Fic: Primavera, 4/?
Title: Primavera, Chapter 4 (WIP)
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 6700
Warning: Zach/OMC (graphic but blink and you'll miss it)
Summary: Teenage Chris went to live with the Quinto family when his mom got sick
A/N: For halfbreedchild and with thanks to emmessann . Chapter 5 will be an extension to Chapter 4, which was getting a little long, so no major jump forward in time now until Chapter 6. I'll be working on this story alone for the time being and posting until it's done.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
His tight body slams me out of the way and I nearly fall on my ass.
“Oops. My bad.”
“Flagrant foul!”
“Referee says no. Referee says you needed to get your sorry ass the fuck out of my way.”
“The Referee's too busy licking his own asshole to have witnessed such blatant foulery. Blatant.”
Chris swoops up on one leg towards the hoop, hooking the ball and popping a perfect layup off the backboard, hands thrown up in triumph as he lands and starts doing his whoop-whoop! victory dance, scaring off next door's cat in the process.
“Dirty cheater.”
“Sore loser.”
His arm gets thrown across my shoulders, his half-naked body hugging into me and soaking my t-shirt with sweat. My mind closes in on the surety I'll be jacking off with my nose pressed into it later imagining fucking him, and I get half-hard. He smells like sex. Hot and slightly musty and as if he'd taste of sweat and salt. Every inch of him is slick because we've been out here half an hour and I can see it in my head, how he'd wriggle and moan underneath me as I sucked every molecule of flavor from his skin, moving down his spine, holding his cheeks so far apart he whines that it hurts then tonguing at his hole until he's begging me to screw him. Shit. Make that more than half-hard.
A small part of me wishes he'd wear more clothes, despite how grateful my libido is that he doesn't. It'd be a lot easier to keep my tongue off the floor, watching him bend over to dig through the fridge, coming up with a chunk of cheese wrapped in a slice of ham and taking a big bite. My majority, however, approves, as I can't stop focusing on the army shorts slung low on his hipbones, so low I can see the dimples above his ass. He turns to face me, his long, leanly-muscled torso pale and smooth, freckled across his shoulders as he leans back against the kitchen counter taking a long drink of water, the tufted hair in his armpit soaked through and dark with sweat as his arm rises up and, fuck, I want to suck on it, suck all his taste into me, rub my face in it and his neck and his chest. I guess I'm used to it now, the random blazes of arousal that bust through me all the time, whenever I'm around him or thinking of him, flaring into life more often than I can control. I indulge myself a couple of times a day and jerk off, thinking of all kinds of depraved shit about what I want to do to him, fucking his face so hard he pukes then cries, or taking his ass cherry so hard it makes him bleed on my dick. It's like I'm angry with him for making me want him like this, and a little like I've brainwashed myself to associate cumming hard and strong with Chris. Way to go, you stupid, sick shit.
“You're going to the store for your mom later, right?”
“You want something?”
“Can I come with?”
“Why? You want to sit in the cart and play cars?”
He narrows his eyes at me with a half-smile like I'm a smart ass, then sighs frustratedly, his body moving with it, those strong shoulders that never fail to make me think of digging my fingers into them while I bounce him back on me and fuck him raw or pushing him down to his knees, rubbing my dick over his face. Fuck, get a grip already.
“Has it not even occurred to you that we've only got, like, a few more days to hang out? I know you're not my best bud or whatever but I'm going to miss you and you're totally going to miss me. Come on, gimme some sugar and tell me how much you're going to weep into your pillow once I'm gone.”
He pushes himself off the counter with a thrust of his ass, coming towards me with his arms half-raised. God, it's like every fucking thing the guy does is unconsciously sexy, it drives me nuts. I grimace and scoot back, hands up.
“Chris, I've explained how many times that I'm not a huggy person?”
“The fuck you're not. You are with everyone else, you're like a goddamn octopus with every single other person on the face of the planet. One little hug.”
“You're all sweaty and gross.”
“You're such a fag. Let me put my musk all over you, you know you want it.”
He's kidding, I know he is but - I let out this anxious, desperate husk of breath and back up further.
“No. Keep your stench away from me, I'm going to go shower, we'll go to the store in, what, thirty minutes. You, go clean up because fuck sitting in a hot car with you like that. You reek.”
“It's manly. You love it.”
The water's barely had time to run warm before I've dumped a load of shower gel in my hand and started jacking off, waiting till the water's hot before pushing the shower head so it runs over the tile. I do this sometimes when my hand's not enough, when I'm so totally turned on I need more, waiting till the tile's warm and licking over it, imagining it's his chest and his neck as I jerk off harder, sucking the water off his skin. It doesn't take long, my legs wobbly, his name a curse word that I spit out with the first stinging pulse of cum against the tile. I lean my forehead against the wall as the water pulses cooler for a split second, a thump in the pipes as Chris starts his own shower four doors away from me.
I don't know if I'm going to miss him or not. We're not friends, not exactly and this stupid crush, or whatever it is, is ridiculous. I was looking at some oral pictures on my computer this one time and it wasn't even the more graphic stuff that grabbed my attention. There's this one photo where the tip of this dude's hard-on is a couple of inches away from the mouth of the guy on his knees, and there's a string of spit hanging between this rock-hard dick and the lips. And it's stuck in my head now, the idea of looking down to see Chris like that, plump mouth wet and open, one long line of saliva connecting us, for whatever reason I fixated on that and now I can't get it out of my mind. Chris opens a box of cookies on the way around the store and I get lost in staring at his mouth closing over one of them, thinking about the picture, thinking about his tongue. I swear, it never stops and I guess I'll miss him sometimes but I need him gone.
“What? Your mom lets me.”
“Huh?”
“We're going to buy them anyway. The cookies.”
“Oh. Whatever.”
“You were glaring at me and looked pissed.”
“Chris, you do whatever you want.”
“You're so weird.”
“What does that even mean? Context is all, dumbass. How am I weird? Compared with what or who am I weird?”
“'In comparison with what or with whom am I weird'. Although, I'd personally go with 'Who or what am I weird in comparison with' as it's less formal and not as clunky but, y'know, no biggie either way.”
“Thank you so much, mister future English major.”
Chris ignores my sarcastic tone with a sunny smile that makes his eyes crinkle and disappear as he grabs another cookie. “No sweat, don't mention it. I figure I'm helping out your career and, that way, you'll owe me. See,” he pauses to take a bite, chewing and swallowing it while he follows me pushing the cart. “Any director worth his salt's going to want to work with actors who know their way around language. Know what I mean?”
“I guess I should be flattered you think any director worth a shit's going to be interested in working with me.”
His eyebrows draw together, and he looks genuinely annoyed with me as he munches the last of his cookie and reaches for another. “Get out. You're totally decent.”
“Yeah? I don't know.”
“Bullshit, quit fishing. Oh, we totally need tuna.”
We get to the chiller section and I have to dig out all the sugary crappy yogurts and pudding cups Chris throws in the cart. “What are you, five?”
“I need calcium. I'm a growing boy.”
He's already pretty much my height, has been for over a year. “Waistline, maybe.”
“Dude, zip your pants up, your envy's showing. Just because I have this awesome metabolism -”
“Bite me, fatty, Mom likes low-cal.”
“I'm going to miss this. Aren't you going to miss our conversations, not even just a little bit?”
“No.”
He sways into me, butting his shoulder up against mine. “Yeah, you are.”
“No, I'm not. Our conversations are mindless. They're content-free.” I put the two percent milk he grabbed back in the chiller and put some one percent in the cart.
