Jock Auction (23 page)

For once he hadn’t tiptoed around me, hadn’t treated me like a curious but flighty straight guy who, if Craig wasn’t careful, might bolt and leave him. That persistent veneer of tight-lipped control, the masked reticence, had been shed, and I saw Craig’s true feelings: his needs and his furies. Not just a “safe” diluted version I suspected he’d thought was all I could handle seeing.

Maybe I should’ve felt insulted by that, indignant that he saw me so two

dimensionally. But I couldn’t really blame him, not knowing as I did how much he

wanted what we have together, how self-sufficient he’d been forced to become when it came to his emotions.

As the traffic began to increase I worked my way back to his house and let myself

in through the door, which I’d left on the latch. I could hear movement from the

kitchen, the clatter of pans and plates, and followed that—and the faint smell of coffee—down the hall.

I found him at the stove, his back to me. My breath caught in my throat. Craig was cooking—wearing only my jockstrap, the elastic straps cutting across his narrow ass. It was clearly a little loose on him—we were different sizes after all—but it still looked incredible to my eyes. His long, slim legs and bare feet were parted, toes flexing on the cool tiles.

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He had headphones on, was half singing, half muttering lyrics under his breath as

he gently bounced in time to whatever song was playing. I watched him, silently and unobserved, for a minute or two, marveling at the way the taut muscles in his torso flexed and shifted.

Suddenly, it was as if he’d realized—some sixth sense momentarily kicking in—

that he wasn’t alone, and he turned, flashing me a huge smile as he held out the frying pan of eggs he’d been cooking.

“Postexercise food!” he shouted, voice too loud over the sound of his music. I

couldn’t help but grin in response and nod exaggeratedly.

He set down the pan, pushed off the headphones so they were hooked around his

neck. He’d tucked his phone into the waistband of my jock, holding it in place, while the long curve of his soft cock pushed out, down, in the stretched cotton pouch. I had the urge to take a photo of him, simultaneously adorable and arousing, but my phone was upstairs in my bag. I tried to fix the image in my mind instead.

“Sorry.” He laughed, but I shook my head, still grinning uncontrollably. He used

the spatula to slide food onto a plate and pushed it across the counter at me. “Coffee?”

I nodded. “But water first, please.”

Craig raised his eyebrow, mock-indignant. “You know where the fridge is. I’m not

the maid!”

I looked him up and down, conspicuously. “You’d make a good one!” I said,

leering a little. Craig rolled his eyes.

“The uniform is a little restrictive. I was going to make bacon, but grease

spatters…” He looked down his chest, then back up at me, pointedly. I had the sudden mental picture of him underneath me, my legs straddling his waist, and feeling him buck and writhe as his cock hardened against my ass.

“I’ll take what I can get,” I told him, pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge as he poured coffee into a mug. He giggled.

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“Yeah, I heard…”

A row of stools was pushed up against the side of the counter, and I slipped onto

one, picked up a fork, and began digging into the steaming eggs. Craig took a step back, crossed his arms across his chest, and leaned against the cabinets, watching me, an amused grin teasing the corner of his mouth at my eager shoveling.

“What?” I asked him, eventually, between mouthfuls. He shook his head wearily.

“Trust me to get lumbered with an animal.”

“Hey!” My feigned outrage would’ve been a little more solid had I not almost

knocked over my coffee cup in the process, flicking scrambled eggs across the table from my half-loaded fork as I tried to rescue it.

“No further comment necessary, I think.” He laughed. He might have a point.

Craig pulled out another mug, carefully poured in coffee, and then sipped at it

gingerly, both hands wrapped around it. I could feel how the mood in the kitchen

changed, the atmosphere becoming more loaded as I watched him.

“So we need to talk,” he said, eventually. I nodded, thankful for a mouthful of

food preventing any further comment. “About last night…about us.”

This is it, I told myself. This is where he cuts me loose—dumb straight boy playing at gay, or bi, or whatever I’ve been trying; this is where he tells me I’m a liability, or a failed experiment, or just not worth the headache and the heartache. The fear and the certainty of rejection wrapped my stomach in ice.

