Authors: Cara Dee
Good luck. Again.
Rinsing my mouth, I spit out some water, then set aside my toothbrush and wipe my mouth. Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure I'm alone before I loosen the towel and inspect myself critically
. Insecurities, fuck you all
. Should I shave my fucking crotch? Nah, screw that. I'm not that hairy. I think. Hell if I know.
I sigh and tighten the towel again. Despite not having shaved my face, I put some of my cheap aftershave on my hands and smack them onto my scruffy cheeks. I used the last of my deodorant a couple days ago, so this is all I have for now if I wanna smell nice.
And I do
"Cory?" Flynn calls. "Are you okay? Are you nervous? Would you like some—oh, what are they calling it…" His voice fades into muttering. "That’s right. Liquid courage?"
I grin and shake my head. Nervous? Fuck yes. But it's okay. I'll see this through. I'm no quitter. "I'm fine." Leaving the bathroom behind, I walk out to see Flynn sitting cross-legged on his bed. He's staying away from the window, I realize. I bet he stuck close to the wall when he peeked earlier. "You okay?"
He looks away from me.
"Yes. There's a Sprite for you over there." He points to the small table in the corner. "I've seen you drinking it at the pub." My mouth quirks up, and now I'm curious as to what else he knows about me. I sure as hell wasn’t drinking soda the day we met. "I also left some snacks and fruit cups in that sad excuse for a refrigerator under the desk."
"Thanks. You didn’t have to go to this much trouble, though." I sit in the faux-leather chair by the window. I'm glad the shades are down all the way for now. "Are you sure you're okay?" I'm wondering because he still won't look at me.
"Yes, yes. I assure you. Copacetic. So, I was wondering." Flynn clears his throat. "Would you like to watch pornography?"
Jesus Christ, this guy
. "I can either order something on pay-per-view, or I have my laptop—"
"I'm fine," I say quickly, interrupting. I tap my temple. "I have a vivid imagination." I'll leave it at that.
"That’s convenient." Flynn traces invisible patterns on his bedspread with one of his pianist's fingers. "I suppose I will give you privacy now." He checks his watch. "Only five minutes to go."
My pulse skyrockets as he slowly leaves the bed and makes his way to the bathroom with his laptop. He pauses in the hallway to tell me how much I should roll up the shade to get the best angle. I'm instructed to sit close to the window; if I sit farther away, onlookers will see more of me from the parking lot below.
He's still rambling awkwardly about angles when my brain starts launching images at me that I need for a moment like this. It throws any kind of filter out the window and nearly knocks me out of my seat when the men I see in my head all look like Flynn. It's not surprising that they're him, but the assault is forceful. His face invades every frame, and I picture his cheeks flushed with desire, his pupils dilating within the green.
I've been careful not to cross lines even in fantasy because it would do me no good when I'm forced back into reality later. I've been through it before. Too many times. It doesn’t feel good. But now…? Fuck it all. It's my mind. I can do what I want with it.
I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees to shield my thickening cock under the towel. "Flynn, you can go now." My voice comes out rougher, and I'm sure there's lust in my gaze.
Not that Flynn sees it. He's been facing the bathroom door while talking to me. Which leaves me a final opportunity to get my fill. My eyes rake over his lithe body, his short and tousled hair, his chiseled jaw, pale skin, his tight little ass, slim but muscular thighs…all the way down to his bare feet.
"Roger that," he croaks, struggling with the door. It opens, and he nearly crashes into it. He escapes unscathed though, and disappears inside the bathroom.
The lock snicks into place.
Wasting no time, I stand up to switch chairs. The swivel chair ends up in front of the window, and I retrieve my duffel bag and lose the towel. As instructed, I pull up the shade; then I take my seat again.
The only thing I could think to buy as a preparation for today was a travel-size bottle of lube. It was all I could afford, but I'm not gonna go without. It'd be like fucking a desert.
A low groan slips through my lips as I move a slicked-up hand down my hard dick.