“Oh yes, of course, I forgot, you're so deep and everything. I'm going to go get some fropis and save me the whole 'no frozen pizza in an Italian house' argument one more time because you're about Italian as my ass. That is to say, not much, because my ass is one hundred percent prime American beefcake.”
Can't argue with that. I watch him walk away, long legs in baggy jeans that hang off his butt, his shoulders heavy-looking in an old Henley that skims over the rest of his slim torso. Three younger girls are also watching him walk away, clutching at each other and giggling. Hardly surprising, he gets this reaction everywhere and doesn't even seem to notice it. It's like he doesn't care about how he looks, Joe's already asked him if he wants to do some modeling for Joe when Chris gets back to CA, but Chris turned him down flat. What teenage guy doesn't want to be a model? Fucking Joe never asked me when he still lived here. But that's Chris, he likes his sports and his books and hanging out with his friends and his Sunday job at the print store that pays precisely dick. That's it, plain and simple. He's smart and uncomplicated and I want to bury myself in it all. It's not like I haven't tried to date but nobody comes close to Chris. He's got a brain. He's funny. He's cute. He's so fucking hot I want to stab myself in the eyes.
“Hey, lemme borrow your cell.” He tosses a handful of mini-pepperoni frozen pizzas into the cart and ignores my grimace of disgust. “My beeper's going nuts.”
“My cell's for emergencies and your social life is not an emergency. Your chin pubes, on the other hand . . .”
“I swear I'll be quick.”
“Go find a payphone.”
“There might be a banging party happening. Come on, Zach, it's Saturday and I know you haven't exactly got plans.”
I snort and give him a snotty, superior look, reaching over him to grab a block of sharp cheddar. “You could not be more wrong.”
“I'm sorry, I forgot. You're going over to Corey's and getting baked with the dudes again. Woohoo, party the fuck on.”
“Wrong again, imbecile. I have a date.”
“You do?” He gives me this weird, totally opaque look then thumbs at his beeper, frowning. “With who? Anyone hot?”
“This exchange student from Montreal, Julien. Totally hot. Québécois.” I've been after him all semester even if he is dumber than rocks, because he's got the same body type as Chris and blue eyes that help me to not notice how big his nose is. He finally broke up with the TA he's been fucking so I've got precisely a week's window of opportunity before he goes home.
“Sure thing, you go get your gay on, but you're mine tomorrow night. We'll go see a movie or something.”
You're mine tomorrow night. I think about that the whole time I'm fucking Julien's mouth later until I shoot down the back of his throat with a moan and, when we start to fall asleep in his little bed, his ass fits into my hips perfectly, round and warm. He won't let me fuck him but I think about it, moving to lie closer against him. My dick starts to get hard, nestled against the curve of his asscheeks and he swats at my hip, turning over to face me and his big nose jabs into my cheek in the dark as I go to kiss him.
“So, what are you boys going to go see?” Mom asks as I stuff another big forkful of baked fish into my mouth so Chris answers for us, blithely ignoring the look I send him.
“Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.”
“That druggie movie? I'm not sure your parents would approve of that, Chris.”
“C'mon, Mrs. Q. It's only a movie. It's supposed to be funny and Hunter S. Thompson's totally an important writer for my generation.”
“Christopher . . .”
“I'm eighteen now, it doesn't matter what my parents would like.”
“And you're still under my roof for the next few days so my rules still apply.” She checks them off on her fingers. “One o'clock weekend curfew, no drinking and absolutely no drugs stuff.”
“You have got to be kidding me, watching a movie's not the same as actually taking drugs.”
Mom sets her fork down and sits back in her chair to look at him. “You're going to backtalk me now, too?”
“No, ma'am.” Hah. He does that so well, the big-eyed innocent thing. “Whatever you want. We'll go see The Truman Show or something else.” He's so full of it. Mom's not stupid.
“I wanted to see that too, did that open already? You fellas mind if I tag along?”
I know she doesn't really want to come because there's two four-packs of wine coolers in the fridge, which means Patty's coming over. “It's okay, Mom. I promise we won't go see Fear and Loathing.”
She looks at me and I look back unblinking, knowing she trusts me these days. Most of the time. I got better at hiding stuff, I guess. Chris stays quiet through the rest of dinner. He's been pretty quiet all day, I think he was out late at that party because he was in bed almost all afternoon. He eats his fish and I keep thinking he's looking at me but every time I check, his eyes drop back to his plate.
“Come on, you know we'll get twenty questions about The Truman Show. Go see Fear and Loathing on Monday or something. Just don't tell Mom about it this time, dickhead.”
The warm air coming through his car window ruffles his hair, the tips of which turn gold in the last of the day's sun, his skin warmed through. “I know. But I wanted to see it with you because you've done mushrooms.”
“God, just the once, I'm not like a total wastoid.”
“Man, I didn't think she'd care about a movie.”
“Chris, dude, you've known my mom how long? You should know by now that you cannot underestimate how uptight she is about drug stuff.”
“Yeah, I guess.” His legs stretch out in the car, his fingers combing through his hair, which he's let grow longer for the summer. “She's pretty cool for a mom, though. Especially, like, a religious mom. I was so worried about that when I came to stay, I thought you guys were going to make me pray on my knees every night and every morning and have crucifixes everywhere and stuff.”
“We used to pray over meals when I was little, and I prayed to Santa every night for a couple of years. That was it.”
“To Santa?”
“The whole thing was kind of confusing.”
“Try coming to it new. Oh, and Catholic school? Everybody at my old school said there'd be nuns who'd beat me and priests who'd try to get in my pants.”
“I'm sorry you were disappointed.”
He huffs softly with laughter and looks out the window at a bunch of girls a little older than him outside the laundromat. It's so mellow like this with Chris. I'm wound pretty tight as a person a lot of the time and Chris used to drive that worse than anybody but these days, I don't know, we've relaxed into each other a little. I feel good when I'm with him. Frustrated and horny as fuck, but good. He gets me, the same way my friends do. He doesn't get in a piss when I'm too me, he simply says something snotty in return and then shrugs it off.
His knee rests against mine the whole time we're watching the movie, as he crams handful after handful of popcorn into his mouth and throws some in my face every time Ed Harris appears because Chris figured out I liked him after Mom rented Apollo 13 one movie night. I don't so much tonight, that white vest did way more for him than the beret and, besides, I'm barely keeping track of the movie as it is, his knee warm against mine, his thigh, long and muscular, knocking against me. His shoulder inches away. I've been to the movies with him several times, usually with Mom and maybe that's the difference. Maybe that's why this feels kind of like, God. A date.
Which is stupid, I know, but fuck it, it does, more than any of the 'jump on someone in a dark corner at a lame dorm party' dates I usually go on. Chris leans into me, whispers into my ear, 'I need to piss' and it's a warm mist against my neck. I half-stand to let him pass, his face dark with the light of the screen behind him highlighting his hair, a little corona around his head like a halo. He pushes in a little closer to my body on his way back, his knee finding mine again in the dark as he settles back down with a hissed 'Thanks, what did I miss?'
Am I imagining it? Maybe the sheer weight of all that longing, the obsession with him, with Chris and his body, his face, with him. With everything that he is. I don't know, perhaps it's because he's leaving and I'm getting desperate, and I'm just kidding myself that I want him gone because maybe I don't. Whatever it is, I swear to fucking God, Chris is flirting with me. I know that can't be right but he's sitting across from me with a cheeseburger stuffed halfway down his throat and giving me prolonged, sustained eye contact. He licks ketchup from the side of his mouth and looks at me while he's doing it. It has to be on purpose.
