Forever Yours

by David Horne

  He forced himself to think of other things.

  It was October now, and Dylan and Evan were in their final year of their undergraduates. Dylan had been scouring the internet for good graduate opportunities, and he had no doubt that Evan was doing the same.

  Evan had never expressed a desire to leave the city. All the way back since middle school, he’d maintained that he wanted to go to a university in the city, keep going to a university in the city, keep going to the university in the city, and then get a job in the city. And to date, Dylan had gotten no indication that that had changed.

  He’d often heard people telling girls not to sacrifice their education for boys. If he were a girl, he’d probably be getting told that himself. Because here he was, actually, legitimately considering staying in the city. It would all be so that their video calls wouldn’t dwindle from daily to tri-weekly to once in a blue moon. He had no intention of them drifting apart.

  Evan had a passion for literature, and he would call Dylan antithetical.

  Dylan heard the bell chime again just near the end of his break. He could hear Carly greeting whoever it was that had walked in. Greeting was a bit of a reach. It was more like rudely acknowledging.

  “What are you doing here?” he heard Carly spit out.

  “Need gum, Carly. And I wanna talk to Dylan.”

  Dylan knew that voice anywhere. He emerged from the break room. Carly shifted her eyes to him, and he shot her a warning look before turning a warm smile on Evan. “Hey, sorry about her,” Dylan said, pointedly ignoring the scowl Carly sent his way.

  Evan offered a gentle smile. “No worries.” He snatched a pack of gum from a rack. As Dylan checked it out for him, Evan leaned his elbows on the counter. “So,” he began. “Any plans today?”

  “Not really,” Dylan replied. “I’m dead tired. That’s seventy cents.” Evan passed him a handful of coins which Dylan counted out into the register. Dylan printed off a receipt and handed it to Evan. “Have a nice day.”

  “Hey, hang on, now,” Evan protested. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

  That was exactly what Dylan was trying to do. He felt so incredibly torn when he thought of Evan, and the feeling was only amplified when Evan was near. He didn’t know what he wanted or what he needed—he didn’t know a thing. It didn’t help at all that on that particular day, Evan looked particularly dashing, almost as though he were trying to look good on purpose. His hair looked trimmed and combed, swept out of his face enough that it didn’t obscure his big, bright eyes. His lips looked like he’d just polished off a cherry lollipop, and whenever Evan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, Dylan saw that his tongue, too, carried that same unnatural redness.

  Evan’s arms looked unusually large and his chest looked extraordinarily bulky. It might have been courtesy of his very tight shirt, or maybe Evan was just flexing. Whatever it was, it made Dylan’s mouth go dry.

  “Uh, no,” Dylan managed. “Not trying to get rid of you.”

  Evan gave him a strange look, almost like he knew what Dylan had been thinking. “Right,” he said. “So, you’re not busy, right?”

  Dylan shook his head but said nothing.

  “So, will you come over?” Evan looked hopeful, and Dylan hated to let him down.

  “Uhhhhh,” was Dylan’s eloquent response.

  Evan was quick to continue. “I mean, you don’t have to, obviously.” Evan was already starting to back away. “You said you’re tired, right? It’s probably better if you just rest. Anyway—”

  Dylan found his voice. “No, I’ll come over.”

  Evan stilled. “Yeah?”

  Dylan smiled. “Yeah.” He could feel Carly’s gaze burning twin holes into the back of his head. He disregarded her. He kept smiling even after Evan had gone and kept ignoring Carly’s piercing stare until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “What?” he asked her.

  She raised an unimpressed eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Oh, nothing,” she said. “Just that you just agreed to sex with the guy who’s had you broken hearted for like, three months.”

  “Two months,” Dylan corrected before he could stop himself.

  Carly didn’t look any more impressed. “This isn’t good for you, you know, messing around with him.”

  “Probably not,” Dylan agreed. “But I—”

  “Can’t help it? Yeah. That’s what’s worrying me.”

  Dylan sighed, half touched by her concern, half annoyed at how she felt like she could dictate his life. “Look,” he said firmly. “Whatever you may think, just keep it to yourself, okay? It’s not really your business.”

