The artist sighed, almost trembling against Wyatt’s mouth. A second later he dipped his head, shifting Wyatt's face away from his neck to slot their lips together. Pushing blankets out of the way, Hayden managed to get his arm across Wyatt’s shoulders, hand coming up to rest against tawny curls as he sank closer with a deep breath.
After such an indulgent waking, the press of Hayden's mouth was almost aggressive, in a way that had Wyatt trying to swallow a quiet laugh while they slipped together. The sticky state of his mouth couldn't detract from the brush of soft skin against his or the support of a hand in his hair. Perhaps the only thing better than kissing Hayden was being kissed by him.
Idly roaming hands turned more purposeful as Wyatt clutched the brunette to him again, insatiably possessive of the heat and contact. His hips rolled forward before he could reconsider the impulse, slotting himself into the bend of thigh and groin in a way that was more delightful than anything truly ought to be. Especially with nothing more than the half dry drag of course hair and unwashed skin. He stole the breath right out of Hayden’s mouth, and lorded his reward with heady delight.
"Sorry, if I'm making it worse," Wyatt murmured, parting for air more than anything and suddenly mindful of unwanted stimulation to already discomforted internal organs.
"You're not," Hayden breathed, green eyes dark and glistening.
One hand ghosted low over the mound of one butt cheek, and Wyatt felt more lecherous and lewd than ever for the three seconds it took him to decide to squeeze. Experimental, at best. Another gasp hissed past plush lips, well-earned.
"Sorry?" Hayden repeated, teasing, laughing against Wyatt's face as he dipped in to mouth at the delicate skin between the dirty blond's ear and jaw.
"I said if," Wyatt murmured wryly, his pitch rising incrementally while the artist played with his pulse. At least he managed not to shy away from the contact, or shove Hayden at the first sign of being ticklish. In fact, he tipped his chin up invitingly, eyes falling shut instead of focusing on a far wall, and it took but a moment for the sensations to have his back arching minutely, swelling into the bow of the brunette's body.
His legs nudged apart at Hayden's insistence, offering a perch to balance himself as their position shifted, and suddenly Wyatt was basically on his back. Their cocoon began to melt away, exposing warm skin to the open air, and sending goosebumps across the surface like wind whipped ripples wherever they weren't touching.
Attempting to refocus, Wyatt took a slow breath, his hands smoothing down Hayden's shoulders and back like he needed an updated cartograph of the form. That breath shuddered out of him in a captivated rush, hips hitching almost of their own volition. This time, it dragged the underside of his shaft against the brunette's thigh and he gasped in response, feeling entirely too much like the untouched celibate.
"I'm not sure I have anything useful," he remarked quietly, incrementally intent on avoiding an anticipatory peak toppling over into disappointment. There was plenty to be done between them, still - a fact which he confirmed by sliding a hand between them to brush his fingers over the head of Hayden's cock where it was half-wedged between them - but Wyatt couldn't pretend that this was anything other than an unexpected first in an unprepared apartment. To think, he’d had two days to prepare for the potential outcome.
Though he had steeled himself for such an admittance to slow things down or otherwise throw them off course, Wyatt wasn't entirely ready for the grinding halt that happened instead as Hayden lifted his head to look at him. Suddenly central to the attention of bright green eyes, the dirty blond nearly forgot what he had said in the first place, brought back on topic only by the returned question.
“Do you have lotion?”
Lotion hardly heralded the same mental images as words like lubricant or condom (something he probably should use more often, if the anti-AIDS campaigns were anything to go by, but Wyatt didn't think any of his wanton acts were all that dangerous).
"Lotion," he echoed quietly, more curious than anything as he lifted a hand to point toward his dresser, where his winter's supply of gold bond and shea butter sat in perpetual patience.
Did it matter what kind? Wyatt almost asked, finding himself hesitant and silent instead, caught in the uncertainty of a line he had drawn shifting further away. Not the worst thing in the world - usually - but absolutely nerve-wracking now. Not that his still stiffening shaft was at all affected.