He has been like this since we got here, his suggestion because he wants to hang out more and I refused to take him to a bar. So we order food and he plays with his movie stub, and doesn't break eye contact as we discuss the movie. Eventually I have to do it myself, unsettled and confused, looking down at where my hands shredded my own ticket all over the table. He futzes with the straw of his shake, then wraps his fat, pink mouth around it and takes a long draw, eyes bright and looking at me from beneath the veil of his eyelashes when I can't help but look back at him. He must know. He's figured it out and he's just fucking with my head.
I can't hear him now. He was moving around in his room for twenty minutes humming tunelessly to his radio after we got home but now, nothing. Mom's still downstairs with Aunt Patty, a little drunk and in a good mood, hugging us both tight when we get home, cupping Chris's chin and saying how much she's going to miss 'This little face, this handsome little face. Everyone's leaving me, Patty, first Joe and now this little one' , while all the time Chris is standing a good foot and a half over her, blushing like crazy but minding his manners, nodding to me as he says good night to everyone and goes upstairs. I want to follow him, go knock on his door and ask about tonight, go in and sit on his bed and ask if he likes me or is simply screwing with my mind for kicks. But this is Chris. I can't march upstairs and into Chris's room. I'm a dick with other guys, I know it, my attitude is shitty but Chris is different. So I tell Mom and Patty about the movie and look at Patty's latest photos of her grandkids that Mom thrusts under my nose for comment, then I walk upstairs to bed and listen to Chris humming along to the radio. I don't even think about jerking off. I just lie there and want. All over, I ache with want, lying across my bed with my shoes still on.
I must've dozed off because I'm still there when something wakes me, the bedside lamp still lit, my arms still crossed over my face where I'd thrown them in something approaching despair. Then I hear it again, a soft knock so quiet I'm surprised the first managed to wake me. One more knock as I turn my head to look over at the clock on my nightstand, then my door's opening and I'm too drowsy to have a fucking clue what's going on when Chris comes into my bedroom at one twenty in the morning in his shorts and the t-shirt he had on earlier.
“Chris? Mhmm. What're -”
“Keep your voice down, your mom only went to bed half an hour ago. She's asleep, though.”
“Snoring?”
“You know it.”
I wake up enough to sit up a little as Chris closes my door carefully behind him with a gentle click and comes to stand at the bottom of my bed. He looks warm, bed-rumpled and loose limbed. He looks - nervous. Nervous? I feel my pulse stumble in some form of surprise.
“What do you -”
“Can I sit?”
“Oh. Uh, sure.” I use the ball of my hands to rub into my eyes as I sit up fully, toeing off my shoes and letting them fall to the floor so I can cross my legs and look at him. He comes to sit on one side of my bed, a foot and a half away. “Chris, what do you want, I was sleeping.”
He ignores me, nodding at my clock. “You ever do that? Notice when the numbers line up sequentially. Whenever I notice it, I have to keep looking until the minute moves on. Stupid, I know.”
We both look at the glowing red numbers, zero one two three and I'm almost holding my breath until the three switches into a four. “No, I've never done that before. Something tells me I'll start now, thanks. Any more neurotic little OCD things to dump in my lap while you're here?”
He flops back across my bed, his shirt riding up to show a strip of flat, lightly-furred belly, the line of his cock clearly defined in his underwear as his long legs hang off the side of my bed and he stares at my ceiling. “I had a good time tonight. I had a great time.”
“Uh-huh. Me too.” I wait, aware there's more to come. What precisely is to come, though, I have no fucking clue.
“You're really not going to miss me? Not even in, like, a brotherly way?”
“Oh, for fuck's sake. For the last time, you're not my brother.” I get up off the bed to go piss, not bothering to close the bathroom door or flick on the light.
“I know that, but you act as if I'm this annoying little fuck.”
I call it through to him, “You are an annoying little fuck.”
“That's it? That's really all you think of me? I thought -”
“You thought what?” I tuck back in, flush and rinse off my hands, wiping them on my pants and wondering if I should sit back down next to him or what. Eventually I stand there next to my bed, looking down at him, those two spare inches of exposed stomach, the long, skinny lines of his body stretched over my bed. The pull towards him is almost impossible to deny and I imagine it briefly, covering his body with my own, pushing my mouth against his as my hand burrows into his shorts. Chris sits up a little, enough to look at me and it feels like my thoughts are written across my face in neon.
“I thought you liked me. I like you.”
“I do like you. Of course I like you.”
“No, stupid.” It's whiny and he lies back again, his hands covering his face. “I like you. I like you and you think I'm an annoying little fuck, and I'm going home in less than a week and fuck knows if I'll even ever see you again. You don't seem to give the slightest shit about that.”
My heart's pounding so hard it feels like it must surely reverberate out of my body, through the floor and up the bed. He must know the effect he has on me, he can't be that blind. I'm like a dog on a leash with him. “We'll totally see each other again at some point. And I do give a shit. You know what I'm like -”
“No! I don't! I know fuck all. You are the most frustrating person. You're so closed off from me and you're not like that with anybody else. I've seen you, with Joe, with your mom. With your friends. You're a different person with everyone else but me. You act like you really don't like me but then, I don't know. I see you looking at me and you get this look on your face . . .”
I have to clear my throat, my head is spinning but I don't dare sit down next to him. “What look? Like what? You're making shit up.”
Chris sits up, bare feet flat on my floor and he looks at me, all big pretty eyes and mouth in the half-light of the room. “Sometimes you look at me like you want to rip my fucking clothes off and throw down, and you never do. You don't even come close. I figured I was out of time and ways to try to get you to notice that I want you to.”
The air in the room thickens and stills until my lungs are clogged up, like I can't even breathe. “What? I don't know -”
“Zach . . .” He shoves up off the bed, standing, his arms crossed and tucked into his chest as he covers the meter between us to stand in front of me, biting his lip while I look at him, helpless and paralyzed. But then he takes a shaky breath, unfolds his arms and puts his hands on my waist lightly, simply resting there as he stands in front of me and stares into my eyes. “I've been waiting for you to notice me but I think I figured it out, that you've been noticing me this whole time and I didn't even realize.”
“Come on, you don't even -”
“I can't go home without doing this. I can't. You have to -”
He doesn't tell me what I have to do because he steps up to me and presses his mouth against mine, his fingers curling on my hips. He might as well have hit me around the head with a two-by-four as it's just a little kiss, then another, his lips dry and closed against mine but I feel knocked off my feet with the impact, my arms hanging limply by my sides as Chris takes hold of my shirt and tugs me closer. He pulls away an inch, mutters 'Kiss me, c'mon, please' and the please is all rough and cracked and it breaks me down as I let my hands circle his waist like he's this delicate, fragile thing. His nose bumps mine and I whisper his name once before kissing him back.
It is this little event, the smallest mote of dust on the scale of stuff happening in the world, but my tongue slides into his opening mouth as I tilt my head into his and it feels like nothing comes close to the gravity of this. I smooth my tongue over his and he sighs, fucking sighs with a shiver and pushes against me harder, and his tongue is tentative in my mouth now, then harder, more powerful as his hands slide up my back and into my hair. It is so good, it is so fucking good because it's Chris, his eyes tight shut when I crack mine to look at him, his obnoxious little goatee all scratchy-cute against my fingertips when I stroke along his jaw to tip his chin up so I can shove in deeper still. I want to fucking devour him. I want to suck the breath out of his lungs and every bit of taste I can out of this before he inevitably comes to his senses and pushes me away. But it's too late as his hands trail down my neck and onto my chest, a gentle push as he pulls his mouth away from mine, his eyes still closed.
