Jock Auction (14 page)

that our lips never parted. He was hungry now, alternating kissing me with biting on my lips, my tongue. Nipping at the skin until I thought it might break. I let my hands trail down until the curve of his ass filled my palms through denim.

Sitting up, suddenly, he peeled off his shirt, his skin pale but a spreading flush across his chest. As he leaned back down, he pushed up my T-shirt so that our bodies could press together, nothing between us. I slipped my hand under him, tugged at the buttons at his fly until his jeans gaped, then eased the clinging material over the curve of his cheeks, his briefs with it.

Now I could run my fingers from his bare shoulders down across the taper of his

waist and around the jut of his ass. Craig pushed back against my hands, the moan

cracking into a shuddering groan as I slipped my fingertips between his cheeks so they could graze his entrance. He buried his face in the crook of my neck as I pawed and pulled at him. I reached down to stroke at the soft skin where his balls joined his body before dragging my touch up to tug at his tightness, circling around it until I could feel his muscles loosening, his humming excitement giving way to a sort of buzzing

eagerness.

I rolled us now, turned us on the bed so that he was underneath me, legs

awkwardly wrapped around my waist, or at least as much as his jeans would let him. I sat up, pulled his pants off and then my shirt up and tucked behind my neck, the arms cinched tight around my shoulders. Craig looked at me with hunger in his expression, and I placed one palm flat on his groin, just above the closely-cropped buzz of his hair, as the fingers of the other jerked open my jeans.

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He reached over, under his pillow, as I pushed my clothes down my thighs,

pulling out a tube of lube and letting the glistening liquid trickle out down the crack of his ass. Eyes locked on my face, he let his fingers play across his hole, pushing at it until he was fingering himself—one finger first, then two, until I couldn’t just watch any longer, until I had to grab his hand and guide his movements, driving deeper into his body, holding him there until he whimpered and bucked against me.

I took his hand, let it close around my cock in a loose, slippery grip. Felt him

corkscrew around it until the whole length was wet and ready. Leaning forward, I

carelessly pinned his wrist down, his other hand gently resting on the back of my neck, and guided my dick against him.

He grunted as I broke in, his flesh resisting for a moment and then gaping around

me, the tightness suctioning my cock as it sank all the way inside him. Craig’s erection pushed eagerly at me as I gave a jolt of my hips, buried that last tiny fraction deep, drove a shuddering gasp from the bottom of his lungs.

“Oh God, I needed this,” he muttered to me, cheek pressed flat against the sheets.

I nudged at his face with my own until he was looking up at me, mashed our lips

together as I dragged my pelvis back, and then ground it into him again. He twitched and writhed underneath, thighs clamped around my body.

There was a sudden flash of Louis between my legs, as deep in me as I was in

Craig, the memory of meeting his thrusts with my own movements. I groaned,

bottomed out in him as the companion thought of my ass being forced to take my

teammate’s inches filled my mind. I could feel myself tingling with the echo of the sensation.

“What…what have you done to me, Craig?” I grunted, my body pounding into

him harder now, his mouth dropping into an O as I fucked the breath from him. “What did you turn me into?”

“Oh jeez, Kyle,” he gasped, hands clinging to the bed sheets. “Use me, just keep

doing that.”

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I hissed, somehow angry all of a sudden, the twinned memories of Craig

unexpectedly kissing me that first strange day and Louis’s cock easing into my needy hole mixing into a haze of confusion. Life had been so fucking easy until all this, just girls and wondering how to get girls, and the team, and schoolwork, and just getting through each day until, well, whatever came next.

And then Craig had come along and fucked things up—fucked me up in the head,

made me see stuff and think about stuff that should’ve just stayed fucking buried, that I could’ve gone my whole life never thinking about—and now I didn’t have a clue what I was or what I was doing anymore, just seemed to ricochet from one screwed up

experience to the next.

