Crispin has to know, has to know, how he’s always been a buffer between Wills and the rest of the world. It’s always easier for Crispin, always has been. People love Crispin: he’s big and funny and smart in that aw, shucks way that makes you want to hug him. Wills is quiet and sarcastic and prickly. Crispin keeps him safe. If Wills is Crispin’s best friend, well, no one notices the snark and the silence as much, because Crispin can talk to him and Wills isn’t shy anymore.
Crispin saves him over and over.
So when he asks if Wills wants to, it’s a stupid-ass question. Of course Wills wants to. They’re taking off their tuxes, pretending they aren’t watching each other the way they used to pretend not to watch each other undress in the locker room. Pretend not to glance down. Crispin never fucked up, either, never mistook Henry for him. He can tell them apart. No one can tell Wills and Henry apart.
Wills is hard when he drops his boxers. When he approaches Crispin, his best friend surprises him by immediately wrapping his hand around Wills’ cock. “I like you like this,” Crispin says. “I used to wonder how big you’d be hard.” His hand begins to move on Wills, jacking him slowly. Crispin moves closer, puts their cocks next to one another and strokes them both at the same time. Wills loves when Crispin does this, that perfect friction of Crispin’s hand and his cock all at one, and suddenly, Wills doesn’t know how, they’re kissing. It’s slow this time, gentle and lazy. Wills sucks Crispin’s lips, tasting him. Crispin always tastes the same after a party: whiskey and something ineffable, something uniquely himself. Wills can’t help moaning into his mouth. He gropes for the lube, slicks them both, and it gets even better, the sweet slipping of their cocks against one another, Crispin’s hand jerking them exactly right.
“Do I get to fuck you tonight?” Crispin asks — a little hesitantly, Wills thinks. “I don’t have to.”
“Will you?” Wills says. He doesn’t say, I want those arms pinning me down. He doesn’t say, I want your cock in my ass. He doesn’t say, fuck me, Crispin, please, I want to feel you in me. They don’t say things like this. Wills doesn’t say things like this.
“Over the edge of the bed,” Crispin says. “I want to do it standing.” He knows Wills likes it that way. Deep down, Wills likes to be on the bottom so much. He doesn’t think Crispin realizes it, even after all this time.
Crispin kneels. Wills doesn’t know if it’s because he did it first, or if Crispin’s curious, but he groans with pleasure to feel his best friend’s tongue on his ass. Crispin licks, licks, up and down, spreading Wills out so he can reach better. Then circles his entrance. Wills can feel himself opening almost involuntarily when Crispin’s tongue starts to move in him, just a little bit, as if he’s trying it out. Then his tongue plunges inside and Wills moans. His tight circle opens enough for Crispin to fuck him with his tongue. To swirl it inside. He keeps licking. Christ. Wills is so hard it’s difficult to keep his cock still against the bed, not to start rubbing it against the sheets.
Too soon, that hot tongue is replaced by cool lube, a finger sliding into him. Crispin finds his prostate and presses. He keeps the tip of his finger still, a pivot, circles lower down to coax the muscles at Wills’ entrance to open further. Another slick finger slips into him. Wills feels full at first, but relaxes on it as it joins the other pressing on him. More gentle stretching, more circling. Crispin starts to fuck his fingers in and out, and it’s so good as he hits that perfect spot again and again. Wills can’t help but lean back into it (you are such a bitch for Crispin, he thinks, not for the first time). Then a third finger joins it, but slow, and Wills reminds himself to breathe as it enters him. He consciously relaxes. But then Crispin starts fucking him with them and it’s too much at first but then it’s not enough and Wills has to bite his tongue not to beg.
Crispin withdraws and Wills can’t help but whine. “Do I really need a condom?” Crispin asks, a little shyly. “We both know we’re clean.”
“No,” Wills says. “Really don’t need one, do we?”
So Crispin slicks himself and enters Wills bare. It’s a different feeling, more friction, less smooth than the latex. He’s so slow, a little at a time, but Wills has to breathe through it, make himself relax. “You alright?” Crispin asks.
“Yeah,” Wills says. It’s good because it’s Crispin but he’s so full, almost too full; Wills can feel himself stretching, feel his entrance widening.
“Alright, Wills?” Crispin asks.
“Gimme a sec,” Wills says. He breathes, relaxes. Finally tells him, “Okay.”
