What's a Boy to Do

It was
Friday night and I was doing bills at the tiny desk in a corner of the living room. The apartment was small, though the open floor design gave the illusion of it being bigger than it actually was, and there was no denying that my “desk” was little more than a glorified phone stand. Perched in a folding chair too small for my five-ten frame, I hunched over a square surface just big enough to hold my checkbook and the calculator. I pulled the bills out of a box on the floor beside me and dropped the finished ones onto a shelf over the table. The pile of trash at my feet was growing faster than the stack of completed bills. I never understood why the electric company thought it was necessary to inform me where I could get massage chairs at a reduced price or whatever other crap they had stuffed in the envelope with the bill. Like anyone had money left to buy something after they paid the electric bill.

I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced over to where Z, my mostly straight roommate, and Jake, my hot but seriously young boyfriend, were hunched over PlayStation controllers battling it out in
Call of Duty
. They looked much too serious for a couple guys drinking beer and playing video games. Still, it was a view worth looking at, Z all blond hair, blue eyes, and devilish grin with a build a lot like mine. He was maybe an inch taller than me and had a body that wasn’t ripped but didn’t disappoint when the clothes came off, either. On the other hand, Jake’s straight, dark brown hair was cut in a style that was meant to be off his ears and collar but usually hung over both. He was about five-eight and at nineteen still gangly as a colt. His looks weren’t the only coltish thing about him; he was full of energy and eager to live his life. Just looking at him was enough to stir my libido and have my dick threatening to distract me from my bill-paying endeavor.

“Bad!” A small voice from behind the couch squelched my wayward thoughts. Jake hadn’t come to visit alone. His almost-three-year-old nephew wandered from behind the couch, a single cookie held high over his head. It was just far enough off the floor to keep my dog, Nicky, from reaching it. Alec marched over to me, indignation written all over his small face. He knew who was in charge of the baby in our house. “Taywer.” That was Alec-speak for my name, Taylor. “Nicky ate my cookie,” he informed me, looking as if he expected the doom of all ages to fall upon the dog’s unfortunate head. It was a struggle to keep my grin off my face; he was adorable. He looked like his father, one of the hottest guys I’d ever met. Abel’s smoldering brown eyes and dark curly hair had translated into a two-year-old with the ability to melt the hardest heart.

“It was really my cookie,” I reminded him.

Z had stopped on his way home and picked up a few cookies for dessert—shortbread, my favorite—from a nearby bakery. Jake and Alec had arrived before I got there, and Z had given my cookies to the boy. I wasn’t happy about it, but neither was I surprised. It was a ritual between them. Alec’s father did not want him to eat junk food; Z believed man lived by junk food alone. He stuffed Alec with whatever we had in the house whenever he got the chance. Tonight it was my cookies. It was a shame I wasn’t man enough to take it with more grace. Alec glared at me, having judged my response to be totally unsatisfactory. He looked down at where my Lhasa-Poo bounced with irresistible cute around his feet, tell-tale cookie crumbs caught in the light fur of her muzzle. She looked up at me with her dark eyes, begging for the last cookie. I frowned at her. She wasn’t supposed to eat junk food either.

“Bad,” Alec told her again and, giving up on receiving justice from me, retreated to the couch. He crawled up between the competitors where he was safe from evil doggy habits. I leaned down and ruffled Nicky’s fur.

“It really was bad,” I whispered in her ear. She gave me a happy doggy grin and licked my face. Gah, dog spit. I wiped it off with the back of my hand and went back to work on the bills. I gave up a half hour or so later.

It was hard to concentrate. Z and Jake had switched to the Wii and were up battling it out. Alec was asleep on the couch behind them, bad Nicky curled up against his tummy. I didn’t know how either of them was sleeping; the noise level was astounding.
Super Smash Bros.
wasn’t a quiet game at the best of times, and between Z and Jake it sounded like a real brawl. That was the trouble with Z being mostly straight instead of the real thing. Whenever he was between girlfriends, he liked dick. If I was going to be specific, he liked my dick. Since I’d been in love with him for, well, forever, I wasn’t very good at saying no. It was pathetic that I was such a slut for him, but a solution to that problem had yet to present itself.

It was an open secret and might not have been such an issue, but he was also territorial. He hadn’t made up his mind that he was going to be gay and keep me, and was apt to run off with the nearest set of tits at any moment, but in his mind, or heart or groin—whatever made his decisions for him—I was his. He did not like Jake. Which was fair; Jake didn’t like him, either. I could see Jake’s side of it. I’d have to be stupid not to. I’d explained about Z at the beginning of my relationship with Jake. I’d yet to meet the guy who could keep Z out of my pants. Beyond that talk, Z was out of bounds as a subject. He wasn’t going away; I wasn’t going to listen to bitching about him. I figured that would be the end of things between us. He wouldn’t have been the first guy I’d lost because my heart was Z-zoned. It hadn’t happened that way, though. Maybe Jake thought it was a challenge, or maybe he just wanted sex. I hadn’t figured out yet why he stayed, but he had, even though when he came over the two of them stalked around one another like junkyard dogs, each waiting for the other to attack.

Tonight had been no different but so far remained free of bloodshed, even though it seemed like they might use the Wii-motes on each other instead of the game at any moment. I didn’t know what I was going to do about them. I loved Z, and Jake… was Jake. I wasn’t in love, exactly, but neither was I ready to let him go. I made the same decision I always did—to worry about it later—and headed for the kitchen to get something to eat.

A long bar backed by kitchen cabinets separated the kitchen from the living room. I poked around, but there was no sign of whatever Z had scarfed down for dinner. He’d probably eaten before he got home, leaving me reduced to scavenging the refrigerator for something to fill my belly. Shaved turkey, lettuce, and cheese would make a sandwich. I was debating the probability of there being pickles lost somewhere in the depths of the refrigerator when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and hot breath warmed my neck. I almost dropped the mayonnaise. Z.