I nodded at him, ready to explain, ready to tell him everything I’d thought

through on my run, to try to find the words for it. But all I could do was nod again and gaze at him with big eyes.

He sighed, rolled his head back as if trying to ease out a knot in his neck. I tried to resist the temptation to glance down at the smooth, flat expanse of his stomach. “I thought last night was the last time. I mean, I thought… After seeing you, and Louis, I assumed that it was over. That all of this was insurmountable.”

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I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly finding my tongue, but he shook his head,

silencing me. My knee bounced with nervous tension, breakfast forgotten.

“And then you told me I wouldn’t have to share you. And that moment was

just…I don’t know, joy or relief or something. So I woke up this morning and I didn’t want to say anything, just wanted to cannonball into being happy being with you, but the feelings still bubbled up. Does that make sense?”

I gaped a little, like a dumb fish. Took a deep breath.

“It makes sense.” I nodded. Craig looked at me a beat, rolled his eyes.

“Well, thanks, Kyle, for that deep insight!”

I spluttered a little, jabbed at the eggs with my fork. Pushed them around the plate some more. “I just sometimes get overwhelmed by all this. It still feels really new to me, when I stop and think about it. You’ve had years of understanding who you are, your sexuality anyway, and I’ve had a few weeks to get used to the idea that I don’t just like girls like I always assumed I did.”

He nodded, slowly.

“And I’m not saying that gave me permission to be an asshole and cheat or

whatever…just that it’s still so new to me. I might need your help to figure out who I am and what I want.”

“So what do you want, Kyle?” he asked me, smiling. I shrugged, gave him a goofy

smile, and looked conspicuously down his body.

“Right now? I want my boyfriend, who looks so fucking incredible in that jock.” I

made a show of sniffing under my arms. “And a shower…definitely a shower!”

He laughed, and I laughed too, and the tension of the situation drained away. I let the fork clatter to my plate and then fixed Craig with a hungry look; he feigned abject horror, made a dart for the doorway, me hot on his heels.

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We thundered up the stairs and tore into the bathroom. Craig backed up against

the sink, hands up, still wearing the expression of boyish terror. I stalked over to him, channeling my very best angry tiger impression.

“Please…” he whimpered, staying in character, but as I got close enough to smell

the musk of his body I couldn’t do the same. I snaked my hands round his waist,

dipped my mouth to the crook of his neck so that my tongue could find the sharp cut of his collarbone as his own arms encircled me. I let my fingers notch against each bump of his spine as I felt him push down at my shorts until they fell and pooled at my feet.

“You need a shower,” he teased, burying his nose in my hair and inhaling deeply.

I dropped my hand down to the curve of his flank before reaching under to cup his ass.

Craig lifted his leg automatically, and I felt the roughness of the elastic strap against my palm as my fingertips slipped between his cheeks.

“Oh…oh,” he muttered, as I found his hole and gently pushed against it, rubbed

and pulled at its warm tightness. In return he let his hands slip down into my boxer briefs, pawing at my ass and then reaching forward between our bodies until he could grip my hardening cock, squeezing the length in his palm.

I lifted him, sat the edge of his butt onto the sink so I could tug the jock down, letting his swollen dick loll free between his thighs. I ran my hands up his legs, spreading them as I went.

“I thought we were meant to be showering,” he pointed out again as I trailed my

finger down the arch of his cock, feeling it jerk against me. I chuckled and frowned at him playfully.

“Don’t make me gag you with the jock,” I scolded him. He giggled and pulled off

my T-shirt so that we were both finally naked.

“Wouldn’t you rather put something else in my mouth?”

Shaking my head, I messed up his hair playfully. “Damn, you’re unstoppable.”

Craig pulled me in, tugging me by my dick until I stood close to him, between his

legs.

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“I think you like it,” he whispered.