Crispin begins gently. But he hits that spot right away and Wills cries out. Crispin can tell, by now, a good sound and a bad sound, Wills knows. So he keeps going, slowly picking up the pace, slowly fucking him harder, faster. He leans forward and ohgod, those forearms, holding Wills down. Wills is arching his ass up again, and the words start. They always do. Wills can’t help it and Crispin knows he can’t help it and they just pour out of him, inevitable, all the things he never says. Fuck me. Fuck me hard, Crispin. No, harder. I wanna take it all. Make me take it. Oh god, it’s so good, Crispin. I fucking love your cock in me. I love you. Fuck me hard, Crispin. I love it when you fuck me hard with your big cock. I love you, Crispin. I love when you’re inside me. Fuck my tight ass til you cum.
Crispin’s going hard now. Wills imagines his eyes closed and he wishes he could slip a hand down and jerk himself off. “I’m gonna cum,” Crispin says. “I’m gonna cum in you. Oh god —” And Wills feels it for the first time, the hot rush of it in his ass, shooting heat that doesn’t stop, but keeps goes with every thrust. Even when Crispin relaxes, he feels his best friend dripping into him. Crispin finally pulls out and wipes himself off with the washcloth they’ve left.
“You want me to suck you on your back or standing up?” Crispin asks.
“Standing,” Wills says with a smirk. “I just got fucked. I want your knees to hit the ground.”
And they do. Crispin’s mouth is open on him, and he does it the way he knows Wills likes best: takes him all the way in, lets Wills hit the back of his throat. Sucks as much as he can manage. Slides back and jerks Wills off at the same time. Plays with his balls. Sucks his head hard, sucks it like he wants to pull all the cum out while he licks underneath his glans. “Let me fuck your mouth,” Wills begs suddenly. “Can I fuck your mouth, Crispin?” Wills loves doing it, absolutely loves it, knows it has something to do with dominance and doesn’t fucking care.
Crispin nods.
Wills grabs those delicious curls. He starts guiding Crispin along his cock. “Keep your lips tight,” he admonishes. He and Crispin do this once in a while, talk like this to each other. They both know it’s a game. Wills knows Crispin realizes it because Crispin will sometimes throw it right back at him. Take it. Do it now. Wills has to keep himself from shivering with pleasure every time. Wills moves Crispin faster, the hot mouth and licking tongue so good on his hard cock. Then he’s making Crispin go so fast he can’t use his tongue; Wills hits the back of Crispin’s throat again and again before Crispin cups his balls as they draw up. One more hard thrust and he’s spilling down his best friend’s throat, pumping cum again and again. Crispin swallows it all. He never spits, never has.
He sucks Wills until it’s all gone, until he’s finished dripping, like he wants it all. Wills flops back on the bed.
“You’re so good at that,” Wills says.
“You felt good,” Crispin tells him, getting up. “Thanks. I wanted to —”
“I know. I wanted you to.”
They’re quiet for a few minutes in the dim glow of the one light they’ve left on, flumped next to each other. “You think we should go back?” Crispin asks. “Or you want to stay? Only if you want to,” he adds hastily.
“Henry’s already covering for us,” Wills says. “Might as well.” Like it’s nothing, he thinks. Like he’s not desperate to sleep in bed with Crispin again. He knows it’s partly his fault Crispin’s so insecure. But it’s so hard. “
Course I want to stay,” Wills says, and it’s like taking out a part of himself and setting it on the table. “I’m in love with you, dumbass.” He doesn’t look at Crispin. That makes it easier.
They lie down in bed together, face-to-face. “I was serious the other night,” Wills says. “About you coming up to Athens. Me coming down. I mean it. Miss you too much.”
“Miss you too.” Crispin’s forehead rests against his. “Do you think it would work? I mean, we decided —”
Maybe we decided wrong, Wills thinks. “I miss you,” Wills says again.
“Does that mean we’re going out?” Crispin asks shyly. Crispin likes to put labels on things, Wills knows. He likes precision. He always memorized every single football play, always had his lines down before anyone else in drama.
“You in love with me?” Wills asks.
“Yes,” Crispin says.
“Well, then.” Wills says. He doesn’t want to say yes and he doesn’t want to say no. It’s too murky. The label scares him. He tips Crispin’s lips up to his and kisses him gently. It’s soft and he hopes it says what he can’t. “You know how I feel, right? You know it’s hard to say?”