I don’t look outside. It's too dark to see much unless I really stare anyway. Besides, it's the knowledge of having Flynn in the bathroom that seems to fuel my desire. Not the voyeurs down in the parking lot.
only tightens the knot of nervousness, so I try not to think about them at all.
With my profile to the window, I close my eyes and think about Flynn instead. I fantasize about his hands on my body. The innocence and the curiosity in his eyes. Maybe he'd blush at the sight of my cock.
I'd want him to kneel down in front of this chair. Between my legs. He would touch me experimentally, lost in his own little world. Fuck, I can see it. As I stroke myself harder, I imagine his face lowering to my crotch. I can almost feel his hot breath coming out in small puffs.
"Suck me," I breathe out. I swipe the pad of my thumb over the slit and spread around the beads of pre-come. Would Flynn lick it off? Would he suckle the head? Would he hum? "Fuck." My head lolls back. I stretch out my legs, probably looking like a stiff board in the chair.
I tighten my hold, stroking myself hard with my right hand. The left comes up to grip the base and massage my balls. The sac contracts and draws up, heavy and perfect in my hand. It makes me think about Flynn's cock and the things I wanna do with him. Deprived as I am, I'd probably come all over myself the second I swallowed him down.
My mouth waters. My lips even tingle, and I bite down on the bottom one as I speed up. Already, I can feel my orgasm building. It turns my thoughts nastier. Downright indecent and fucking spectacular.
I wanna come on your face.
I wanna lick it all up.
I wanna come right in the opening of your ass and watch as it seeps out.
I wanna lick it all up.
I flush with heat across my face and chest. My abs tighten.
In the back of my mind, I register a thump coming from the bathroom, but I'm too far gone to think about it. Faster and faster, almost there—
oh, my fucking God
. I groan. My breathing comes out rapidly, my chest heaving.
Teetering on the edge, I open my eyes to see myself get off. I work my cock all while picturing Flynn sucking me, licking me, fucking me, coming, coming, coming… In an instinctual move, I swivel the chair a foot to the right, facing the window more.
The first release splashes against my chest, and I suck in a shallow breath and hold it. At the same time, I grip the root of my dick hard as fuck, causing the next rope of come to hit almost as high as the first one. My head falls back again as a third pulses out of me, trickling down my hand. With a squeeze to my balls, I earn another few drops. My entire body buzzes with the aftershocks of one of the best orgasms I've had in a long time.
I shudder violently, placing a hand on my abdomen. Not rubbing the come in, but…feeling it, feeling the sticky heat.
Breathing it in
. It's one of the best smells in the world, sex. The salt, the musk, the masculinity.
A hiss escapes me as I accidentally run my left hand down my sensitive shaft, mainly the head. I force myself to stand up, feeling a bit wobbly, and quickly pull down the curtain all the way. It's just best I don’t analyze that shit right now.
…I gotta face Flynn instead, and I don’t fucking want to. It hits me like a ton of bricks that if he realizes that I've jacked off to the thought of him, I might end up in a very familiar spot.
Steeling myself, I pick up the towel from the floor and wrap it around my hips again. It's time for another shower, and I might resort to bullshit coyness and hide behind the door while Flynn gets out of there. If I had clothes to spare, I would've put on a T-shirt.
"Flynn?" I knock gently on the bathroom door. Ironically, I'm more nervous now—after the
—than before. "It's okay to come out."
He was right earlier. We
friends, and I don’t wanna lose another one. I was just too busy cataloguing his features to think about labels for what we are to each other.
"No, it's not."
Flynn's voice is barely audible through the door.
I stare at the floor, wondering if it's already started. But at least we've only known each other this week. Not a year, not a semester, not a few months. Less than a week.
"Why?" I ask dully.
"Because I don’t like anything that can be described as awkward,"
Flynn mutters frankly.
"I'll only make it more awkward, and it makes me very uncomfortable. I start stammering, and I look like a fool. No one wants to look like a fool, Cory."
Don’t I know it. "It doesn’t have to be awkward."