  “You kind of made it my business when you started coming into work all mopey,” Carly argued.

  “Well—”

  “Don’t dump your shit on me and then pretend it’s not my problem.”

  “Well if that’s how you feel, then why don’t you just forget I ever told you?”

  Carly snorted. “That’s unreasonable and you know it.”

  Dylan’s cheeks flamed. He hated fighting with Carly. She always stayed calmer than he ever could, and he always ended up making an ass of himself. “Just stay out of it, okay?”

  Carly looked away, and Dylan felt guilty. She always did that, always made him feel like he was in the wrong and she was in the right. After a moment in which neither spoke, she finally said, “I’m just trying to look out for you.” Her voice was soft, uncharacteristically so.

  There was a twinge in Dylan’s chest, and he had to look away from her.

  Dylan opened his mouth to speak, but a customer came in, interrupting his thoughts. He wasn’t ashamed to say he was grateful.

  Chapter Three

  Evan’s apartment was this nice little place in the nice part of town. He lived on the seventh floor of twenty, and his balcony was recognizable by the plethora of plants he kept on it.

  Initially, Dylan and Evan had shared an apartment, the one that Dylan now inhabited alone.

  After Dylan’s little bout of bravery during which he’d kissed Evan silly the week after Evan’s birthday, it hadn’t taken much for him to convince Evan to be his boyfriend. It was coming time to move out of the dorms, and the two of them decided they wouldn’t be returning. So, they went house hunting and chanced upon a nice, affordable place in the city.

  Then, when things had gone sour (, Evan had packed up and moved out. It all may have been premeditated by a long margin, because he had an apartment at the ready, and you can’t just find and buy an apartment at the drop of a hat. That realization made Dylan’s gut twist.

  Evan buzzed him into the apartment, and Dylan, in an attempt to delay all possible proceedings as much as possible, took the stairs in lieu of the elevator.

  Eventually, Dylan found himself at Evan’s door. He knocked and waited barely a second before the door was swinging open and Evan’s beaming face was greeting him.

  Evan looked a bit less put together than he had before. His hair had fallen back into his face and there was a smear of chocolate (or something) by his lip. Choosing not to say anything, Dylan offered a nervous smile. Evan returned the smile and opened the door wider, allowing Dylan to walk past him.

  Dylan whistled. Evan had done a lot with the place since he’d last been there two weeks ago. Gone were the ratty old couches, replaced with tan, leather sofas. The air smelled vaguely of paint—the fresh, cream walls explained that.

  On the walls were pretty paintings, layered with color and texture. Dylan was absolutely sure that it was Evan’s own work. One was of a beach; the water was blue and sparkled in the sun, and the waves lapped at the shore. The foam was white and fizzy, and Dylan thought that if he reached out and touched it, it would feel like the sea. Another featured a series of planets aligned in front of a brilliant star. The painting was light and dark at the same time, flecked with blue and pink, purple and gold, orange and yellow.

  Dylan turned back to Evan with a compliment on his tongue, b
ut it slipped away when he noticed the strange look he was being given. He smiled, and Evan smiled back.

  “I’ve been working on those in class,” Evan explained. “They’re done now. As you can see.” He added the last bit on awkwardly and scratched the back of his head.

  Dylan grinned. “They’re so cool.”

  That seemed to do the trick. Evan relaxed and his arm dropped. “Thanks. Uh, shall we get down to business?”

  Dylan laughed. How could he not? And kept laughing, barely noticing the alarmed look that had settled on Evan’s face.

  “What?” Evan said, and it took a few seconds longer for Dylan to calm himself down enough to speak.

  “Well, don’t make it sound like such a chore,” Dylan said and giggled gently.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s just so— ‘shall we get down to business’,” Dylan mocked. “It’s like, ‘let’s get this over with’, you know?”

  Evan went red. “No—I didn’t—I—”

  Evan was cute when he stuttered, but Dylan decided to take pity on him. “You poor, awkward thing,” he said fondly. He stepped forward, ruffled Evan’s hair, then walked past him into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and was immediately affronted by how bare it was. “Evan!” he called back. “What the fuck is this?”