Z and I never talked about what we felt for one another. The emotion between us remained undefined. The result of our failure at communication was that Z wasn’t my
anything
. I had Jake and he was my boyfriend. Jake liked to talk and made sure I understood what he expected. What happened between Z and me when Jake wasn’t around had no impact on my relationship with Jake. However jealous and territorial Z could get, it was understood between the three of us that when Jake was with me, he had boyfriend billing. If Z happened to be around, he was reduced to roommate/best friend/some guy I fucked. He could take his pick but they were all second place to Jake. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t willing to take the step that would change things, and I wasn’t going to live my life waiting to find out if he ever would. Z wanted to have his cake and eat it too, but he understood that wasn’t going to happen and he never pushed the boundaries of our relationship when Jake was around.

“Relax,” Z whispered, “He’s moving Alec to the cot in your bedroom and going to take a piss.” His tongue traced a hot line up the curve of my ear, and his strong, sure hands took the food I was holding and set it aside on the counter. He was pressed against my back; I could feel the hard length of his cock against my ass through the thin material of my dress slacks. When I got home I’d toed off my shoes, tossed my suit coat over the back of a chair, and loosened my tie, too focused on getting the bills out of the way to worry about getting changed. “I love you in green.” Z’s breath was moist against my skin. My dress shirt was paired with a silk hunter green tie and still neatly tucked into my charcoal dark slacks. The combination was Z’s favorite and always got a rise out of him; though in all honesty, it didn’t take much to get a rise out of Z.

He rubbed his cock against my ass and palmed my dick. His appreciative murmur when he felt I was already half hard did nothing to discourage me. I tried to remind myself that the kitchen was open. The door of the refrigerator shielded us somewhat from the view of the bedroom but offered no seclusion. I was determined not to let this happen. Jake put up with a lot to be with me; I was not going to ask him to endure this as well. The problem was that Z was touching me, his mouth was on my neck licking and biting above the edge of my collar, and the same thing was happening that always happened when Z got his hands on me. The world was disappearing in a fog of desire and the only thing that mattered was having him.

“Ah God, you’re hot.” He groaned and pushed against me so hard I had to grab the edges of the freezer to keep from getting pushed inside the refrigerator. “I want you.” His mouth was on my ear, his teeth tugged my earlobe, and his tongue traced the shape, slipping inside and making me shudder. His hand rolled and tugged my dick. Common sense, indeed, any sense was swiftly deserting me. I always wanted him. His dark blue eyes watching from the behind the shaggy fall of his bangs could make me hard in an instant. I had determined that I wasn’t going to puddle at his feet anymore a hundred times in the past few months, but my resolve had yet to keep me from melting under his touch. My respect for the boundaries we’d set were more dependent on his good behavior than I wanted to admit, a fact he was currently exposing with little effort.

Z pulled me away from the refrigerator, closing the door and turning me in his arms at the same time. He pressed me back against it, his eyes hot and dark as they burned into mine. He hesitated, waiting for the “no” that didn’t come, and then his mouth captured mine. I was lost. My fingers tangled in the silk of his hair, and my mouth opened under his. The scent, taste, and feel of him overwhelmed me. His tongue pressed into my mouth and battled mine until he’d subdued me; his hands cupped my ass and pulled me tighter against him. Everything he did screamed I was his; there was only the slow curl of disgust in belly to remind me that it wasn’t so. The disgust with myself was a small timid thing in the shadow of the lust he woke in me, and I ignored it.

“Dude, it’s not that easy.” The sound of a voice broke through my mindless need. Z lifted his head to look at something. His eyes narrowed but he stepped back. I blinked, surprised at his sudden desertion, to find Jake standing in front of me, his face flushed with anger. He stepped forward, filling the space that a second before had contained Z. I tried to get my brain to function, but it refused. “He’s not going to scare me off,” Jake assured me with a glare in Z’s direction.

Jake pulled me closer, and his mouth covered mine in a kiss that curled my toes and stole my breath. One arm wrapped around my waist, drawing us together, and a hand palmed my face, his thumb caressed my ear. My knees went weak. My ears are going to be the death of me. I was going to get a new boyfriend and I was not going to tell him about my ears. Jake’s tongue slid against mine, and his dick was as hard as Z’s had been. I’d get a new boyfriend later.

Someone moved behind me, and without warning I was leaning against a hard body instead of the flat surface of the refrigerator. There was a tongue on the back of my neck and in my mouth. Hands, there were too many hands, and before I could protest both sets were at work opening my clothes. I skipped over any attempt to rationalize what was happening and just accepted it. If they wanted to share me, I was game. We could sort it out later.

I was pulling at clothes too, Jake’s blue polo in front of me, and reaching around with the other hand to tug at Z’s T-shirt. It was gray, one I’d bought him that said something stupid and geeky. Not one of us was wearing clothes that screamed, “Hey let’s have a three way tonight!” or I didn’t think so—what did one wear to a three way? I felt air on my chest as I was relieved of my shirt. Nothing, apparently.

Z’s mouth was on my back, Jake’s on my chest, and the way they were biting and sucking I had little doubt but that I was going to be covered with more spots than a leopard when they finished with me. They got my pants open and spots didn’t matter. I don’t know who touched my dick first, but suddenly all attention was there. Hands gripped and stroked, cupped my balls, and teased the tender skin at the juncture of thigh and hip. Hands pushed my pants off over my hips, and they fell to the floor. I stepped out of them with one foot, the other trapped in the tangle of cloth. Other than the wad of pants around my left leg, I found myself wearing nothing but my tie and socks.