by David Horne
Here was something Dylan knew about Evan. He loved sucking dick as much as he loved getting his own sucked. And it was only fair for Dylan to get some mouth action of his own after the show he had just put on.
“Sit up,” Dylan ordered, and Evan complied. Rising shakily by the strength of his arms and resting his back on the headboard.
Dylan crawled over him, a knee planted on either side and his cock hanging in Evan’s face. Evan needed no further instruction. Obediently, he took Dylan into his mouth.
Dylan leaned forward and gripped the headboard with both hands, using all his willpower not to just fuck into Evan’s mouth.
Evan had a talented, talented mouth, and it would be a shame to put that to waste.
Evan seemed determined to go as slowly as Dylan had just gone, but Dylan wouldn’t allow it. Evan’s lips were pink and sinful. He looked beautiful with his mouth wrapped around Dylan’s cock. His tongue worked slowly but dutifully. At times it went slow enough that Dylan had to rock into him and make him gag, just to remind him who was boss.
Evan just didn’t seem to be getting the message. It was growing tiresome, Evan’s little kitten licks, the way he would keep drawing back and not going back in, the way he kept leaving feather-light touches. It was his job to make Evan fall apart that day, not the other way around.
Half out of frustration and half out of the need to assert his dominance, Dylan snaked his hands into Dylan’s hair, gripping his skull. He started slowly. However, it wasn’t long before he was savagely thrusting into Evan’s face. He trusted Evan to keep his teeth far away, and only feeling mildly guilty at the deep red of Evan’s face and the trail of tears on his cheeks.
At the very last second, recognizing the tingly feeling that was coming over him, Dylan pulled back, leaving Evan gasping, a line of spit connecting his lips and Dylan’s cock. Dylan tugged himself urgently, once, twice, three, and came on Evan’s face. His vision went white, much like he had just painted Evan’s nose and lips. Even when he came down from his climax, there were still stars in his eyes.
He kneeled there a moment, admiring how wrecked Evan looked. Then, he leaned over and drew a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer. He passed it to Evan. “Open me up,” he commanded, and he turned around, showing Evan his ass. “Be quick about it.”
The cold drizzle of lube came first, then Evan’s first, long artist’s finger, then his second, both sliding in smoothly, stretching and pumping and scissoring. Breathing labored, Dylan rocked back, fucking down on the fingers that were opening him up so delightfully.
A third finger entered him. It burned a little, but it was a nice burn, a pinch of pain that shot pleasure through his nerves.
“Okay,” Evan said eventually. His voice was shaky. Dylan looked down. He realized that, without even being touched, Evan’s cock was hard again, as was his own.
“Okay,” Dylan echoed. He shuffled forward and turned back around, facing Evan, aligning himself with Evan’s cock. He held eye contact as he began to sink down, feeling the stretch of every inch as it entered him, all the way down until he was seated at the base, their thighs touching.
Dylan leaned forward, placing an elbow at either side of Evan’s head. He connected their mouths in a slow, gentle kiss. He poked his tongue into Evan’s open, waiting mouth, loving his taste, loving his warmth.
Dylan began to gyrate his hips, rolling them in circles. Beneath him Evan cried out, finally getting what he’d wanted all along. He kept at this for a while, enjoying the way that Evan was becoming louder, moaning, gasping under his lips and under his touch.
One of Dylan’s hands found its way into Evan’s sweaty hair as he began to lift himself up and lower himself back down.
Dylan didn’t realize what tiring work it would be. He was already growing exhausted, limbs trembling with the effort of keeping him from collapsing. He had half a mind to just give up and beg Evan to flip them over and pound into him. He couldn’t let that happen. That would defeat the purpose of everything. It would kill the game.
So, Dylan persevered despite the fatigue. He lifted himself higher and slammed himself back down. He was doing his very best to angle Evan’s cock into his prostate, rising high enough that only Evan’s head was left inside him.
It felt so damn good. He felt so damn full.