Hayden moved to get up, prying himself away from the slightly sticky heat they had created with the tangle of their bodies. Wyatt hadn't realized that needing lotion actually meant leaving the bed to retrieve it, and found himself scowling at the rush of cold air left in the brunette's wake. The inconvenience was a fleeting moment, but Hayden's prosperous return didn't quite put them squarely back where they were either.
"Options are kinda limited," the artist confessed, handling a thick pump bottle, looking red and breathless against the pockets of light leaking through the curtains. "I guess maybe I should ask, what do you want me to do?"
The dirty blond stared at Hayden’s expectant expression. Worse yet, an open ended essay question lingering in the air between them while Wyatt opened his mouth like a gasping fish only to find his thoughts blanking.
Glancing up to meet green eyes instead, those thoughts funneled slowly back into place, starting with things like the last time he had showered, and his less than basic understanding of sexual acts. Everything he had managed so far had seemed fairly obvious - impulse, attempt, satisfaction. But with little more than a mumbled question, the first (and arguably most important) step was already eliminated.
"Uhh," Wyatt answered helpfully, pushing up to his elbows, in the most obvious delay tactic he had ever employed. "I'm not sure." It felt too much like admitting defeat, but the dirty blond resisted dragging his knees up to hide himself - surprised by how different it felt simply to be prone in his own home. No excuses or mitigating circumstances.
Shifting toward the edge of the bed a bit suddenly, Wyatt set a hand on Hayden's hip to pull him closer, adjusting their legs until the brunette was standing between his knees. Anything to get impulse guiding him again.
"I think, I want you to cum in my bed."
Perfectly round emeralds twinkled at him from a slowly flushing face and it took all Wyatt had not to laugh - charmed and enthralled - at the sight. His cheeks dimpled and pinched until a smile spread across his mouth though and he felt a little ridiculous for staring. Then again, there was nothing else worth the effort to shift his gaze toward it just then.
That stupid smile only broadened against his best efforts as Hayden tipped to the side enough to set down the bottle, and moved forward, half-surrender and half-taunt as they shifted back together. Soon enough, the dirty blond was flat against his sheets again, doing his best to get his expression under control while Hayden stared down at him.
“Come like get in, right?”
The question undid all that effort, and Wyatt rolled his head to the side in an idle attempt to hide his face for a moment, eyes pinching shut while a chuckle shook out of his chest.
"Not exactly," he answered quietly, voice deep like it was trapped in his chest. Elbows relaxed against the bed, he lifted his hands to Hayden's ribs, fingertips trailing along soft skin, while his mind raced looking for ways to keep this going.
"As long as you don't leave unsatisfied, I'll consider this whole morning a success," Wyatt mentioned, all but blindly poking at reactions. "Being able to watch your face from this new perspective only makes it better." A fact which he punctuated by sliding one hand lower to catch Hayden's cock against his palm, fingers curling around the velvet soft skin.
"I think I'd call it a success either way," Hayden managed to squeeze out, somehow fond as he fought to keep upright.
"I'm glad your standards are so forgiving," Wyatt nearly whispered (arguably sincere).
Less than a full breath in, and he was already unmade by the look on Hayden's face - a startled noise echo
ing between them while pink cheeks turned toward deep scarlet. Thick lashes fluttered closed around that entrancing green, and the dirty blond took his opportunity to advance again, only to be pinned down a moment later by the press of a new kiss.
His hand stroked toward the base of Hayden's cock, countering as the brunette began to roll his hips. Wrist turning, Wyatt fumbled with the unusual angle - opposing not only his occasional self-administration but also the entirety of his practice. Amazing how quickly and easily his scope of experience (which too often felt extensive) was proven so paltry.
A sigh escaped him on a slow exhale with the weight of the brunette's body sinking over his, finally able to smother his stupid smile against Hayden's mouth instead.
All this soft, warm, bare skin was more stimulating in its mere existence than anything he could accomplish in a classroom had ever been. So much of his experience in stimulation was more imagined than literal, basking in ardent gazes and covetous words - utterly above returning them.
