinity and vulnerability. Eamonn caught Rafe looking at him. He whipped his focus back to the laptop screen.
“Right. So you worked in the warehouse. What did you do?”
“I folded boxes. I carried bundles of boxes to storage. I helped fill orders for clients. I got to ride the forklift a few times.”
“So you assembled merchandise, organized and maintained the inventory storage system, liaisoned with clients, and operated complex machinery to streamline distribution.”
“Holy baskets of cunts. Did you just come up with that?” Eamonn’s eyes bugged out wide in disbelief. Rafe wanted to swim laps in them.
“I told you I was the résumé whisperer.”
“You’re the résumé alchemist.”
“That sounds much cooler. Okay, what’s next?” Rafe skimmed Eamonn’s application. “Dishwasher. What did you do?”
“I washed dishes?”
“And?” Rafe gestured for him to keep going.
“I soaked dishes in water and washed off food and rubbed them clean. There really isn’t much to it.”
“There had to have been other stuff you did. Think in terms of management and leadership.”
“I trained this other dishwasher they hired.”
“Perfect!” Rafe clapped his hands together. “And did you come up with any new methods or systems?”
“Well, I recommended they use a different dish soap because I reckon the one they had had a weird smell.”
“Love it!” Rafe typed away on the computer. “Keep going.”
“And around the holidays, I would save some food that went uneaten and give it to these homeless kids who hung around by the dumpsters. I even got the chefs to cook them a meal to send over to their shelter.”
“That’s really nice,” Rafe said, genuinely touched. And he was staring at Eamonn again.
He snapped out of it.
“How does this sound: Developed three-step system for cleaning dishes, trained and supervised new employees, lobbied management for a greener, less-chemical-based soap which helped improve diners’ experience, spearheaded partnership between restaurant and local shelter to feed homeless youth.”
Eamonn sat up straight. “I reckon I’m quite impressive. I should be CEO.”
Rafe and Eamonn worked on filling out his résumé with more jobs and other volunteer experiences. Eamonn found ways to help others no matter his job, whether that was feeding the homeless, donating extra newspapers to an old age home, and even bringing boxes to an animal shelter so cats should rest in them.
“Have you thought about applying for jobs in the non-profit sector?” Rafe asked him. “Your résumé has a very strong altruistic angle to it. There are non-profits that are working on things like homelessness and hunger on a global level. I think you would love working for one of them.”
“I don’t know how to even go about getting one of those jobs.”
“I know people who intern for non-profits and government organizations and parlay that into full-time work.”
“I can’t afford to get an internship after I graduate.”
Rafe pointed at the computer screen. “You have a great résumé. There are lots of organizations out there.”
“I’ll consider it.” Eamonn cracked a smile. “Thanks for your help.”
This time Rafe caught him staring, and it made his pants tighten.
Here would’ve been a good time to have The Talk about what happened, about how they should be friends and not let things get awkward. But there was this understanding in the air between them that didn’t need to be verbalized.
Rafe helped him answer the rest of the questions for the box company’s application. Eamonn poured them another cup of tea and broke out the tea biscuits. He challenged Rafe to come up with professional descriptions for the oddest of jobs. (“The guy who shovels elephant shit at the circus.” “Leads waste management initiative.”)
Eamonn got up from the table and swung open the kitchen door. “Hey.” He held the door. “I’m glad we’re friends.”
Friends. The F word. Rafe didn’t expect it to feel like the kick in the nuts it was.
“Me, too,” Rafe said.
Chapter 12
EAMONN
The next week went by in a flash of classes as Eamonn’s flatmates buckled down in their studies. They only went to the pub once and turned the kitchen table into a library. Eamonn didn’t want to feel left out and joined them to do homework, though he didn’t appreciate them wasting their final year of uni stuck in a book. Rafe turned out to be an academic renaissance man. He helped Eamonn with his maths homework and worked with him to craft an essay for his business ethics class. Eamonn resisted the urge to play footsie with him under the table or kiss his shoulder when he leaned close.