Evan, too, was in bliss; Dylan could tell. His eyes were closed. and his mouth was hanging open. He was making more noises than Dylan had ever heard him make. In fact, those noises were the only warning Dylan got. Evan was beginning to pant faster, groan louder. Then Evan pulled off the condom and shot his white, hot load all over Dylan. Dylan stilled and tutted, waiting for Evan to come back. “Did I say you could do that?” he asked.
Evan’s eyes were wide, and his chest was heaving.
Dylan climbed off Evan’s softening cock, his own still hard but very near its climax. Cum dripped off his back and onto Evan. Dylan moved back and began to rut his cock against Evan’s. It was slippery with Evan’s cum, but it still provided delicious friction.
It took only moments for Dylan to splatter Evan’s stomach white.
It took a while for Dylan to calm down enough to get up and grab a cloth to clean them up. Afterward, when they were just laying down, Dylan could tell that this was it—this was his opportune moment.
“Hey, listen,” he said quietly, nudging Evan’s stomach with his knuckle. “Are you listening?”
Evan hummed quietly.
“I know you didn’t wanna talk about the other day…what you said when we were drunk.”
Evan sighed heavily. “I didn’t wanna talk about it then and I don’t wanna talk about it now.”
Oh, shit, Dylan thought. Things were not going according to plan. He was supposed to loosen up a little, not stay guarded. What happened to Dylan having a magic asshole?
“I need to know,” Dylan pleaded. “Just let me have it out with this once. And…if nothing comes of it, we’ll just…leave well enough alone. Like you said.”
Evan looked over at him. “I don’t think so,” He got up and started putting on his clothes. Dylan could only watch. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
Dylan nodded, and then Evan was gone.
Chapter Eight
The next day, before Dylan’s date—well, date was a strong word. He was reluctant to use the word date lest he get his hopes up—Dylan had work again. It seemed the perfect opportunity to enlighten Carly on recent developments.
First, he told her about Luke, how he’d let him down gently and vented to him a little. Carly was proud of him for the first part and happy for him for the second, saying, “Oh, thank God, you’ve finally made another friend you can bitch to about your boy problems.” But she said it jokingly, making sure Dylan knew she had no objections to his bitching.
Then, Dylan broke the news about his attempt to tire a conversation out of Evan, to make him pliant via painfully slow sex. Apparently. Evan had not bent to desperation so easily. “So, I got nothing out of him,” Dylan finished.
Carly crossed her arms.
Her red hair was tied back that day. Dylan rarely saw it like that. Carly seemed to hate her shaved sides enough to want to hide them, enough to not even put her hair up in the summer heat.
It was now November. Carly’s sides weren’t long like they should’ve been. It seemed she’d been keeping her shaved sides shaved. Dylan didn’t know whether she was embracing them or whether it was because it looked stupid when growing out.
She looked nice though. Dylan could finally see her face.
Carly sighed softly. “Look,” she started, her voice delicate, and Dylan knew she was going to say something he wouldn’t like. “Maybe it’s time to let him go?”
“No,” Dylan said quickly, shaking his head. “No.”
“Dill Pickle, all this is doing is hurting you. You can’t get a straight answer out of him. Hell, you can barely get him to talk to you. Does he act like he cares? Not to me.”
Dylan looked at her. “S
o, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you guys are fuckin’ toxic. You need to stop chasing this guy, okay? I know he’s your best friend and I know you love him, but have you ever stopped to consider maybe he doesn’t love you.”
“’Course I have,” Dylan spat shakily. “And it’s not true.”
He hated the way she was looking at him, with so much pity and sympathy that it made him feel like a charity case. “Dylan…”
“You don’t know him like I do,” he told her, looking her in the eye. “He’s not like that.”
“You sound brainwashed!” she cried. “Listen to yourself.”
“Carly,” Dylan said quietly. “I appreciate that you care. Seriously. But…he’s just afraid, okay? He’ll come around. It’ll be fine. Luke said he had a…similar experience. And it turned out fine for him.”
“So, he’s got a boyfriend?”
“Not anymore. Doesn’t matter. I just know that Ev’s kinda scared and he needs a little persuading.”
***
There was something to be said about Evan’s character development over the years.