Please, don’t let it be awkward.
"I'll get behind the door, you sneak out, I go in and shower, and then when I come out, we'll pretend this never happened."
There's a beat of silence before Flynn speaks up.
"My current state negates everything I have learned about what is acceptable—at least around other people—which I try to stick to. Consequently, I cannot face you without making the situation much, much worse."
Now I'm confused. "Your…your current state?"
"I have an erection."
"Shit," I whisper, pinching the bridge of my nose.
That just opened a new can of worms. Is he hard because of…? No, I'm not going there. He's straight, according to his profile.
Before he changed it
. This is what he does; Flynn runs a site about voyeurism. Clearly, it's the concept that turns him on. It's about those people watching me. Not me in particular, but simply
"That’s normal, and…" I clear my throat and drop my forehead to the door. "Compared to what I just did, a hard-on is practically nothing. Definitely nothing to be embarrassed about."
Flynn is…different. There's something about him, how he acts, speaks, and views society. I like it. I like his perspective, and if that means I have to tread carefully every now and then to reassure him, I'm more than cool with that.
"Maybe—" I bite my lip and grimace. I shouldn’t continue this sentence, yet I know I will. I'll probably push him too far. "Maybe you should take care of it." Peering down at my chest, I drag a finger across my abs, the pad glistening with cooling come
"And you know what? I don’t even need a second shower. I have a towel out here, and I'll use some of the water." I turn my head to see the two bottles of spring water and two glasses next to the phone on the desk. "I'll go to bed right after, and when we wake up tomorrow, it'll be like it never happened."
Except that it did.
"Are you absolutely positive?"
After another moment of silence, I hear him shuffling around in there. When the shower comes on, I follow through on what I said. I wash up with the towel and some water, then locate my last pair of clean boxer briefs. Putting them on, I switch off the lights in the room except for the one in the hallway, and then I'm ready for bed.
By the time Flynn emerges, I'm under the covers with my back to him, and I'm pretending to be asleep.
Jayden Cory Rowe was born this morning. You were the first one I wanted to tell. Dylan is thrilled to have a little brother, but he's afraid Jennifer will favor her "real" son.
Hope you're well,
"He's alive!" Tammy cries out dramatically when I enter the pub the next day.
I walk over to the bar where she's getting ready for the lunch crowd. "Hey. Those colors clash." I point to the collection of red straws and black cocktail decorations next to the bowls of sliced lemons and limes.
She gives me a strange look as I sit down on a stool. "No, they don’t."
"I'm just fucking with you." I grin and show my palms. "What the hell do I know about colors clashing?"
"Nothin'." She eyes my blue button-down, which I have now finally washed, and rolls her eyes at something. My jeans? Makes no sense. They're simple black. Or they used to be. They're a little closer to gray these days. "Are you seriously wearin' a green-and-white checkered belt?"
I look down at said belt, then shrug and scratch my nose. "I found it in the 99 pence store in Camden Town. The chick at the register called it kitschy, whatever that means. But look—" I haul a foot up onto the next stool "—same green as my sneakers. They match."
That makes Tammy laugh outright. "Oh, sugar. You're the worst gay guy ever."
"What the fuck?" There's nothing wrong with my damn clothes. I have the nice shirt and all! "Point out a single flaw. I dare you."
She waves it off dismissively. "Your wardrobe is the last thing we're gonna talk about." Setting down a glass of Sprite in front of me, she levels me with a stern expression. "You've avoided me for days, you don’t return my calls, you don’t reply to my texts; I even checked your Facebook! Are you breakin' up with me?"
Wow, she really must've been desperate to check my Facebook. I think I've checked it once or twice in the past seven years.
It's my turn to roll my eyes. "Come on. You know you're my second favorite girl in the world. I'd even suffer through meeting your parents where, as you've said, your father would beat the shit out of me and nickname me 'White Boy.'" I widen my arms. "The things I'd do for you."
That cracks her up. "Nah, he'd like you. Of course, you'd have to go to church every Sunday."