Hell, totally worth it, worth a hard-on that's never going away. His cheekbones stand out in sharp relief where his skin's pulled taut by his mouth hanging open, his tongue tracing the inner line of his lips as Chris finally opens his eyes to look at me, his hands on my chest, fingers splayed. Then he steps back and I figure that's it, my chance gone but at least I got that kiss if nothing else. But his eyes are dark on mine and his hand move to grab the bottom of his shirt, which he pulls up and over his head, dumping it on the floor and my heart about stops as every blood cell in my body rushes instantaneously to my dick with one heavy pulse of total lust. I can't believe this is happening and it's like I'm in a hypnotic trance as he grabs my hand and pulls me over to the bed, sitting down then tugging me down next to him as he kisses me again.
“Chris, I -” It's against his mouth, smeared by his lips.
“Shuddup. Take your shirt off.” His hands try to help, plucking at it as I move away long enough to pull it off over my head then his hands are on me and mine are on him and we're kissing and he's lying back, pulling me with him. We lie face to face, his mouth all desperate and wet on mine, his chest warm and solid where I rub against him, hands all over his back, his waist, wondering if it's okay to grab his ass. But then Chris grabs mine, digging his fingers in and pulling me against him, trying to shove his hand down the back of my jeans but he can only get halfway in, his fingers brushing the top of my asscheek as he sucks at my mouth and tongue. I curse into his mouth and do it, stroke my hands out of the small of his back and down over his buttcheeks, which are round and firm, covered only in the thin cotton of his shorts and he grunts as I cup his ass fully for a squeeze. God, it's awesome, hotter than I'd ever imagined each time I'd let myself look and internally drool, as it fits perfectly into my hands, muscular and heavy. I squeeze again and he shoves away from me.
“Get your pants off.”
I laugh because it feels like I'm high on something. “You're such a bossy little prick sometimes.”
“Come the fuck on, get your pants off.” He starts digging at the button of my jeans with both hands and it's so absurd, that he's in here, practically naked on my bed with me and trying to bust me out of my pants. An incredulous puff of laughter escapes me again as I look down at his hands then back at his face, where he's grinning like a lunatic, hissing at me, trying to keep quiet. “I said, get your goddamn pants off! Quit laughing and help me.”
So I start to wriggle out of my jeans and then his hand brushes my dick, I don't know if it's on purpose or what as it's so brief but he looks at me, shocked, before he rolls over to half-cover me and does it again, lays his hand over the curve of my hard-on in my jeans and kisses me, shoving his tongue in deep. His thumb starts rubbing over my dick and I let him, let him touch and kiss and push his tongue into my ear as he tugs my jeans down further, his fingers on my stomach now. He stops kissing me, looks down into my face and slowly slides his hand under the waistband of my shorts, fingertips moving over my belly and then through my pubes as his eyes look into mine, until he reaches my dick and I have to close my eyes, let my head fall back with a moan as his long fingers wrap around me slow.
It's not like anything I'd ever imagined, lying like this on my back all passive while he touches me, while he kisses my jaw and softly jacks my dick a couple of times, and I curse, say his name, tell him it feels good, my voice all fucked up and croaky. I always fantasized about being in charge, about forcing him into something because I never allowed myself to think for a minute he'd actually want this. But lying here and letting him do whatever he wants because I just want him to touch me and don't care how, is painfully good and I know I'm getting his hand wet as I rock my hips and gulp down air.
“Lift your butt. I want to -” Chris sits back as we work my jeans and shorts the rest of the way off and now I'm just in my socks as he looks down at my body, eyes shuttered as he takes a deep, shuddery breath. “You're so fucking hot. Look at you, you're all, like, God. You have no idea, you've been driving me crazy.” His hands sketch over my skin like they can't decide where to touch first but then he goes back to softly stroking over my dick, trailing his fingers up and down before tightening around me as he starts to kiss my chest.
“Me?” Fuck this passive shit, my hands itch and cramp until I have to grab him and pull him on top of me, grinding up into his pelvis as I shove his underwear down over his ass and palm two handfuls of solid buttcheek. “I haven't been the one running around in gym shorts and nothing else for the last two months.”
I start sucking at his neck, at his fuzzy chin and his jaw, along to tug at his earlobe as we fuck our hips against each other hard, hot, panting like we're running a race.
“You fuck, you gave no sign you even noticed. It's, ahh, all been for your benefit, asshole. May was cold.” He struggles the rest of the way out of his underwear while I roll over to grab some lube from my nightstand drawer and then I'm back, looking at him, taking the time to look at Chris half-crouched between my legs, naked, face slack with arousal. He's so gorgeous it hurts, like my chest aches when I look at him. He's as hard as I am, his cock nicely thick and flushed dark at the tip and I want him in my mouth so bad I moan at the idea but I'm too close now, so totally overstimulated by his skin, his scent, the way his mouth tastes, the way his body tightens and shakes when I wrap a lubed hand around his dick and start stroking him fast.
“I noticed.” It's all I can manage between gritted teeth because I'm so close, ready to shut my eyes and let it go. I spread my legs and cup his ass to draw him closer, our nuts rubbing together as we jerk each other off, his breath beginning to stutter as he starts cursing and gasping my name, fuck, Zach, oh fuck, fuck, Zach, fuck shit God fuck shit . . . His hand halts on me and squeezes almost too hard as he starts to shoot, one wet, warm spurt across my stomach, another across my knuckles and a heavy glop on the tip of my dick and it erupts out of me from the base of my spine as I come with a yowl that I try to muffle in his shoulder.
“I can't believe you made me come in here and ask for it. What the fuck is the point of liking an older guy if he's not going to make all the moves?” Chris winces as I wipe him down with his shorts after doing myself, tossing them to the floor beside to the bed and collapsing down next to where he's lying on his back next to me.
“I thought you were straight. I'm willing to admit I'm reconsidering my stance on that point.”
“I told you, like, five times or something that I'm bi.” Chris lifts his head to frown at me, a little pissy like he usually gets when I don't listen to him and that, plus the fact we're naked and were very recently covered with each other's cum, is such a weird disconnect that my brain trips over itself to reconcile the two.
“I thought it was a misguided attempt at sympathy. Remember, you also said that it'd help you 'get poon'.”
“It totally does. So? Doesn't mean I've not been going through fucking hell living next door to mister oblivious.” He rubs his nose over my chest, kisses my collarbone a couple of times before pressing his face into my neck as I cup his head with one hand and hold him there. He turns into me, his face still hidden against my jaw, an arm going over my waist as I stroke down over his asscheek, circling my fingers across soft skin that twitches beneath the touch. He speaks and it's warm and wet against my ear. “I've wanted this so bad. Wanted you. Fuck.”
That husked, desperate note's back.
“Is this your first time with another guy?”
I can feel his face burn against my jaw. “Other than kissing, yeah.”
“You kissed another guy? Fuck off. When?”
“Zach, I'm eighteen. I've done lots of stuff you don't know about.”
A spurt of jealously blazes through my gut. It's a unexpected turn on, the idea of Chris making out with some other guy. I grit my jaw as my chest burns with it, this fierce messy feeling of anger and tenderness and a whole bunch of shit that his body and his skin is distracting me from. I rub my thumb over his stupid goatee and tilt his chin up into a kiss. He feels like he's mine now, and he's gone in a week. This is fucked up but, as his tongue pushes into my mouth again, I close off all thought and concentrate on him.