Without thinking about it, I’d pinned Craig’s arms above him, my upper body

stretched out across his as I hammered my hips into him. His eyes were glazed, mouth gaping, as my dick slapped wetly inside. All the anger and the confusion and the guilt were slopping out of me now, boiling and foaming away as I reamed him.

“You fucking made me, Craig,” I muttered, feeling his ass twitch around me. “You

did all this.”

The gasps were coming out of him in sharp judders now, his torso clenching.

When it started, I almost didn’t recognize the sound as being from him at all, deep and guttural until he let out a panting groan, and I felt him blast between us, slick against my humping body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I spat, the rhythm of him on me milking out my own climax.

“Oh…oh, fuck…”

I buried myself deep, as far inside him as I could as I surged over the crest of my orgasm. Felt my balls try to turn themselves inside out. I’d let Craig’s hands go, but he’d left them where I’d pinned them, crossed above his head as his rib cage swelled with each shaky breath. I propped myself up on wobbling arms.

And then, all of a sudden, I felt the groundswell of guilt flood across me.

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“Shit, Craig… I mean…” I started. His eyes were closed, skin blotchy. “Are you…

I mean, I just got…carried away, I guess.”

He looked up at me then, his expression almost unreadable. I frowned again.

“Are you…”

He still didn’t say anything, just watched me. I sat up, felt our bodies part stickily, a combination of cum and sweat gluing us together at the waist. My dick, still thickly swollen, dragged free of him. He looked red, abused.

“What did you mean, I made you?” he asked me, suddenly. I glanced away, not

quite able to meet his gaze.

“It was just, y’know, heat of the moment stuff,” I mumbled. Now it was Craig’s

turn to frown.

“The fuck it was, Kyle.” His voice was even, tone level, but there was something

more to it, something clipped and dangerous. I stood up, feeling self-conscious.

“I dunno, Craig.” He waited a moment, gaze unflinching.

“You blame me for all this, don’t you?” he asked me. How could I answer that?

When I didn’t say anything, he filled the silence himself. “Jesus, so you fucked a guy a few times.”

I reached down, tried to untangle my boxers and tug them back into place. “I

just…” But I had no way to finish it.

“Is it really so difficult?”

I shook my head, though I wasn’t sure whether I was saying no or just saying that

I couldn’t find any words at all.

“I think I fucked up,” was all I could manage.

He looked at me. I gave up on my fly, the button fastening too complicated for my

current mental state.

“With me?”

I looked at him, forcing myself to meet his stare.

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“There was a guy.”

Had the color drained from his cheeks when I said that? Was I imagining it?

“A guy…” Some of the confidence from his voice was missing now; there was a

hint of that first wavering uncertainty that I’d heard back when I met him.

“On my team. A guy on my team.” He shook his head, not quite able to

understand what I was telling him. “I got confused about…about you and me, and

what it made me… And it turned out he understood, because…well, because he felt

similar things. And then some stuff happened.”

Craig crossed his arms across his chest. It was a defensive gesture, like he was

closing off from me somehow. I fought the urge to reach down and take hold of his hands. It felt too much like how I’d manhandled him into place just moments before, when we’d been caught up in the sex.

“You fucked him?” he asked me, eventually, voice small.

I couldn’t keep the gaze, not then. “He fucked me.”

A beat. Nothing more. And then suddenly Craig was off the bed, sidestepping

around me, and reaching for the door. I shifted to block him almost without thinking, feeling us clatter into the wall by the door frame, gripping his shoulders as he twisted and pushed at me.

“Craig, please…” But he was fighting back now, more than the playful

roughhousing we seemed to slip into, actually throwing his weight against me to get past.

“You bastard, you fucking…” His voice sounded choked up, a mixture of anger

and pain making it deeper than normal, gouging a rough edge to his tone. “You let me think…that we… But all the time you had some fucking jock nailing you on the side.”

I tried to hold him back, tried to muscle his body against the wall with my torso.

Felt his flailing slaps as they slid across my sweat-slicked chest, the pain in my shins as JOCK AUCTION | 97

he kicked me with bare feet. I could hear a low, steady murmuring, and I realized it was me, a constant muttering of “please, Craig, please” as I held him.