Eamonn was grateful that what had happened on the football pitch hadn’t made things weird between them. That hadn’t stopped him from thinking about that evening, though. He found himself dreaming of Rafe’s lithe body bouncing up and down on his cock and then waking up with a massive erection. And the only way to take care of that was to wank off while picturing fucking Rafe’s brains out. He kept this to himself, though. Rafe was his friend, and he didn’t want to risk mucking that up any further by attacking him with his lips again. Plus, Rafe was making no effort to snog or flirt with him, so Eamonn figured his attraction was one-sided.
On Friday evening, Eamonn came into the kitchen and found Heath and Rafe with their bloody textbooks open yet again. It was simply unacceptable.
“No. I can’t let this happen.” Eamonn shut both of their textbooks. “It is Friday night. You are not staying in to do work.”
“I was just finishing up.” Rafe scribbled a final note in the bottom corner of his pad.
“I expected more of you, Rafe. You’re an American abroad. You should be binge drinking and consuming copious amounts of drugs and doing things that would get you extradited back to your home country,” Eamonn said.
“The night is young.”
“And you.” Eamonn turned to Heath. “What happened to my mate who once wrote a ten-page essay while smoking a spliff and watching a marathon of Black Mirror?”
“Still here, wanker. Hoping to graduate.”
“Hopeless.” Eamonn turned back to Rafe. “Apothecary?”
“Didn’t you tell Rafe you would take him to a gay bar?” Heath asked. “The Yank is here for new experiences.”
Rafe pointed a pen at Heath. “I agree with Mount Everest.”
“All right then. Laffly’s it is.”
Rafe nodded his head with excitement. “Maybe I’ll have better luck off campus.”
Eamonn deflated at the remark. “Maybe.”
He caught Heath looking at him, and like any good mate, he seemed to get it instantly.
RAFE
They took a cab to Laffly’s. For a second, Rafe worried that he wouldn’t be allowed in because he was underage, but then he remembered where he was.
Eamonn wore a fitted, button-down shirt that pulled against his chest and flat stomach. His hair was properly mussed, up and out of his eyes. Rafe hoped Operation: Slut would be a success tonight. He hoped he could find a guy who’d make him forget about the one guy he wanted.
The cab drove down a cobblestone s
treet with quaint cottages and storefronts. Everything was so old in England, like it was all a historical setpiece. This block alone was probably older than all of America.
“How old do you think those cottages are?” Rafe asked.
“I reckon about 300 years,” the cab driver said.
Rafe took pictures with his phone, savoring the history around them. In his suburb, “old” meant 1970s. His town had been basically torn down and rebuilt for modern amenities. Ye Old Strip Mall didn’t have the same ring.
They stopped at a light. He took pictures of Eamonn with an old cottage in the window.
“What are you doing?” Eamonn asked.
“Commemorating.”
“Nothing says Jolly Old England like a picture of a house taken through an automobile window.”
“Unless I get a shirt that says ‘Jolly Old England.’”
“You’re a bleeding piece of work.”
Rafe took that as a compliment.
“Give me that.” Eamonn yanked the phone from his hands and snapped pictures of Rafe. He pretended to be a fashion photographer. “Yeah. Just like this. Good. How do you like it? Oh, yeah. Give it to me.”
Rafe’s heart beat rapidly in his chest, and his dick hardened in seconds. He smiled uncontrollably, a mix of massive awkwardness and sexual desire trying to come together. Eamonn put the phone down and realized what the hell he was saying.
“Shit,” he said.
Rafe didn’t know what to say to next. Their shared this weird moment, reveled in it, bathed in it.
The cab screeched to a stop. “We’re here,” the driver said.
Thank goodness.
“Right.” Eamonn fed him cash.
Rafe hopped out of the cab. Eamonn put his hand on Rafe’s lower back, on that magical spot, and led them inside to the bar. Rafe ordered the first round.
“Are you sure?” Eamonn asked.
“Yes. You’ve been so generous ever since I got here. I haven’t once paid for a round of drinks.”
“What if your parents find out?”
The question was valid, but still stung Rafe. He’d never minded being open with his parents because he felt like he had nothing to hide. This wasn’t anything to hide, either. He was openly gay, after all. But there was something about his life in England that he didn’t want to be an open book. Adventures were meant to be experienced first-hand, not recounted in credit card receipts.