Next
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 6700
Warning: Zach/OMC (graphic but blink and you'll miss it)
Summary: Teenage Chris went to live with the Quinto family when his mom got sick
A/N: For halfbreedchild and with thanks to emmessann . Chapter 5 will be an extension to Chapter 4, which was getting a little long, so no major jump forward in time now until Chapter 6. I'll be working on this story alone for the time being and posting until it's done.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
His tight body slams me out of the way and I nearly fall on my ass.
“Oops. My bad.”
“Flagrant foul!”
“Referee says no. Referee says you needed to get your sorry ass the fuck out of my way.”
“The Referee's too busy licking his own asshole to have witnessed such blatant foulery. Blatant.”
Chris swoops up on one leg towards the hoop, hooking the ball and popping a perfect layup off the backboard, hands thrown up in triumph as he lands and starts doing his whoop-whoop! victory dance, scaring off next door's cat in the process.
“Dirty cheater.”
“Sore loser.”
His arm gets thrown across my shoulders, his half-naked body hugging into me and soaking my t-shirt with sweat. My mind closes in on the surety I'll be jacking off with my nose pressed into it later imagining fucking him, and I get half-hard. He smells like sex. Hot and slightly musty and as if he'd taste of sweat and salt. Every inch of him is slick because we've been out here half an hour and I can see it in my head, how he'd wriggle and moan underneath me as I sucked every molecule of flavor from his skin, moving down his spine, holding his cheeks so far apart he whines that it hurts then tonguing at his hole until he's begging me to screw him. Shit. Make that more than half-hard.
A small part of me wishes he'd wear more clothes, despite how grateful my libido is that he doesn't. It'd be a lot easier to keep my tongue off the floor, watching him bend over to dig through the fridge, coming up with a chunk of cheese wrapped in a slice of ham and taking a big bite. My majority, however, approves, as I can't stop focusing on the army shorts slung low on his hipbones, so low I can see the dimples above his ass. He turns to face me, his long, leanly-muscled torso pale and smooth, freckled across his shoulders as he leans back against the kitchen counter taking a long drink of water, the tufted hair in his armpit soaked through and dark with sweat as his arm rises up and, fuck, I want to suck on it, suck all his taste into me, rub my face in it and his neck and his chest. I guess I'm used to it now, the random blazes of arousal that bust through me all the time, whenever I'm around him or thinking of him, flaring into life more often than I can control. I indulge myself a couple of times a day and jerk off, thinking of all kinds of depraved shit about what I want to do to him, fucking his face so hard he pukes then cries, or taking his ass cherry so hard it makes him bleed on my dick. It's like I'm angry with him for making me want him like this, and a little like I've brainwashed myself to associate cumming hard and strong with Chris. Way to go, you stupid, sick shit.
“You're going to the store for your mom later, right?”
“You want something?”
“Can I come with?”
“Why? You want to sit in the cart and play cars?”
He narrows his eyes at me with a half-smile like I'm a smart ass, then sighs frustratedly, his body moving with it, those strong shoulders that never fail to make me think of digging my fingers into them while I bounce him back on me and fuck him raw or pushing him down to his knees, rubbing my dick over his face. Fuck, get a grip already.
“Has it not even occurred to you that we've only got, like, a few more days to hang out? I know you're not my best bud or whatever but I'm going to miss you and you're totally going to miss me. Come on, gimme some sugar and tell me how much you're going to weep into your pillow once I'm gone.”
He pushes himself off the counter with a thrust of his ass, coming towards me with his arms half-raised. God, it's like every fucking thing the guy does is unconsciously sexy, it drives me nuts. I grimace and scoot back, hands up.
“Chris, I've explained how many times that I'm not a huggy person?”
“The fuck you're not. You are with everyone else, you're like a goddamn octopus with every single other person on the face of the planet. One little hug.”
“You're all sweaty and gross.”
“You're such a fag. Let me put my musk all over you, you know you want it.”
He's kidding, I know he is but - I let out this anxious, desperate husk of breath and back up further.
“No. Keep your stench away from me, I'm going to go shower, we'll go to the store in, what, thirty minutes. You, go clean up because fuck sitting in a hot car with you like that. You reek.”
“It's manly. You love it.”
The water's barely had time to run warm before I've dumped a load of shower gel in my hand and started jacking off, waiting till the water's hot before pushing the shower head so it runs over the tile. I do this sometimes when my hand's not enough, when I'm so totally turned on I need more, waiting till the tile's warm and licking over it, imagining it's his chest and his neck as I jerk off harder, sucking the water off his skin. It doesn't take long, my legs wobbly, his name a curse word that I spit out with the first stinging pulse of cum against the tile. I lean my forehead against the wall as the water pulses cooler for a split second, a thump in the pipes as Chris starts his own shower four doors away from me.
I don't know if I'm going to miss him or not. We're not friends, not exactly and this stupid crush, or whatever it is, is ridiculous. I was looking at some oral pictures on my computer this one time and it wasn't even the more graphic stuff that grabbed my attention. There's this one photo where the tip of this dude's hard-on is a couple of inches away from the mouth of the guy on his knees, and there's a string of spit hanging between this rock-hard dick and the lips. And it's stuck in my head now, the idea of looking down to see Chris like that, plump mouth wet and open, one long line of saliva connecting us, for whatever reason I fixated on that and now I can't get it out of my mind. Chris opens a box of cookies on the way around the store and I get lost in staring at his mouth closing over one of them, thinking about the picture, thinking about his tongue. I swear, it never stops and I guess I'll miss him sometimes but I need him gone.
“What? Your mom lets me.”
“Huh?”
“We're going to buy them anyway. The cookies.”
“Oh. Whatever.”
“You were glaring at me and looked pissed.”
“Chris, you do whatever you want.”
“You're so weird.”
“What does that even mean? Context is all, dumbass. How am I weird? Compared with what or who am I weird?”
“'In comparison with what or with whom am I weird'. Although, I'd personally go with 'Who or what am I weird in comparison with' as it's less formal and not as clunky but, y'know, no biggie either way.”
“Thank you so much, mister future English major.”
Chris ignores my sarcastic tone with a sunny smile that makes his eyes crinkle and disappear as he grabs another cookie. “No sweat, don't mention it. I figure I'm helping out your career and, that way, you'll owe me. See,” he pauses to take a bite, chewing and swallowing it while he follows me pushing the cart. “Any director worth his salt's going to want to work with actors who know their way around language. Know what I mean?”
“I guess I should be flattered you think any director worth a shit's going to be interested in working with me.”
His eyebrows draw together, and he looks genuinely annoyed with me as he munches the last of his cookie and reaches for another. “Get out. You're totally decent.”
“Yeah? I don't know.”
“Bullshit, quit fishing. Oh, we totally need tuna.”
We get to the chiller section and I have to dig out all the sugary crappy yogurts and pudding cups Chris throws in the cart. “What are you, five?”
“I need calcium. I'm a growing boy.”
He's already pretty much my height, has been for over a year. “Waistline, maybe.”
“Dude, zip your pants up, your envy's showing. Just because I have this awesome metabolism -”
“Bite me, fatty, Mom likes low-cal.”
“I'm going to miss this. Aren't you going to miss our conversations, not even just a little bit?”
“No.”
He sways into me, butting his shoulder up against mine. “Yeah, you are.”
“No, I'm not. Our conversations are mindless. They're content-free.” I put the two percent milk he grabbed back in the chiller and put some one percent in the cart.