Starting from kindergarten, back when the both of them were four years old, Evan was always the braver of the two, the louder of the two, the more adventurous of the two. Dylan had been the one with shaky knees and trembling lips on the first ever day of school, while Evan had been the one to boldly introduce himself to everyone in the room (twice).
Dylan remembered a time when they were six or seven and had gone for a picnic in the woods with their families. Evan had had the brilliant idea to separate from the pack and get them absolutely lost. Dylan had been on the verge of tears, but Evan had thought it was awesome to finally be separated from their parents. He had grasped Dylan by the elbow and led the both of them through a magical jaunt in the forest, unknowingly brushing their ankles with poison ivy.
When their parents had finally found them, Dylan had begun to enjoy himself. Half a week later, he was cursing his best friend as well as his innocent mind could for the nasty blisters and unbearable itch.
When they were ten, Evan had his very first real crush on a girl. She was pretty with brown hair and doe eyes. Her cheeks were round and her shirts always had superheroes on them instead of princesses. Evan thought she was the greatest person ever. Dylan didn’t think she was so bad himself.
Dylan had advised him not to take his chances with her. But Evan was always so much braver, always so unafraid of consequences and judgment. He had gone ahead and asked the girl out. She had rejected him and punched him hard on the arm, then gone off to giggle with her friends. But Evan had taken it in stride. It had barely affected him at all.
In high school, Evan was fearless, too. He went through girls like girls went through clothes. He was popular, never afraid to speak out, never afraid to make an ass of himself.
So, Dylan wondered, Where the hell was that Evan now? The one who was brash and uncaring, the one who had held eye-contact with his mother when she had given him the sex talk, the one who would barrel his way through any awkward conversation?
That was the Evan Dylan wanted.
That was the Evan he couldn’t find.
***
Dylan did little in the way of persuasion. He could tell Evan was wary of him already. He also knew that going in there guns blazing would only cause a greater rift between them. It would only serve to send Evan running for the hills. He needed to be gentle and cautious, but he also needed to remember that he was running out of time.
When Christmas came around, Dylan’s parents were surprised to find that their son had not brought Evan in tow. Like any other set of parents would’ve done, they questioned him relentlessly until he finally lost his temper.
New Year’s passed in Luke’s company. Dylan had called him and told him what with them both being single and alone, they may as well celebrate together—as friends. Luke had agreed. They had gone into the heart of the city where the fireworks would be the most elaborate. The air had been cold and had nipped at his nose and cheeks. He had on a thick coat and fuzzy scarf on. Luke’s smile had been warm enough for the both of them.
Valentine’s Day was pretty much the same. Luke and Dylan hanging out at Luke’s apartment in the suburbs, sitting on the hardwood floor, Dylan getting absolutely crushed in another video game he’d never played.
By the time winter turned to spring, Dylan was overcome with melancholy that also served as a sharp reminder for him to get his act together. In less than a month, his anniversary with Evan would be coming up. One year since that fateful day the week after Evan’s birthday when Dylan had finally gathered up enough courage to kiss him.
Where was that courage now?
Because Dylan had had enough. So many months of doubt and worry, of tiptoeing around Evan and Evan’s feelings because Evan couldn’t even put on a damn brave face for him—no. This was ending now.
It was by pure coincidence that Evan called him up, voice hesitant, and asked him to meet him downtown at some restaurant for dinner, his treat. When Dylan checked his phone, however, he realized it was no coincidence at all—it was his birthday. How had he forgotten that?
Taking the invitation as an indication of Evan’s renewed trust in him, Dylan was happy to accept.
Carly’s words went with Dylan everywhere he went. Since their argument in November, any mention of Evan was strictly prohibited. Things had gone back to the way they were, though they were a bit tenser, and the air was a bit thicker. Still, Dylan was glad to have Carly working with him in the shop.
She had decided that she liked her shaved sides and had kept her hair up through winter. Dylan, like a proud father, had, with glee, given her a dramatic speech on self-love and acceptance. She hadn’t been too happy with that, but Dylan could tell she was grateful.