Wyatt almost didn't know what to do with himself when the sound of his lotion pump filled the near silence, Hayden's chest slipping against his as he leaned toward the nightstand. With those lips turned away from him, the dirty blond pulled himself up to get a taste of that long, pale throat, sliding wryly lower until he could shamelessly nibble faint marks just above a sharp collarbone.
Tipping his own hips up was enough to align them again, and Wyatt stretched his thumb to press Hayden's shaft against his, immediately convinced that the slick of lotion could only make this better.
Hayden lifted away, and Wyatt dropped back, relieving his neck and shoulders of some strain while his gaze got dragged down the sudden cavern between their bodies by little more than the brunette's focus. The curl of his own fingers did its best to keep them together, perhaps against better judgement, but his hand fell away without much resiWyattce as Hayden moved to replace him. Wyatt had almost forgotten how different someone else's touch could be, reminded the moment firm hips rocked down between his thighs.
A gasp sucked between his teeth before he could do anything about it, eyes widening at the sight of their flushed heads squeezing together between firm fingers covered in slick lotion. Finding himself in the need of something else to do with the restless extremities, Wyatt shifted his grip toward the arm braced beside his head and the nape of Hayden's neck, as much to anchor himself as it was an excuse to slip his fingers into silk soft hair.
Torn between the thrilling sight between them - spurred further by the half voluntary hitch of his own hips - and all the reactions flickering across the flushed face above him, the dirty blond fought to keep his eyes open, against the burn of dry air and the heavy flutter of his lashes with every stroke. With the brunette's head bowed to keep his handy-work in sight as well, Wyatt was struck by the absolutely ridiculous sensation that he was being ignored. Perhaps already too accustomed to that innocent but hungry gaze. As if the hyper focus on the core of his body's pleasure was neglectful. Maybe he was simply looking for an excuse to press his thumb into Hayden's chin and tip him up to claim his mouth again, burying a moan against pillowy lips.
Dragging his knee up (to keep his calf from twitching while heat built in his lower belly), Wyatt braced against a warm thigh, and released another guttural syllable into Hayden's mouth. The push-pull rhythm created by the thrust of the artist's tongue and the stroke of his hand dragged Wyatt from one end of a metaphysical spectrum to the other, doing its best to wear away the last of his self control. With the brunette's moans echoing inside his mouth and through his skull like an amphitheater, it was a battle to breathe at appropriate intervals, no doubt propelling the mounting light-headed sensation ever forward.
In a moment of painful self awareness, Wyatt wondered if it had been long enough to make the coiling heat in his belly more expected than pathetically early. His head fell back for a moment, aiming for a cooler breath of air to help his quickly fleeing thought processes. Fingers clutching dark hair, he hoisted himself back up to tuck against the crook of Hayden's shoulder, testing his teeth against the tendon while purposed hips rocked against him. Both his knees cinched higher, then, failing to restrict any movement (not that he was trying to) but rather encouraging the tension already building in his center to curl outward.
Wyatt knew the moment he had lost. A spring loaded explosion shot up his center like a guided rocket, knocking against the top of his skull before shattering. At first, the only thing he could do was huff a short laugh, startled by the strength, if not the suddenness of his own orgasm.
Dropping flat on his back again, he couldn't quite keep his grip on silk soft hair. When his hands worked again, though, they were on Hayden, fingertips scraping down to grip him by the hips while his stroking and thrusting continued toward overstimulation.
A choked huff of relief escaped him when he was finally released, leaving Wyatt’s entire body to sag against his suddenly too firm mattress, feeling like a spreading pool of milk on a linoleum floor. While his heart rate started to slow down, that imagery tilted toward oatmeal, and by the time Wyatt could remember how to open his eyes, the brunette was dropping down beside him, twitching from the exertion of his own climax.