“Oh yes, of course, I forgot, you're so deep and everything. I'm going to go get some fropis and save me the whole 'no frozen pizza in an Italian house' argument one more time because you're about Italian as my ass. That is to say, not much, because my ass is one hundred percent prime American beefcake.”
Can't argue with that. I watch him walk away, long legs in baggy jeans that hang off his butt, his shoulders heavy-looking in an old Henley that skims over the rest of his slim torso. Three younger girls are also watching him walk away, clutching at each other and giggling. Hardly surprising, he gets this reaction everywhere and doesn't even seem to notice it. It's like he doesn't care about how he looks, Joe's already asked him if he wants to do some modeling for Joe when Chris gets back to CA, but Chris turned him down flat. What teenage guy doesn't want to be a model? Fucking Joe never asked me when he still lived here. But that's Chris, he likes his sports and his books and hanging out with his friends and his Sunday job at the print store that pays precisely dick. That's it, plain and simple. He's smart and uncomplicated and I want to bury myself in it all. It's not like I haven't tried to date but nobody comes close to Chris. He's got a brain. He's funny. He's cute. He's so fucking hot I want to stab myself in the eyes.
“Hey, lemme borrow your cell.” He tosses a handful of mini-pepperoni frozen pizzas into the cart and ignores my grimace of disgust. “My beeper's going nuts.”
“My cell's for emergencies and your social life is not an emergency. Your chin pubes, on the other hand . . .”
“I swear I'll be quick.”
“Go find a payphone.”
“There might be a banging party happening. Come on, Zach, it's Saturday and I know you haven't exactly got plans.”
I snort and give him a snotty, superior look, reaching over him to grab a block of sharp cheddar. “You could not be more wrong.”
“I'm sorry, I forgot. You're going over to Corey's and getting baked with the dudes again. Woohoo, party the fuck on.”
“Wrong again, imbecile. I have a date.”
“You do?” He gives me this weird, totally opaque look then thumbs at his beeper, frowning. “With who? Anyone hot?”
“This exchange student from Montreal, Julien. Totally hot. Québécois.” I've been after him all semester even if he is dumber than rocks, because he's got the same body type as Chris and blue eyes that help me to not notice how big his nose is. He finally broke up with the TA he's been fucking so I've got precisely a week's window of opportunity before he goes home.
“Sure thing, you go get your gay on, but you're mine tomorrow night. We'll go see a movie or something.”
You're mine tomorrow night. I think about that the whole time I'm fucking Julien's mouth later until I shoot down the back of his throat with a moan and, when we start to fall asleep in his little bed, his ass fits into my hips perfectly, round and warm. He won't let me fuck him but I think about it, moving to lie closer against him. My dick starts to get hard, nestled against the curve of his asscheeks and he swats at my hip, turning over to face me and his big nose jabs into my cheek in the dark as I go to kiss him.
“So, what are you boys going to go see?” Mom asks as I stuff another big forkful of baked fish into my mouth so Chris answers for us, blithely ignoring the look I send him.
“Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.”
“That druggie movie? I'm not sure your parents would approve of that, Chris.”
“C'mon, Mrs. Q. It's only a movie. It's supposed to be funny and Hunter S. Thompson's totally an important writer for my generation.”
“Christopher . . .”
“I'm eighteen now, it doesn't matter what my parents would like.”
“And you're still under my roof for the next few days so my rules still apply.” She checks them off on her fingers. “One o'clock weekend curfew, no drinking and absolutely no drugs stuff.”
“You have got to be kidding me, watching a movie's not the same as actually taking drugs.”
Mom sets her fork down and sits back in her chair to look at him. “You're going to backtalk me now, too?”
“No, ma'am.” Hah. He does that so well, the big-eyed innocent thing. “Whatever you want. We'll go see The Truman Show or something else.” He's so full of it. Mom's not stupid.
“I wanted to see that too, did that open already? You fellas mind if I tag along?”
I know she doesn't really want to come because there's two four-packs of wine coolers in the fridge, which means Patty's coming over. “It's okay, Mom. I promise we won't go see Fear and Loathing.”
She looks at me and I look back unblinking, knowing she trusts me these days. Most of the time. I got better at hiding stuff, I guess. Chris stays quiet through the rest of dinner. He's been pretty quiet all day, I think he was out late at that party because he was in bed almost all afternoon. He eats his fish and I keep thinking he's looking at me but every time I check, his eyes drop back to his plate.
“Come on, you know we'll get twenty questions about The Truman Show. Go see Fear and Loathing on Monday or something. Just don't tell Mom about it this time, dickhead.”
The warm air coming through his car window ruffles his hair, the tips of which turn gold in the last of the day's sun, his skin warmed through. “I know. But I wanted to see it with you because you've done mushrooms.”
“God, just the once, I'm not like a total wastoid.”
“Man, I didn't think she'd care about a movie.”
“Chris, dude, you've known my mom how long? You should know by now that you cannot underestimate how uptight she is about drug stuff.”
“Yeah, I guess.” His legs stretch out in the car, his fingers combing through his hair, which he's let grow longer for the summer. “She's pretty cool for a mom, though. Especially, like, a religious mom. I was so worried about that when I came to stay, I thought you guys were going to make me pray on my knees every night and every morning and have crucifixes everywhere and stuff.”
“We used to pray over meals when I was little, and I prayed to Santa every night for a couple of years. That was it.”
“To Santa?”
“The whole thing was kind of confusing.”
“Try coming to it new. Oh, and Catholic school? Everybody at my old school said there'd be nuns who'd beat me and priests who'd try to get in my pants.”
“I'm sorry you were disappointed.”
He huffs softly with laughter and looks out the window at a bunch of girls a little older than him outside the laundromat. It's so mellow like this with Chris. I'm wound pretty tight as a person a lot of the time and Chris used to drive that worse than anybody but these days, I don't know, we've relaxed into each other a little. I feel good when I'm with him. Frustrated and horny as fuck, but good. He gets me, the same way my friends do. He doesn't get in a piss when I'm too me, he simply says something snotty in return and then shrugs it off.
His knee rests against mine the whole time we're watching the movie, as he crams handful after handful of popcorn into his mouth and throws some in my face every time Ed Harris appears because Chris figured out I liked him after Mom rented Apollo 13 one movie night. I don't so much tonight, that white vest did way more for him than the beret and, besides, I'm barely keeping track of the movie as it is, his knee warm against mine, his thigh, long and muscular, knocking against me. His shoulder inches away. I've been to the movies with him several times, usually with Mom and maybe that's the difference. Maybe that's why this feels kind of like, God. A date.
Which is stupid, I know, but fuck it, it does, more than any of the 'jump on someone in a dark corner at a lame dorm party' dates I usually go on. Chris leans into me, whispers into my ear, 'I need to piss' and it's a warm mist against my neck. I half-stand to let him pass, his face dark with the light of the screen behind him highlighting his hair, a little corona around his head like a halo. He pushes in a little closer to my body on his way back, his knee finding mine again in the dark as he settles back down with a hissed 'Thanks, what did I miss?'
Am I imagining it? Maybe the sheer weight of all that longing, the obsession with him, with Chris and his body, his face, with him. With everything that he is. I don't know, perhaps it's because he's leaving and I'm getting desperate, and I'm just kidding myself that I want him gone because maybe I don't. Whatever it is, I swear to fucking God, Chris is flirting with me. I know that can't be right but he's sitting across from me with a cheeseburger stuffed halfway down his throat and giving me prolonged, sustained eye contact. He licks ketchup from the side of his mouth and looks at me while he's doing it. It has to be on purpose.