Despite it being many months since their last talk of Evan—and since the implementation of the no-Evan policy—Dylan could recite their last conversation about him verbatim. They stuck to him like super glue, rarely leaving his mind, sowing seeds of doubt into him.
On the other hand, he knew the words were untrue. He knew that Evan cared a great deal about them. Carly had meant well. She was his friend and she didn’t want to see him upset. But Carly was forgetting one fundamental thing: that Dylan knew Evan like the back of his hand. He’d had eighteen years to learn everything about him, from the way he shoveled pasta in his mouth while it was still too hot, down to the way his thought patterns worked, and the way he would link one thing to a seemingly irrelevant second thing—like how plastic containers made Evan think of dinosaurs because one was made from the other.
In a freshly pressed button down, slacks, a tie and his shiniest black dress shoes, Dylan arrived at the restaurant and was led to a table where Evan was already seated, looking smart and dapper, a bowl of breadsticks and candle in the center of the table.
Dylan offered a smile as he sat down, one that Evan returned.
“Happy birthday,” Evan greeted gently.
“Thanks,” Dylan replied, snatching up a breadstick.
“So, how’ve you been?”
“Fine,” Dylan said shortly. “Mom and Dad called, so did Luke. Oh, and Carly. She also said she’s going out of town for a few days and not to bother calling her. That’s my birthday present from her, apparently. Her getting out of my hair.”
Evan laughed. “Who’s this Luke guy?”
“Oh, you met him,” Dylan said. “That waiter from the burger place.”
Evan’s mouth twisted, though Dylan couldn’t fathom why. “Oh.”
“Anyway, what have you been up to?”
“Well—”
Just then, a waiter came. Evan ordered for the both of them, telling Dylan after the waiter had gone, “Trust me, you’re gonna wanna try this.”
When the food came, Dylan realized Evan had been right.
The tension eased as they ate. Dylan even found it in him to laugh when a drop of sauce dribbled from Evan’s mouth and
splashed onto Evan’s very crisp, white shirt.
“Ah, shit,” Evan cursed, but he smiled and wiped the sauce with his finger and licked it up.
After they were done, Evan called over the waiter and had him bring over dessert and an entourage to sing an embarrassing and very bad rendition of Happy Birthday to Dylan, who hid his face in his hands.
Evan was still laughing after they had left, and Dylan’s cheeks felt far too hot for comfort. “You know I hate that,” he grumbled.
Evan laughed through his apology, which made Dylan think it wasn’t all that sincere. He calmed himself down before speaking again. “So, listen,” he said. “I’ve started getting some acceptance letters back.”
All of a sudden, Dylan’s throat felt tight and constricted. “Oh?” he managed.
“Yeah.”
Dylan coughed. “Um, so did you get in anywhere around here?”
“Yeah, I did. I also got into the one in France.” Evan spoke as though he knew it was a sore subject for Dylan. Perhaps he did know.
“Oh,” Dylan repeated. He looked down then back up, fearfully catching Evan’s eye. “You gonna go, then?”
“I’m considering it,” Evan admitted.
Suddenly, it was all too much for Dylan. He couldn’t stand it. All these months, he’d been trying to corner Evan into a potentially life-changing conversation, but the slippery bastard kept getting away. And now, months and months later, Dylan had made no progress at all. Evan was still thinking of leaving. He still wouldn’t let Dylan get a word in, and Dylan was still too afraid of driving Evan away if he went about this by force.
Dylan had to think of himself for once. Deadly quiet, he said, “Go then. I don’t care.”
Evan raised an eyebrow at that, but it was hard to tell if he was offended or just surprised. “You don’t care?”
Dylan shrugged, feeling reckless. “Why should I?” he asked callously. “Not like you’ve given two shits about me for months!” Now, Evan looked confused, but Dylan ploughed on. “I mean, you break up with me, you say you think we should be friends, but then you come to me and fuck me senseless. Is that the kind of thing friends do, now? And then there’s the fact that I’ve been trying to tell you that you said some shit to me while you were drunk. Shit that might change your fucking mind about going to France or whatever.”