  Evan came in. “What’s what?” he said, trying to peer over Dylan’s shoulder.

  Dylan turned to him. “Exactly,” he agreed. He gestured to the empty insides of the fridge. “All you have is steak marinade and, like, one tomato. Do you expect me to just starve?”

  “Uh, I’ve been meaning to go out…”

  Dylan shook his head, and before he could even think and hold his words back, they were out: “Honestly, I don’t know how you manage without me.”

  Dylan wanted to clap his hands over his mouth, or perhaps duct tape his mouth shut altogether to prevent him from ever blurting anything out again. He hazarded a glance at Evan. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was a little open.

  Evan was the first to recover out of the two of them. He coughed and rubbed his arm. “Right,” he said tightly.

  Dylan felt that it was his duty to undo the tension he had just created. “Anyway, clearly someone has to teach you to go grocery shopping or whatever. So, let’s go.”

  Evan seemed happy to go along with it. “Right now?”

  “Yes, right now.”

  Dylan grabbed his hand and barely gave Evan the chance to grab his keys before they left.

  ***

  Taking Evan out shopping, made Dylan feel like they were back in the old days, happily and seemingly forever endeared to each other, playfully tugging each other down aisles and picking up completely unnecessary junk food, pushing one another in the shopping carts.

  Evan was a talented artist and academic, but he seemed to lack knowledge in everything else. He didn’t know how to read a map or how to cut onions, he talked way too much to strangers and he didn’t know how to check nutritional value.

  What Dylan had said earlier was an unfortunate slip up but an honest concern. He wondered how much longer Evan would have put off stocking his kitchen. Or if he’d just rely on fast food instead of a decent meal.

  Evan was a grocery shopping nightmare. He never checked expiration dates. He didn’t check vegetables for mold or other signs of decay. He kept bringing fruits that were already ripe. And, he didn’t check the carton of eggs he had bought for cracks. When it came time to check out, Dylan didn’t try to stop Evan from paying. He was, after all, doing him a huge favor. He then wondered if Evan expected him to cook something. A home-cooked meal.

  Back at Evan’s home, Dylan was forced to put most of the food away because again, Evan seemed not to know where anything went or how to save space. It was half-endearing and half-annoying that Evan seemed as incompetent as a four-year-old.

  Nothing else about him was like a four-year-old. Everything else about Evan fit very much into his twenty-one years. His jaw was sharp and chiseled. His skin had recovered well from a small bout of acne in his teenage years and was now smooth and unblemished. He must’ve taken advantage of the university gym because his muscles were toned and firm.

  Dylan shut the refrigerator door and turned around. Before he could even open his mouth, Evan was on him, all lips, and tongue and teeth, hands grabbing at his hair, nails scratching at his scalp.

  This was what Dylan didn’t understand. How could Evan say they were better off as friends and then go on and kiss him like this. Was this what friends did nowadays? Dylan didn’t think so, but right now, Evan was kissing him like his life depended on it, and it’d be rude not to respond in kind.

  The kiss was hot, messy and a little painful. There was a bit of spit on Dylan’s chin. He was pretty sure he could taste blood from his own lip where Evan’s incisor had pierced his skin.

  But Dylan liked it. Evan’s long, elegant artist’s fingers were tugging at his hair, hard enough to rip. His lips were scorching, searing, burning against Dylan’s own. Evan’s tongue was like a weapon, experienced and wicked in the way it licked and explored Dylan’s mouth.

  His teeth were sharp when they nicked Dylan’s lower lip, and sharper still as Evan’s mouth wandered down along Dylan’s jaw, Dylan’s earlobe, Dylan’s throat, leaving deliciously painful bites and bruises, lips sucking and soothing the ache.

  The lips were gone from Dylan’s collarbone and hands were down at the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently and insistently. Dylan raised his arms and the shirt was gone, cool air nipping at his hardening nipples.

  Teeth continued down Dylan’s chest, once pale but now blushing a pretty pink. They latched around his left nipple, sucking and pulling, tongue swirling. Then Evan moved to the other nipple, giving it much of the same treatment. Dylan’s head lolled back, and Evan took it as an opportunity to continue attacking his throat.