He has been like this since we got here, his suggestion because he wants to hang out more and I refused to take him to a bar. So we order food and he plays with his movie stub, and doesn't break eye contact as we discuss the movie. Eventually I have to do it myself, unsettled and confused, looking down at where my hands shredded my own ticket all over the table. He futzes with the straw of his shake, then wraps his fat, pink mouth around it and takes a long draw, eyes bright and looking at me from beneath the veil of his eyelashes when I can't help but look back at him. He must know. He's figured it out and he's just fucking with my head.
I can't hear him now. He was moving around in his room for twenty minutes humming tunelessly to his radio after we got home but now, nothing. Mom's still downstairs with Aunt Patty, a little drunk and in a good mood, hugging us both tight when we get home, cupping Chris's chin and saying how much she's going to miss 'This little face, this handsome little face. Everyone's leaving me, Patty, first Joe and now this little one' , while all the time Chris is standing a good foot and a half over her, blushing like crazy but minding his manners, nodding to me as he says good night to everyone and goes upstairs. I want to follow him, go knock on his door and ask about tonight, go in and sit on his bed and ask if he likes me or is simply screwing with my mind for kicks. But this is Chris. I can't march upstairs and into Chris's room. I'm a dick with other guys, I know it, my attitude is shitty but Chris is different. So I tell Mom and Patty about the movie and look at Patty's latest photos of her grandkids that Mom thrusts under my nose for comment, then I walk upstairs to bed and listen to Chris humming along to the radio. I don't even think about jerking off. I just lie there and want. All over, I ache with want, lying across my bed with my shoes still on.
I must've dozed off because I'm still there when something wakes me, the bedside lamp still lit, my arms still crossed over my face where I'd thrown them in something approaching despair. Then I hear it again, a soft knock so quiet I'm surprised the first managed to wake me. One more knock as I turn my head to look over at the clock on my nightstand, then my door's opening and I'm too drowsy to have a fucking clue what's going on when Chris comes into my bedroom at one twenty in the morning in his shorts and the t-shirt he had on earlier.
“Chris? Mhmm. What're -”
“Keep your voice down, your mom only went to bed half an hour ago. She's asleep, though.”
“Snoring?”
“You know it.”
I wake up enough to sit up a little as Chris closes my door carefully behind him with a gentle click and comes to stand at the bottom of my bed. He looks warm, bed-rumpled and loose limbed. He looks - nervous. Nervous? I feel my pulse stumble in some form of surprise.
“What do you -”
“Can I sit?”
“Oh. Uh, sure.” I use the ball of my hands to rub into my eyes as I sit up fully, toeing off my shoes and letting them fall to the floor so I can cross my legs and look at him. He comes to sit on one side of my bed, a foot and a half away. “Chris, what do you want, I was sleeping.”
He ignores me, nodding at my clock. “You ever do that? Notice when the numbers line up sequentially. Whenever I notice it, I have to keep looking until the minute moves on. Stupid, I know.”
We both look at the glowing red numbers, zero one two three and I'm almost holding my breath until the three switches into a four. “No, I've never done that before. Something tells me I'll start now, thanks. Any more neurotic little OCD things to dump in my lap while you're here?”
He flops back across my bed, his shirt riding up to show a strip of flat, lightly-furred belly, the line of his cock clearly defined in his underwear as his long legs hang off the side of my bed and he stares at my ceiling. “I had a good time tonight. I had a great time.”
“Uh-huh. Me too.” I wait, aware there's more to come. What precisely is to come, though, I have no fucking clue.
“You're really not going to miss me? Not even in, like, a brotherly way?”
“Oh, for fuck's sake. For the last time, you're not my brother.” I get up off the bed to go piss, not bothering to close the bathroom door or flick on the light.
“I know that, but you act as if I'm this annoying little fuck.”
I call it through to him, “You are an annoying little fuck.”
“That's it? That's really all you think of me? I thought -”
“You thought what?” I tuck back in, flush and rinse off my hands, wiping them on my pants and wondering if I should sit back down next to him or what. Eventually I stand there next to my bed, looking down at him, those two spare inches of exposed stomach, the long, skinny lines of his body stretched over my bed. The pull towards him is almost impossible to deny and I imagine it briefly, covering his body with my own, pushing my mouth against his as my hand burrows into his shorts. Chris sits up a little, enough to look at me and it feels like my thoughts are written across my face in neon.
“I thought you liked me. I like you.”
“I do like you. Of course I like you.”
“No, stupid.” It's whiny and he lies back again, his hands covering his face. “I like you. I like you and you think I'm an annoying little fuck, and I'm going home in less than a week and fuck knows if I'll even ever see you again. You don't seem to give the slightest shit about that.”
My heart's pounding so hard it feels like it must surely reverberate out of my body, through the floor and up the bed. He must know the effect he has on me, he can't be that blind. I'm like a dog on a leash with him. “We'll totally see each other again at some point. And I do give a shit. You know what I'm like -”
“No! I don't! I know fuck all. You are the most frustrating person. You're so closed off from me and you're not like that with anybody else. I've seen you, with Joe, with your mom. With your friends. You're a different person with everyone else but me. You act like you really don't like me but then, I don't know. I see you looking at me and you get this look on your face . . .”
I have to clear my throat, my head is spinning but I don't dare sit down next to him. “What look? Like what? You're making shit up.”
Chris sits up, bare feet flat on my floor and he looks at me, all big pretty eyes and mouth in the half-light of the room. “Sometimes you look at me like you want to rip my fucking clothes off and throw down, and you never do. You don't even come close. I figured I was out of time and ways to try to get you to notice that I want you to.”
The air in the room thickens and stills until my lungs are clogged up, like I can't even breathe. “What? I don't know -”
“Zach . . .” He shoves up off the bed, standing, his arms crossed and tucked into his chest as he covers the meter between us to stand in front of me, biting his lip while I look at him, helpless and paralyzed. But then he takes a shaky breath, unfolds his arms and puts his hands on my waist lightly, simply resting there as he stands in front of me and stares into my eyes. “I've been waiting for you to notice me but I think I figured it out, that you've been noticing me this whole time and I didn't even realize.”
“Come on, you don't even -”
“I can't go home without doing this. I can't. You have to -”
He doesn't tell me what I have to do because he steps up to me and presses his mouth against mine, his fingers curling on my hips. He might as well have hit me around the head with a two-by-four as it's just a little kiss, then another, his lips dry and closed against mine but I feel knocked off my feet with the impact, my arms hanging limply by my sides as Chris takes hold of my shirt and tugs me closer. He pulls away an inch, mutters 'Kiss me, c'mon, please' and the please is all rough and cracked and it breaks me down as I let my hands circle his waist like he's this delicate, fragile thing. His nose bumps mine and I whisper his name once before kissing him back.
It is this little event, the smallest mote of dust on the scale of stuff happening in the world, but my tongue slides into his opening mouth as I tilt my head into his and it feels like nothing comes close to the gravity of this. I smooth my tongue over his and he sighs, fucking sighs with a shiver and pushes against me harder, and his tongue is tentative in my mouth now, then harder, more powerful as his hands slide up my back and into my hair. It is so good, it is so fucking good because it's Chris, his eyes tight shut when I crack mine to look at him, his obnoxious little goatee all scratchy-cute against my fingertips when I stroke along his jaw to tip his chin up so I can shove in deeper still. I want to fucking devour him. I want to suck the breath out of his lungs and every bit of taste I can out of this before he inevitably comes to his senses and pushes me away. But it's too late as his hands trail down my neck and onto my chest, a gentle push as he pulls his mouth away from mine, his eyes still closed.