“Why’s it always so hard for you?” Crispin asks. “Just say it. Say, ‘I love you, Crispin.’”
“Scared.”
“Of what?”
“Don’t know.” Wills looks down.
Wills is the big spoon again. Crispin seems to like it that way. Seems to need it in a way Wills doesn’t, so he gives it to his best friend. Wills throws an arm over him. Crispin’s breathing deepens. Just before they drop off, just before sleep is overtaking them both, Wills can finally do it. “I love you, Crispin,” he says into the dark. He knows his best friend hears it. Wills knows, in the dark and quiet, with just the two of them, pressed together like spoons, safe, he can say it.
3
Believe
It’s the last big ball of the season, the Savannah Children’s Hospital Gala at the Savoy Hotel. Everyone who’s anyone in the city is there, from politicians to high society to the average massive donor. The most sought-after invite in Savannah and of course Wills and Crispin are there, slouched against the wall, pillaging the open bar, drinking out of flasks with the rest of their prep school crew. Occasionally flirting with the girls who appear in tulle confections, begging dances.
Wills has killed Crispin’s flask again and has to share his own. It’s so subtle, so sexy, Crispin thinks, and he tries not to get a hard-on every time he drinks his best friend’s liquor. His best friend who’s looking particularly dangerous with that stubble tonight, the red bow tie instead of the pink one.
“Dance with any girls yet?” Wills asks Crispin.
“Yeah, Isabel Sims,” Crispin answers. “You?”
“Delia,” Wills says. He leans over. “Henry made us hotel reservations. Give me ten.” He slips away. Crispin drinks, watches the dancing, wonders what the hell is going on when Wills returns in a pink bow tie. “C’mon,” he says.
They slip out. “I’m Henry,” Wills explains, “and I’m getting laid, which is why I have a room. The only one who would be able to tell is our mom. She’s too drunk.”
Crispin laughs. “Which girl is Henry fucking?”
Wills thinks about it, grins. Crispin could live or die on that grin. “Isabel. He’s wanted to bang her since tenth grade.”
Wills retrieves the key under Henry’s name, and they walk through the hotel — no holding hands this time, too many people around. Crispin’s best friend looks both ways before he opens the door and they slip inside.
It’s three days before Christmas. Wills opens the blinds and stands at the picture window. Savannah’s dressed to the nines, a city draped in Christmas finery. Lit-up reindeer and angels, the shine from the lights bouncing from the baubles on the trees, everything a beautiful yellow blur reflecting off the river.
“I miss it, when I’m gone,” Wills says.
“What?” Crispin asks.
“The city. I get so homesick for Savannah. All the ghosts and the green and the Spanish moss.” And you, Crispin wants him to say. I get homesick for you.
“Fuck me again,” Wills says out of nowhere. “But I want to see your face this time, Crispin. I want it to be slow.” Crispin realizes his best friend is reddening in the yellow lamplight. “And close. I’d like it a lot if it were close.”
“Yeah,” Crispin breathes. “Yeah. We can do that. I’d — um — I’d really like that too.” He feels himself reddening as well.
“Still gotta take off your own damn tux.”
“Can we —” Crispin swallows hard. He’s scared to ask. “Can we maybe start in bed this time? Instead of making our way there at the end?”
“Yeah,” Will says. He looks up from stripping off his tux. “Yeah, Crispin. We can do that.”
Then they’re in bed. Heads on the same pillow, facing each other. Crispin doesn’t really knows what to do. They’ve never started like this. Wills twirls one of Crispin’s curls around a finger. “Like your hair this long,” he says. “Shame they wouldn’t let it touch your collar, in school. It looks good.”
Nervously, Crispin touches Wills’ cheek. “I like your stubble,” he says. “It — it feels good when I kiss you.”
“Always has to be me, doesn’t it?” Wills asks. “Do you think I won’t kiss you back?” He keeps twirling at Crispin’s hair, playing with it. Crispin takes a deep breath, moves closer, and touches his lips to Wills’. He loves kissing Wills. Wills’ lips are soft, pouty. They’re gorgeous; Crispin always wants to suck on them, nip them, run his tongue along them. And this kiss is good, the kind of kiss Crispin loves: slow and gentle, soft. They play with each other’s mouths, tasting each other, cupping one another’s faces. Then Wills slips his tongue into Crispin’s mouth and buries his hands in his curls; Crispin’s tongue meets it and his arms wrap around his best friend’s neck.