  Dylan’s hands slid into Evan’s curly hair, pressing him into his throat, then using it to harshly connect their lips again. Their kiss was urgent. It hurt. It was exactly what Dylan needed.

  Evan’s hands were at his hips, now, guiding him back, slowly, moving them from the kitchen and toward the bedroom. Dylan kept on kissing him, skimming his teeth, sucking his tongue.

  Vaguely, Dylan registered the door slamming open and his knees hitting the back of Evan’s bed. Then, he was falling, and Evan was on top of him, crushing his chest, but he kept their mouths together.

  It was Evan who finally drew back, lips red and swollen like they’d been earlier in the convenience shop, and Dylan wondered if it had been this and not a cherry lollipop that had made Evan’s lips so pretty.

  Slowly, Evan shifted back and took Dylan’s hands in his own. He straddled Dylan’s crotch, and it took all of Dylan’s willpower not to rock up and seek friction.

  There was a noticeable bulge in Dylan’s pants, one that matched Evan’s own. It was straining, painfully so, to be released from its restraint, but Evan was cruel.

  Tantalizingly slow, Evan began to gyrate his hips, rubbing their clothed erections together. Whatever hope Dylan had had of keeping it together was gone, because he was already whining pitifully, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he was reduced to begging.

  Dylan liked the way it felt, but it wasn’t enough. Evan was barely brushing him, only giving him enough to keep him hard but not enough to get him off. And all the while, Evan was smirking, knowing exactly what he was doing.

  “Please,” Dylan rasped, hands clenching in the sheets, but Evan merely shook his head and slowed his movements.

  Dylan bucked his hips, and a shot of pleasure went through him. That was it. That was what he needed. But he knew he’d fucked up when Evan set his eyes on him, disappointed. He’d just made things a thousand times worse for himself.

  Evan climbed off the bed. He stripped himself of his shirt and jeans and palmed himself through his briefs, regarding Dylan as though he was a conundrum, a puzzle to be solved. “What to do with you,” he pondered teasingly. His eyes gli
nted. “Oh, I know.”

  Evan slipped his briefs down his thighs, and his cock, long and flushed, sprang up. Dylan’s mouth watered at the sight of it. Evan came to the side of the bed and put one knee by Dylan’s head.

  “If you touch yourself, we’re not doing this,” Evan said softly, so softly that it didn’t even sound like a threat.

  Dylan nodded, and Evan fed the tip of his cock into Dylan’s open and waiting mouth. The bitter, salty taste of pre-cum flooded Dylan’s mouth, but he reveled in it. He craned his neck up, eager to capture the rest of the head in his mouth. He swirled his tongue and sucked, creating a vacuum. Above him, Evan made a little sound and rocked his hips forward. Dylan choked a little, but it didn’t deter him, no—it spurred him on.

  Slowly, wishing to torture Evan like Evan had tortured him earlier, Dylan drew back. Instead of taking Evan fully into his mouth, Dylan poked out his tongue, kitten-licking the head of the cock, working his tongue into the little divot at the very tip.

  He heard Evan’s hand fly to the headboard. He smiled and nuzzled Evan’s cock with his cheek, then his nose, then brushed it with his lips.

  As much as Dylan would have loved to continue with his slow, barely-there ministrations, he was growing bored. Plus, he was acutely aware of his own throbbing cock, still caged by the fabric of his jeans.

  With that in mind, Dylan lapped up the pre-cum that had begun to bead, then licked a long, thick stripe with the flat of his tongue from the base of Evan’s shaft to the tip.

  It was time to stop playing games. Dylan took Evan into the wet heat of his mouth. Inch by inch, he sank down until his nose was nestled into Evan’s neat thatch of pubic hair.

  He stayed there a few seconds, cock uncomfortable but beautifully nudging the back of his throat, eyes stinging. Then he came up, gasping, only to begin bobbing his head, spit leaking from his mouth, coating his chin. He leaned on one elbow and his other hand came up, covering the distance that he couldn’t reach with his mouth. His hand and lips and tongue worked in tandem, twisting and licking, sucking and swirling, wet and hot, until—