Hell, totally worth it, worth a hard-on that's never going away. His cheekbones stand out in sharp relief where his skin's pulled taut by his mouth hanging open, his tongue tracing the inner line of his lips as Chris finally opens his eyes to look at me, his hands on my chest, fingers splayed. Then he steps back and I figure that's it, my chance gone but at least I got that kiss if nothing else. But his eyes are dark on mine and his hand move to grab the bottom of his shirt, which he pulls up and over his head, dumping it on the floor and my heart about stops as every blood cell in my body rushes instantaneously to my dick with one heavy pulse of total lust. I can't believe this is happening and it's like I'm in a hypnotic trance as he grabs my hand and pulls me over to the bed, sitting down then tugging me down next to him as he kisses me again.
“Chris, I -” It's against his mouth, smeared by his lips.
“Shuddup. Take your shirt off.” His hands try to help, plucking at it as I move away long enough to pull it off over my head then his hands are on me and mine are on him and we're kissing and he's lying back, pulling me with him. We lie face to face, his mouth all desperate and wet on mine, his chest warm and solid where I rub against him, hands all over his back, his waist, wondering if it's okay to grab his ass. But then Chris grabs mine, digging his fingers in and pulling me against him, trying to shove his hand down the back of my jeans but he can only get halfway in, his fingers brushing the top of my asscheek as he sucks at my mouth and tongue. I curse into his mouth and do it, stroke my hands out of the small of his back and down over his buttcheeks, which are round and firm, covered only in the thin cotton of his shorts and he grunts as I cup his ass fully for a squeeze. God, it's awesome, hotter than I'd ever imagined each time I'd let myself look and internally drool, as it fits perfectly into my hands, muscular and heavy. I squeeze again and he shoves away from me.
“Get your pants off.”
I laugh because it feels like I'm high on something. “You're such a bossy little prick sometimes.”
“Come the fuck on, get your pants off.” He starts digging at the button of my jeans with both hands and it's so absurd, that he's in here, practically naked on my bed with me and trying to bust me out of my pants. An incredulous puff of laughter escapes me again as I look down at his hands then back at his face, where he's grinning like a lunatic, hissing at me, trying to keep quiet. “I said, get your goddamn pants off! Quit laughing and help me.”
So I start to wriggle out of my jeans and then his hand brushes my dick, I don't know if it's on purpose or what as it's so brief but he looks at me, shocked, before he rolls over to half-cover me and does it again, lays his hand over the curve of my hard-on in my jeans and kisses me, shoving his tongue in deep. His thumb starts rubbing over my dick and I let him, let him touch and kiss and push his tongue into my ear as he tugs my jeans down further, his fingers on my stomach now. He stops kissing me, looks down into my face and slowly slides his hand under the waistband of my shorts, fingertips moving over my belly and then through my pubes as his eyes look into mine, until he reaches my dick and I have to close my eyes, let my head fall back with a moan as his long fingers wrap around me slow.
It's not like anything I'd ever imagined, lying like this on my back all passive while he touches me, while he kisses my jaw and softly jacks my dick a couple of times, and I curse, say his name, tell him it feels good, my voice all fucked up and croaky. I always fantasized about being in charge, about forcing him into something because I never allowed myself to think for a minute he'd actually want this. But lying here and letting him do whatever he wants because I just want him to touch me and don't care how, is painfully good and I know I'm getting his hand wet as I rock my hips and gulp down air.
“Lift your butt. I want to -” Chris sits back as we work my jeans and shorts the rest of the way off and now I'm just in my socks as he looks down at my body, eyes shuttered as he takes a deep, shuddery breath. “You're so fucking hot. Look at you, you're all, like, God. You have no idea, you've been driving me crazy.” His hands sketch over my skin like they can't decide where to touch first but then he goes back to softly stroking over my dick, trailing his fingers up and down before tightening around me as he starts to kiss my chest.
“Me?” Fuck this passive shit, my hands itch and cramp until I have to grab him and pull him on top of me, grinding up into his pelvis as I shove his underwear down over his ass and palm two handfuls of solid buttcheek. “I haven't been the one running around in gym shorts and nothing else for the last two months.”
I start sucking at his neck, at his fuzzy chin and his jaw, along to tug at his earlobe as we fuck our hips against each other hard, hot, panting like we're running a race.
“You fuck, you gave no sign you even noticed. It's, ahh, all been for your benefit, asshole. May was cold.” He struggles the rest of the way out of his underwear while I roll over to grab some lube from my nightstand drawer and then I'm back, looking at him, taking the time to look at Chris half-crouched between my legs, naked, face slack with arousal. He's so gorgeous it hurts, like my chest aches when I look at him. He's as hard as I am, his cock nicely thick and flushed dark at the tip and I want him in my mouth so bad I moan at the idea but I'm too close now, so totally overstimulated by his skin, his scent, the way his mouth tastes, the way his body tightens and shakes when I wrap a lubed hand around his dick and start stroking him fast.
“I noticed.” It's all I can manage between gritted teeth because I'm so close, ready to shut my eyes and let it go. I spread my legs and cup his ass to draw him closer, our nuts rubbing together as we jerk each other off, his breath beginning to stutter as he starts cursing and gasping my name, fuck, Zach, oh fuck, fuck, Zach, fuck shit God fuck shit . . . His hand halts on me and squeezes almost too hard as he starts to shoot, one wet, warm spurt across my stomach, another across my knuckles and a heavy glop on the tip of my dick and it erupts out of me from the base of my spine as I come with a yowl that I try to muffle in his shoulder.
“I can't believe you made me come in here and ask for it. What the fuck is the point of liking an older guy if he's not going to make all the moves?” Chris winces as I wipe him down with his shorts after doing myself, tossing them to the floor beside to the bed and collapsing down next to where he's lying on his back next to me.
“I thought you were straight. I'm willing to admit I'm reconsidering my stance on that point.”
“I told you, like, five times or something that I'm bi.” Chris lifts his head to frown at me, a little pissy like he usually gets when I don't listen to him and that, plus the fact we're naked and were very recently covered with each other's cum, is such a weird disconnect that my brain trips over itself to reconcile the two.
“I thought it was a misguided attempt at sympathy. Remember, you also said that it'd help you 'get poon'.”
“It totally does. So? Doesn't mean I've not been going through fucking hell living next door to mister oblivious.” He rubs his nose over my chest, kisses my collarbone a couple of times before pressing his face into my neck as I cup his head with one hand and hold him there. He turns into me, his face still hidden against my jaw, an arm going over my waist as I stroke down over his asscheek, circling my fingers across soft skin that twitches beneath the touch. He speaks and it's warm and wet against my ear. “I've wanted this so bad. Wanted you. Fuck.”
That husked, desperate note's back.
“Is this your first time with another guy?”
I can feel his face burn against my jaw. “Other than kissing, yeah.”
“You kissed another guy? Fuck off. When?”
“Zach, I'm eighteen. I've done lots of stuff you don't know about.”
A spurt of jealously blazes through my gut. It's a unexpected turn on, the idea of Chris making out with some other guy. I grit my jaw as my chest burns with it, this fierce messy feeling of anger and tenderness and a whole bunch of shit that his body and his skin is distracting me from. I rub my thumb over his stupid goatee and tilt his chin up into a kiss. He feels like he's mine now, and he's gone in a week. This is fucked up but, as his tongue pushes into my mouth again, I close off all thought and concentrate on him.
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