Crispin pushes closer. He can feel every bit of Wills; it’s new, this feeling of their long, naked lengths woven together in bed. Crispin’s chest presses against his best friend’s. Their abs brush one another, the delicious feeling of muscle held to muscle; and then, ohgod, their hard cocks rub together; their thick, strong thighs tangle. They keep kissing; Crispin traces a hand down the hard planes of Wills’ back. Down to his ass, the tight, perfect cheek cupped in his hand. He pulls Wills closer. Wills makes a sound in his throat, a pleased sound, almost purring. He bucks harder against Crispin.
Wills breaks off the kiss. He untangles his fingers and strokes Crispin’s upper arm. “Love this,” he murmurs. “So hot.” He runs his thumb over Crispin’s mouth. “Never told you how much I like your lips, did I?”
“You had a lot to drink, didn’t you?” Crispin asks. Wills doesn’t say things like this.
“No,” Wills says. “I just — I just made up my mind, that’s all. You just make up your mind and you do it. I like your lips, Crispin. I have to learn to say it. It fucks with you, when I don’t say it.”
Crispin doesn’t know what to say. Yeah, it does, doesn’t seem right, and No, it’s cool, is a lie. “I like it,” he finally manages. “When you say things. Like when we’re having sex and you just start talking and you can’t help it and things just slip out. I love that part.”
“Kiss me again,” Wills says. “I like it when you kiss me, sometimes.”
This time, Crispin’s kiss is needier. He wants something, but he isn’t quite sure what it is. He wants Wills, he thinks, every bit of him. More than being inside him, more than getting off, he wants his best friend in a way he never has and it scares him and excites him at the same time.
Wills grabs the lube, slicks their cocks. Crispin moves Wills’ hand and jerks them off together. Wills moans. Crispin knows is best friend loves this so much, the slippery friction of their dicks against one another, Crispin’s hand working them both together. Crispin uses the lube to wet his fingers and touches Wills’ ass. “Do you still want me to?” he asks.
�
��Yeah,” Wills says. “Would you?” He lies on his back. Crispin uses plenty of lube, but it’s only been a few days. It’s easier this time. A hand on Wills’ cock helps, too. Crispin presses on the right spot inside him, opens him up bit by bit. By the time he’s fucking him with his fingers, Wills is moaning and begging. “Please Crispin, please fuck me, please, it feels so good,” he says. Wills never begs.
“You want to do it like this?” Crispin asks. “If you put a pillow under you, it’ll be easier.” He blushes. “I read that. Online.”
“Yeah,” Wills says. “Like this. Please, Crispin.”
Crispin lubes his cock again and starts the slow slide into Wills. He feels his best friend stretching out, feels his entrance widening, and jerks him off harder, the way he likes it. Crispin can feel Wills breathing deep and even. “Sorry, Wills,” he apologizes. “I’m sorry.”
“‘S okay,” he says. “I’m fine. Just tight.”
When Crispin is all the way inside him, he finds he’s able to lean down to Wills, close, close, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, and kiss him. Crispin doesn’t move inside him, but instead finds Wills’ mouth. Wills kisses him with those perfect pouty lips. Crispin sucks his bottom lip, sucks his top lip. Wills is so fucking hard against him. “Can I?” Crispin asks finally.
“Oh god, please,” Wills says.
Crispin kisses him again and begins moving in and out, gently, slowly, and knows he’s hitting the right spot by the way Wills moans whenever he thrusts. Wills is so tight on him. “God, you feel so good,” Crispin manages.
“Your cock’s so good in me,” Wills says. “So fucking good. I love it when you fuck me, Crispin. Love your cock in my ass. Fuck me harder. Please, please fuck me harder. Oh god. I wanna take your whole cock. You’re gonna make me cum, Crispin.”
Crispin’s so close himself, and he doesn’t know if his stomach is rubbing against Wills’ slick cock, or if he’s just fucking him the right way, but when Wills freezes, shudders and lets go, pumping cum between them, he feels it. Wills’ orgasm drags Crispin along, and he’s suddenly tensing, thrusting deep and shooting his own cum inside Wills. They’re going together, hanging onto each other, bucking and thrusting at the same time.
It's Enough Page 2