Damp lips touched his arm and drew his attention effortlessly, his head tipping to get a look at petal lips and Hayden's flushed face. Everything about the slowing moment seemed softened - lines blurring in his failure to focus even as the give of his relaxing body settled around every sharp or hard edge left in their proximity.
Despite all that alluring comfort, Wyatt rolled onto his side - impulsive and forceful in unnecessary but oddly satisfying ways, even as they were both jostled. He bumped against Hayden's side a couple times before managing to align just right and claim one last kiss before they were forced to surrender either to the hazy clutch of an afterglow snooze or that sticky discomfort that would inevitably drive him into a hot shower. As their mouths slid together, though, he lifted a hand to cup the brunette's cheek closer, and indulged lazy contact.
Settling down had more to do with the almost grating nature of the damp heat that had, only minutes ago, rescued him from the cool air that now offered only relief, than simply deciding he was done kissing Hayden. Thoughts of a shower and morning coffee pervaded contemplations of future kissing, on the sofa and in the kitchen and maybe between now and lunch time in his bedroom again, just because.
"We should eat," Wyatt murmured idly, chin resting against the bulb of Hayden's shoulder.
“For real this time?” Hayden answered, a smile in his voice. Wyatt couldn’t help but think confidence was an excellent addition to all that flushed-red modesty.
Chapter 15
It didn’t take a genius to know stomping home in the middle of the night to collapse in his hard dormitory mattress would not feel good. The next morning Peter woke up miserable and alone and it didn’t matter that there was a stupid roommate snoring three feet away, he was still alone, rubbing crust off his face that was either drool, tears, or both.
It also didn’t take a genius to know Peter had fucked up worse than Ryker had ever fucked up, probably in his entire life. And if he didn’t want any future friendly outings to be painfully awkward, he had to fix it fast.
That wasn’t quite enough to propel Peter out of bed though, indulging his depressive spiral and bouts of anger that he took out on pillows and desk clutter when his roommate left for track practice. He probably scared anyone else out of the communal shower banging on the stall and yelling like a caged animal.
It took all day, and a lot of gumption, but eventually Peter worked up enough energy (and nerve) to cart his dumb ass around the city, hitting a few stops along the way before making the arduous trek back to the scene of his undoing, Ryker’s apartment. This was the real walk of shame.
His knuckles did not have the strength for his own harried, impulsive knocking, on the flimsy apartment door he had slammed shut the night before. But that didn't stop him from satisfying every urge to bang u
ntil his fingers were ringing, probably causing early onset arthritis or some shit. He didn't know how the fuck else to expel the feelings he was feeling. He was tired of being hurt and sad, and then furious and violent, and then hurt and sad all over again.
standing there, running through what he had to say, Peter really couldn't be expected to have a guess as to who would open the door, just knowing that if it was Hayden or Ryan or something then he would have to beeline to the couch or up the attic stairs. It wasn't. It was Ryker after all, in all his stupid glory, as if the universe decided it would be convenient on an on and off basis.
That through Peter off guard a little, with how far he had to look up at the idiot in the doorway. But he had come too far to chicken out now. If he even tried to register Ryker's wellbeing or the expression under messy curls, he was going to lose all his traction.
Peter took a gusty breath, one last attempt to get his thoughts in order. Then, Peter might as well have exploded.
"I don't fucking care if you don't wanna talk to me and give me the silent treatment I know you probably hate me but I just wanted to say I'm sorry 'cause what I did was really shitty like it's not right to lead people on which isn't technically what I did but bottom line that's basically what I did and no one deserves to get led on and what's especially shitty is that I made it seem like it was your fault and you were being the jerk when I was the real jerk for making you run around and shit and-" Pausing to breathe, Peter moved his other arm from his side, and tossed the greasy, sagging McDonald's bag full of dollar menu favorites at Ryker's chest before he had any chance of winding down.
"This is stupid and you don't have to even eat it but sometimes sorry isn't enough and I know you don't always eat right when you're upset and not that this is good food or anything but it's already here so whatever, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. So forgive me or kick me out so I can leave."
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