New York After College 03 (Patreon)

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Chapter 3: Ever After

Things were the same as they always had been, but at the same time, things had changed.

About an hour after blowing me and jerking off onto my feet, before we even had a chance to talk about it, he started looking at me differently. We had the game on And he was staring, focused, like he was solving a puzzle on my face. I noticed and smirked, realizing what was happening. I played dumb as he started scooting closer to me on the couch, inch by inch, like I wouldn't notice.

Finally he got up suddenly and went to the bathroom without saying anything, stomping slightly like he was frustrated. He came back a few minutes later wearing my bathrobe, holding something small. He threw it onto my lap and I picked it up.

My heart stopped.

Sex lube.

He looked at me. I looked at him. He dropped the bathrobe and let it fall to the floor, his hard dick springing out. He got on all fours on the couch facing away from me, and I saw that his ass was completely smooth. He naturally didn't have much body hair but I had seen him naked enough times to know this was intentional. He leaned forward into the couch cushion and let his ass open slightly, a pink hole against pale skin.

"Are you just gonna look at it," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow, "or are you gonna eat it?"

I swallowed. My hands were shaking slightly as I reached out and grabbed him. I thought about what this meant. To him, to me, to the fifteen years of everything that had led to this exact moment on my couch on a Sunday night. I pressed the tip of my dick against him while he held completely still, waiting.

"Come on," he said. "I've been thinking about this for ten years. You can handle five seconds of being a little gay."

"You have a lot of nerve," I said.

"I really do." He reached back and found my dick, wrapping his hand around it, and I started leaking onto him almost immediately. He tried to guide me in but I pulled back, making him wait. He groaned in frustration.

"Seriously?"

"Ask nicely," I said, which I could not believe came out of my mouth.

"Are you kidding me right now."

I bent down and licked my own pre-cum off his skin, dragging my tongue slowly until I found his warm hole, and that's when he lost it completely.

"Yes, fuck, lick my ass. Eat me out, please."

I pushed my face into him. The flavor was pure man, salt and skin and testosterone underneath  it all, that I was pretty sure I could taste. The specific warmth of another firm body that was built like mine. I could feel the strength of him, the solidity of the muscle around me, and it was like unlocking some secret to masculinity. I shoved my tongue as deep as I could while the meat of his ass covered my face, sweat and spit running down my chin while I worked circles into him.

His groans started getting higher pitched, softer, like a girl’s moans, and that turned me on more than I expected. It felt like the night with Natalie, after she disappeared. All I wanted was more of him against me.

I rose up and didn't know what to do with any of this energy in my body, so I followed instinct. I flipped him over. He looked startled for a second, then his expression shifted into something softer and he smiled.

He had a day's worth of stubble along his jaw and I got curious what it would feel like, so I found out. I leaned down, closed my eyes and kissed him, letting his stubble drag against my face, our hard dicks pressed together between us. He kissed me back but he didn't grab my head. His hand went straight down to my dick, his greatest obsession, as I now fully understood. He lifted his legs and wrapped them around me and pointed me at his hole.

"You're gonna take my cock," I said. "You little slut. You're my girl for the night."

"Probably longer than that," he said quickly, between breaths.

He reached for the lube and stroked me slowly and the sensation was already almost too much. I felt the warmth of him against my tip and pushed forward carefully, feeling his body accept me and then clench tight. 

I stopped. 

I could feel both our heartbeats at once, his body wrapped completely around me. I kissed him again and felt him exhale slowly underneath me, his muscles releasing one by one. He grabbed my ass with both hands and pulled me deeper, because of course he did.

I worked into him slowly, finding a rhythm, and he moaned into my mouth every time our bodies met. My body made light slapping sounds against his skin, and his face kept shifting between something that looked like pain and something that looked like relief, like a knot finally coming loose after years of being pulled too tight.

"You're gonna make me cum," he said, quieter than I expected while he choked on a breath.

"Really."

He answered with his body. He didn't touch himself once. With a little squeak from his throat and a purring groan, he spilled onto his abs, a puddle spreading across the muscle I had watched him build for fifteen years while he chased a number he was never going to beat. The smell hit me immediately, familiar and completely new at the same time, and I was over the edge myself within seconds. 

I froze, then pumped slowly as my seed left my body and went into his.

I collapsed next to him.

Neither of us said anything for a while. We lay there side by side looking at the ceiling, breathing. The TV was still on from before, still on low. The game had ended, and there was an episode of something neither of us had been watching.

I looked at his face. I had known it my whole life and I had never seen it look exactly like that. Not while he was awake. Completely still. No angle, no smirk, nothing to prove. Just satisfied, genuinely, in a way I didn't have a comparison for because I had never seen him without something to compete against before.

It felt good to have put that look there. I didn't examine that feeling too hard.

"I have to tell you something," he said.

"Okay."

"Natalie." He paused. "I called her. Before that night. I told her we were getting dinner and asked if she wanted to come meet us at the bar after."

I turned my head to look at him.

"I figured if she was there it would…" he made a vague gesture at the ceiling, at the apartment, at all of it, "maybe…move things along."

I stared at him for a second. I thought about that night, the way she'd kept looking at me while flirting with him, the way she'd picked up her jacket without any real convincing. I thought about her not texting back Saturday and wondered if that was intentional too, if she'd known exactly what she was doing and decided her role was done.

Then I started laughing.

"What," he said.

"That is the most you thing that has ever happened." I was actually laughing now, the kind that comes from somewhere real. "You recruited my ex-girlfriend to seduce me into hooking up with you."

"It worked," he said simply.

"It worked," I agreed. "You're fucking crazy."

"I was desperate." He said it without much drama, which somehow made it land harder. "I'd been sitting on this for a long time."

"Middle school," I said.

"Middle school," he confirmed.

I shook my head at the ceiling. I couldn't be mad. It was genuinely impossible to be mad because it was so completely him, the planning, the patience, the willingness to engineer a situation rather than just say the thing out loud. He had run the same play he always ran. He just finally won the one he actually wanted.

—[]—

Over the next couple weeks we developed a routine. He would come over after work, we'd half-wrestle on the living room floor the way we had since we were kids, and then it would turn into something else and we'd end up in the bedroom, or sometimes we’d just do it there on the floor. I even let him fuck me a couple times out of curiosity. 

He stopped going home between visits. His work shoes were by my door. His body wash was in my shower, which I didn’t say anything about when I noticed.

We didn't ever really talk about what it was. It didn't feel necessary yet, and neither of us was in a hurry to make it into something we'd have to explain.

A couple weeks after that we were in Washington Square Park on a Saturday afternoon, on a bench, doing nothing. It was warm enough to be outside but not warm enough for anyone to be happy about it, that specific New York March temperature where everyone is outside out of pure desperation for some outside time.

Across the path from us, two guys were kissing on another bench. Full commitment. One of them had his hand in the other one's hair.

"God," Ryner said, making a face. "Get a room."

"Seriously," I said. "Nobody needs to see that."

We sat with that for a second.

His hand found mine between us on the bench, fingers settling into the gaps between my fingers. I looked down at it. He was still watching the two guys across the path with his neutral face on, like nothing was happening, like he hadn't just done what he'd done.

I turned back to the front and left my hand where it was.

We sat there for a while longer, not saying anything. The city moved around us the way it always does, completely indifferent, a thousand other people having their own strange and specific lives.

We weren't exactly boyfriends. We were obviously not just friends anymore. I didn't have a word for it yet and I wasn't sure either of us needed one. Some things you carry around for fifteen years and some things you just let sit for a while.

His thumb moved slowly across my knuckles.

I let it.