“Oh fucking damn you, Kyle,” he gasped, curses punctuated with sobs now—

deep, racking convulsions as his emotions finally betrayed him. I pulled him close, tried to hug his body as he made feeble efforts to hold me off. Felt my lips against his ear, the soft skin behind it, trailed a string of kisses down to the side of his neck.

“You’re a fucking bastard.” Craig groaned, head turned away from me. I brushed

my lips across the salty hollow of his collarbone, letting one hand slide down to cup his ass.

“I’m sorry, Craig. I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling him shake as the emotions took him. I let my fingertips ease along the bumps of his spine, pressing at the knotted tension across his back. “You’ve got to believe me, please.”

He leaned his head forward, forehead resting on my shoulder, body still tense

between my arms. As I grazed between his slicked cheeks, I felt the betrayal of his erection as it started to press, hardening, at my hip.

“I know I’ve been so bad. I’ve let you down.” My voice was low, contrite; I slipped a fingertip into the wetness of him as I began to sink down his body and planted

featherlight kisses down his stomach.

“Kyle, please… just…” I didn’t let him finish—didn’t want him to tell me to stop,

to go, to never come back again—only took the head of his dick into my mouth and,

with a long breath, let the length of him sink into my throat as I pushed my finger deeper on the other side. Focused everything I could on sending waves of pleasure

down his cock to radiate out through him, as though the thrum of an orgasm could

drive out the anger and deception I knew he felt.

Two fingers then, Craig feeling soft and wet as his prick hardened more to my

efforts. I gulped around the flare of his head as I alternated between driving as much of him as I could inside and then pulling back to nuzzle on the tip, letting it bump against the insides of my cheek or the ridges along the roof of my mouth.

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Soon I could feel him shaking again, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and then his hands tapping and then knocking at my head, my shoulders as I hooked my

fingers down to jab at his prostate. With a gasp, I felt him flood my mouth, sharp and sudden.

Feeling a stinging smack to the side of my head, I tugged back, momentarily

surprised, and looked up in time to see Craig’s expression as he hit me again, a look of bitter fury on his face that sent me toppling onto my hastily outstretched hands.

“You… What the…what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Craig slid out from

between my thighs and across the wall, stepping around me. “You need to go, Kyle.

Just…go.”

I stumbled to my feet, arms out, conciliatory.

“Look, Craig, we need to—”

“We don’t need to anything, Kyle,” he snapped back. He tugged on a T-shirt,

turned away from me to step into his briefs. Didn’t look back when he told me, “I can’t be with you right now, not after…”

I pulled my shirt down, finally managed to get the top button of my jeans finally

fastened.

“Craig.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. The silence spooled out between us,

growing thicker and more leaden with each passing second.

“Go, Kyle.”

I left.

It was a cold night out, the sudden chill from a cloudless day, but I couldn’t bring myself to go straight home. So I walked instead, fists dug deep into my jacket pockets, shoulders hunched as I churned over every word we’d spoken to each other that

evening, trying to figure out if I could’ve handled it better somehow, told him in such a way that didn’t leave him hating me.

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Because he hated me.

That was the conclusion I couldn’t escape. The knowledge that Craig—this guy I

hardly knew, really, had never done much more than make the briefest, vaguest of eye contact with in passing before a few weeks ago—now wanted nothing to do with me.

The thought of it made me feel sick to my stomach.

I could still taste him in my mouth, feel the throb of him as he’d sprayed my

tonsils. I knew I’d screwed up royally there too—trying to use sex as if it was some mend-all bandage, like I could make him forget that I’d fucked another guy by fucking with him some more.

I fished my phone out of my pocket for maybe the twentieth time and checked to

see if I had any messages. Or, more accurately, if Craig had replied to my message, a hastily thumbed-out
I’m sorry
that I sent him almost as soon as my feet touched the pavement outside his house.