short story - New Addictions
short story - new addictions
Prompts:
Keki - tacos
Self - college roommate x college roommate (modern) - from genres/pairings
Tad had never eaten a Choco Taco before, but now he thinks he might be addicted. He’s ransacked his roommate’s freezer twice in the past thirty minutes, each time telling himself he’d only eat one more-and each time, finishing and coming back for another. He is half terrified that when Bill gets back, he’ll actually be pissed. There are only three Choco Tacos left in the pack, and it is essentially Tad’s fault.
Still, Bill isn’t angry when he gets back and sees Tad sitting nervously in a pile of drooping white plastic wrappers. He just laughs and says, ‘mi casa, su casa’ even though they are borrowing the house from Bill’s uncle.
Tad feels too guilty to point that out, so he changes the channel to one of Bill’s crime shows, cleans up the evidence of his chocolaty addiction, and comes back to watch the drama unfold on the screen.
*
Tad has never made out with a guy before, but now he thinks he might be addicted. Or at the very least, an equal opportunity kisser. Bill says he tastes like chocolate and ice cream, and Tad wants Bill to never stop tasting. He’s not sure how it happened-if the soft-core porn that came on after the last of the crime dramas made Bill horny enough to kiss him, or if Bill is an equal opportunity kisser or an equal opportunity everything, and just didn’t see fit to kiss Tad before this point. Either way, Tad thinks a lot of their boring nights spent back in their dorm room trying to think of things to do other than homework could have been made much more interesting by Bill’s tongue in his mouth and Tad’s hands under Bill’s shirt.
*
Tad has never had sex on a couch before, much less with his male roommate, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything, and this first time was long overdue. Bill’s weight is comfortable in a way he didn’t think it could be, and Bill’s breath in the crook of his neck is warm and even. Tad’s shirt is up around his armpits, and the neckline is probably stretched beyond repair. Bill’s shirt is fine-Tad pulled it off him almost an hour ago. Their jeans will have to go in the wash though, and that’s an odd thought. Tad wonders if they’ll wash their jeans together, or if they’re still separate enough after sharing an orgasm that they’ll wash their own clothes.
“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” Bill says.
Tad grunts because he’s supposed to be only bi above the waist, and even that was a rule he made mid-grope just before Bill’s shirt came off. But when Bill nudges him and slurs, “You okay?” Tad nods and inhales the scent of Bill’s sweat from his shoulder.
*
Tad has never craved sex with a man before. But now Bill’s shirt riding up to expose his back or stomach; or the way he smiles crookedly when he’s embarrassed and tries to laugh it off; or the way when he sleeps he’ll sometimes try to talk to you and then forget in the morning that he said anything, and argue sleepily that you’re imagining things, hair falling into his face and eyes half-lidded and innocent-all of it makes Tad want to card his fingers through Bill’s hair and press up to kiss him, or corner him against the front room wall or the kitchen counter and grind against him until he makes that breathy humming sound he did three nights ago on the couch.
Bill asks him twice if something’s wrong-once when Tad says he doesn’t feel like swimming (“What’s wrong? You love swimming!”) and once when Tad puts his Choco Taco back in the freezer (“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re sick of ‘em already!”). Tad makes dumb excuses that have nothing to do with seeing Bill mostly naked, or the way Bill had said he tasted like chocolate and ice cream, and sounds as lame as he feels for being too scared to tell the truth.
But how do you tell someone you’re pretty sure you’re not gay below the waist, but you might be bi, and you might never have known it but for them, so could they please come help you through your period of sexual identity crisis by sexing you up until your brain oozes out through your dick?
Tad doesn’t know how you tell someone that without being blunt, and he’s a beating-around-the-bush kind of guy, so he figures he’ll have blue balls the rest of the year, or get fed up and attack Bill at some point and be done with it.
Sometimes, he hopes that tipping point happens much sooner rather than later.
*
They’re watching another damn crime drama and this time Bill is eating the Choco Taco. “You sure you don’t want a bite?” he offers.
On the television, investigators are interrogating a witness.
Tad eyes the taco hungrily and Bill grins at him and licks his lips. Tad takes the taco and bites into it to keep from taking his taste from Bill’s mouth instead. He hands the last bite to Bill because he feels bad-he missed Choco Tacos, as sexual as their associations are for him now, and had eaten most of it without thinking. His mind is starting to go the familiar “Blame Bill” route when Bill sucks the bite from Tad’s fingers and then nips Tad’s fingertips before withdrawing his mouth, finishing the Choco Taco, and leaning back contentedly.
“What was that for?” Tad asks, half-hard and willing himself to jump Bill before he loses the nerve he’s not sure he has.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Bill says, and turns off the TV.
Tad reaches out hesitantly, and when Bill doesn’t move away, leans in and kisses him. Bill grins around his mouth, and Tad wants to smack him. “What’s funny?”
“Took you long enough,” Bill says. “I mean, really. Is it always this hard to get you to make the first move? I swear you must have blue balls by now.”
Tad pulls Bill’s hair, but his roommate just laughs. “Technically,” Tad snaps, “you still made the first move, you ass.”
Bill’s smile droops. “Seriously? Oh yeah.” His grin returns. “Guess that makes you a wuss with blue balls then. Ow!”
But Tad kisses him to make up for the thump on the shoulder, and in due time, that shoulder is bare, and Tad is feeling distinctly Bill-sexual from head to toe.
*
Tad has never dated a man or a roommate before, much less someone who is both, but now he thinks he might be addicted. To Bill, that is.