I picked him up and then scooped my hands under his thighs and lifted him into

the shower. With the steam quickly billowing when I turned it on, I felt him pull me under the water, the rivulets of it coursing down my face and chest. His hands were eager, frantic, and roaming across my body as I focused on his ass and cock.

“Now who’s obsessed?” he asked me, as I eased a wet finger into him. His

erection throbbed in my fist, my hand not big enough to hold it all. Craig wrapped his arms around my neck as I slid a second finger inside, hooked his leg around my waist, and groaned deep in his throat as I worked him over.

“Sex in the shower… I’d better be careful, else you’ll be telling all the jocks how you got lucky.” He laughed; I pushed my dick down, under his body, feeling the

swollen head nudge at his entrance.

“Shit, by the time I’m done fucking you, you’ll be telling them yourself,” I teased him. Craig laughed, then gasped as I pulled out my fingers and quickly forced in the tip of my cock.

“Oh…oh shit… Take it slow,” he grunted, but at the same time he was pushing

down on me, meeting the slow rise of my hips with his own increasingly eager

movements. He was tight, and hot, and with only the water to ease the way, we were a little slower to start, but soon Craig was grinding down on me, mouth gaping, his

breathing coming in heavy pants.

“Fuck me, Kyle…” I didn’t need telling twice, forcing his back against the tiles and pulling his cheeks apart so I could bury myself in the deepest part of him with each stroke. The tangled wet mess of his hair was half-covering his eyes, but I could see him gazing at me through his disheveled fringe, smoldering with barely restrained passion.

When I came, it was deep inside him, hands gripping his hips and holding him in

place as my balls tried to turn themselves inside out with pleasure. Craig lowered his legs gingerly and then whimpered with surprise as I spun him so his chest was against the glass.

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“Stay still,” I ordered, dropping to my knees. Baring his hole with my thumbs, I

rasped my tongue up the length of his crack. Craig cried out, then muffled his groans against his arm as I pushed my mouth against him.

“Oh shit, Kyle!” I could feel him jerking off as I tongued him, tasting myself as he writhed and teetered on tiptoes, pumping out his own climax while I reached up

between his legs and played with his balls. He sagged in the dizzying aftermath, and I made sure I was holding him up as I stood up behind him.

We clung like that for a while, as his breathing came back to normal, then

playfully washed each other. I had to beg him to stop tickling me at one point,

something Craig said he’d be bearing in mind for the future “should you misbehave,”

or so he warned me. Somehow, in the shower together, it felt like we were in our own little bubble, protected from whatever was going on in the world around us.

I wasn’t sure if I was meant to go in for class or was officially supposed to be

“taking it easy” after Jeff’s crazy performance the previous day. I realized that I’d probably have to, at some point anyway; my car was still in the school lot, since Louis had driven me to Craig’s.

As for my boyfriend, he told me to stop whining about having to take the bus and

stop being such a spoiled little baby. I pouted for a while after that.

What to wear was another issue, since I hadn’t really known Craig long enough to

leave clothes at his place. My jeans were fine, but as we dug through his wardrobe, the difference in scale between my upper body and his quickly became apparent.

In the end, after a couple of aborted attempts with T-shirts that looked more like halter tops on me, we settled on a pale-blue button-down that on Craig was loose to the point of baggy but that on me did a good impression of intending to be slim fit. Craig donated a pair of black briefs, which I squeezed into with a little careful positioning. It wasn’t so much a pouch issue—the boy had me beat there, even soft—as inches around his waist that were the problem.

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It certainly proved enough of a distraction that I didn’t really think about the bus the whole trip, pausing only to tug at the waistband in the vague hope of enlarging it—

even if just temporarily.

“Hey, don’t stretch them out,” Craig scolded; I rolled my eyes at him.

“Pretty sure that should’ve been me saying that last night,” I replied, staring

conspicuously down to his crotch. He blushed.

“Idiot!” Craig told me, but he was smiling all the same.

The smile perhaps faltered a little when I reached down and took his hand as we

crossed the street, Craig looking at our entwined fingers with a mixture of surprise and shock before glancing up at my face.