Just to Bill.
Prompts:
Keki - tacos
Self - college roommate x college roommate (modern) - from genres/pairings
Tad had never eaten a Choco Taco before, but now he thinks he might be addicted. He’s ransacked his roommate’s freezer twice in the past thirty minutes, each time telling himself he’d only eat one more-and each time, finishing and coming back for another. He is half terrified that when Bill gets back, he’ll actually be pissed. There are only three Choco Tacos left in the pack, and it is essentially Tad’s fault.
Still, Bill isn’t angry when he gets back and sees Tad sitting nervously in a pile of drooping white plastic wrappers. He just laughs and says, ‘mi casa, su casa’ even though they are borrowing the house from Bill’s uncle.
Tad feels too guilty to point that out, so he changes the channel to one of Bill’s crime shows, cleans up the evidence of his chocolaty addiction, and comes back to watch the drama unfold on the screen.
*
Tad has never made out with a guy before, but now he thinks he might be addicted. Or at the very least, an equal opportunity kisser. Bill says he tastes like chocolate and ice cream, and Tad wants Bill to never stop tasting. He’s not sure how it happened-if the soft-core porn that came on after the last of the crime dramas made Bill horny enough to kiss him, or if Bill is an equal opportunity kisser or an equal opportunity everything, and just didn’t see fit to kiss Tad before this point. Either way, Tad thinks a lot of their boring nights spent back in their dorm room trying to think of things to do other than homework could have been made much more interesting by Bill’s tongue in his mouth and Tad’s hands under Bill’s shirt.
*
Tad has never had sex on a couch before, much less with his male roommate, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything, and this first time was long overdue. Bill’s weight is comfortable in a way he didn’t think it could be, and Bill’s breath in the crook of his neck is warm and even. Tad’s shirt is up around his armpits, and the neckline is probably stretched beyond repair. Bill’s shirt is fine-Tad pulled it off him almost an hour ago. Their jeans will have to go in the wash though, and that’s an odd thought. Tad wonders if they’ll wash their jeans together, or if they’re still separate enough after sharing an orgasm that they’ll wash their own clothes.
“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” Bill says.
Tad grunts because he’s supposed to be only bi above the waist, and even that was a rule he made mid-grope just before Bill’s shirt came off. But when Bill nudges him and slurs, “You okay?” Tad nods and inhales the scent of Bill’s sweat from his shoulder.
*
Tad has never craved sex with a man before. But now Bill’s shirt riding up to expose his back or stomach; or the way he smiles crookedly when he’s embarrassed and tries to laugh it off; or the way when he sleeps he’ll sometimes try to talk to you and then forget in the morning that he said anything, and argue sleepily that you’re imagining things, hair falling into his face and eyes half-lidded and innocent-all of it makes Tad want to card his fingers through Bill’s hair and press up to kiss him, or corner him against the front room wall or the kitchen counter and grind against him until he makes that breathy humming sound he did three nights ago on the couch.
Bill asks him twice if something’s wrong-once when Tad says he doesn’t feel like swimming (“What’s wrong? You love swimming!”) and once when Tad puts his Choco Taco back in the freezer (“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re sick of ‘em already!”). Tad makes dumb excuses that have nothing to do with seeing Bill mostly naked, or the way Bill had said he tasted like chocolate and ice cream, and sounds as lame as he feels for being too scared to tell the truth.
But how do you tell someone you’re pretty sure you’re not gay below the waist, but you might be bi, and you might never have known it but for them, so could they please come help you through your period of sexual identity crisis by sexing you up until your brain oozes out through your dick?
Tad doesn’t know how you tell someone that without being blunt, and he’s a beating-around-the-bush kind of guy, so he figures he’ll have blue balls the rest of the year, or get fed up and attack Bill at some point and be done with it.
Sometimes, he hopes that tipping point happens much sooner rather than later.
*
They’re watching another damn crime drama and this time Bill is eating the Choco Taco. “You sure you don’t want a bite?” he offers.
On the television, investigators are interrogating a witness.
Tad eyes the taco hungrily and Bill grins at him and licks his lips. Tad takes the taco and bites into it to keep from taking his taste from Bill’s mouth instead. He hands the last bite to Bill because he feels bad-he missed Choco Tacos, as sexual as their associations are for him now, and had eaten most of it without thinking. His mind is starting to go the familiar “Blame Bill” route when Bill sucks the bite from Tad’s fingers and then nips Tad’s fingertips before withdrawing his mouth, finishing the Choco Taco, and leaning back contentedly.
“What was that for?” Tad asks, half-hard and willing himself to jump Bill before he loses the nerve he’s not sure he has.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Bill says, and turns off the TV.
Tad reaches out hesitantly, and when Bill doesn’t move away, leans in and kisses him. Bill grins around his mouth, and Tad wants to smack him. “What’s funny?”
“Took you long enough,” Bill says. “I mean, really. Is it always this hard to get you to make the first move? I swear you must have blue balls by now.”
Tad pulls Bill’s hair, but his roommate just laughs. “Technically,” Tad snaps, “you still made the first move, you ass.”
Bill’s smile droops. “Seriously? Oh yeah.” His grin returns. “Guess that makes you a wuss with blue balls then. Ow!”
But Tad kisses him to make up for the thump on the shoulder, and in due time, that shoulder is bare, and Tad is feeling distinctly Bill-sexual from head to toe.
*
Tad has never dated a man or a roommate before, much less someone who is both, but now he thinks he might be addicted. To Bill, that is.
Just to Bill.