by David Horne
Dylan scissored his fingers, stretching Evan’s rim. He smirked when he felt Evan subtly rocking back, pulling Dylan’s fingers in deeper.
When he added a third finger, Evan cried out. Immediately, Dylan stopped. “You okay?” he asked.
He saw Evan nod. “I’m good,” he rasped. “It feels good.”
Dylan continued, sliding his third finger in, allowing Evan to adjust to it, and then his fourth finger.
He continued like that for a while, letting Evan get used to the feeling of having something in his ass before he got the real deal. He made sure to stretch him well because hurting him was the last thing Dylan wanted to do.
“Do you feel ready?” Dylan asked eventually.
Evan’s voice was rough when he told him yes.
“Turn around, then.”
Evan did as he was told. His face was flushed. His cock, hand still wrapped around it, was leaking like a faucet.
“Let me take care of that,” Dylan said, moving Evan’s hand away. Dylan swiped some extra lube over his cock. Then slowly, he began to lower Evan down. “Relax. Just relax.”
He could feel the tension bleed out of Evan. The slide became much easier, and he bottomed out easily into Evan’s well-prepped hole, loving the way he sank into his tight heat.
“That’s it,” Dylan said soothingly. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Evan took a while to adjust to Dylan’s girth. But finally, he began moving himself up and down, rolling his hips. If Dylan didn’t already know that Evan had never tried this before, he would’ve thought Evan was some kind of expert by the way he built a steady rhythm.
Evan bent over and kissed Dylan on the lips, breathing and moaning into his mouth. Dylan’s hand found Evan’s cock and squeezed, beginning to pump it in time with Evan’s rises and falls.
He could tell Evan loved it by the way he kept whimpering, gasping Dylan’s name, catching his lips for a brief second but losing focus the second after that.
He wondered why they’d never thought to try this before. It had always been Dylan bottoming and Evan topping. The change was…spectacular. Magical, even.
Eventually, the urge to buck up into Evan grew too strong. Dylan found himself thrusting up, meeting Evan’s hips, making hard impacts with his prostate. His hand continued to work Evan’s cock. He only paused to a second to spit on his hand before resuming.
Dylan felt like his mind was leaving him. Evan felt so tight around him. His weight was reassuring, and his cock was solid in Dylan’s hand. He pumped and thrusted dutifully, but he was growing tired, and Evan was, too.
Feeling that his climax was just around the corner, he released Evan’s cock and held his hips in place with both hands. He began pistoning in and out of him, sloppily but deeply. “Touch yourself,” he gasped, and Evan did so, wrapping his hand around his own cock.
Dylan went fast, faster, faster—
Evan cried out loudly, and Dylan felt his hole clench around his cock. He felt wetness hit him in the face and fall over his lips. With Evan spasming around him, it didn’t take much for Dylan himself to cum. Evan collapsed on top of him, boneless.
“How was that?” Dylan asked him, carding his fingers through Evan’s sweaty hair.
Evan was breathing heavily, but he managed to say, “Good. Really good.”
“Should we try it again sometime?”
Evan nodded frantically.
Dylan smoothed hair out of Evan’s eyes and flipped them over. He kissed him gently, then wrinkled his nose. “I can taste myself,” he told Evan.
Evan laughed quietly. “Do you like it?”
“Weirdly, I don’t love it.”
Evan laughed again. It was a pretty sound.
It began raining outside, but even that couldn’t dampen Dylan’s mood.
Chapter Ten
Dylan was excited to break the news to Carly.
It went like this: Dylan first decided to clear things up with Evan once and for all. “Boyfriend?” he had asked him, then added, “again?” Evan had smiled and nodded, then kissed him deeply. That had all been very good.
Then, he’d shot off a text to Luke telling him that things had gone well. Luke had been pleased.
Now, there was only Carly left to tell. Carly, who had stood by him, had put aside her opinions to support her friend, had advised him to the best of her abilities, and who had cracked shitty jokes to cheer Dylan up.
She was the most important person Dylan would ever tell.
So, he had to have a little fun with it. He could just go up to her and say, “Hey, Carly, me and Evan—I mean Evan and I—are back together. Thanks for helping me sort stuff out.” No, he had to go bigger. Go big or go home, as they say. And even though at home, Evan was waiting for him, loose and ready for another round or three, Dylan was going big.
He was no expert in acting. The most exposure he’d ever gotten was drama class in ninth grade. He hadn’t been very good at any of the exercises and his performances usually only garnered applause from Evan who, come to think of it, was probably only clapping out of obligation.
Still, Dylan was planning a big one.
Steeling himself with a deep breath, he steeled himself, painted the most dejected possible look on his face, and pushed open the door.
Carly, recently returned from her trip out of town, looked up as the bell jingled, but frowned when she saw his face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Dylan said. He was going for as few words as possible. It would make him seem surly and sullen and would also lessen the chances of him blowing his cover.
“Well, there’s obviously something.”
“Wait a sec.” Dylan went into the back, clocked in, then came back out and collapsed in his chair. He dropped his face into his hands and cracked a grin. He composed himself. “Evan’s leaving. He told me he accepted the France offer. So, we’re officially done, I guess.”
“Oh, Dill Pickle,” Carly said, rubbing his back soothingly. “I’m so sorry.”
“You aren’t gonna tell me you told me so?”
“’Course not,” she replied. “I’m not that big an asshole.”
“Yeah, well I am.” Dylan lifted his head to see her surprised face. “We’re back together, me and him. He’s not leaving.” Then he frowned. “I was trying to go for a big, dramatic reveal, but I think I kinda missed the mark.”
“Yeah, I think you did,” Carly said, then hugged him. “Congrats. Tell him this, though: if he hurts you again, I’ll kick his ass into the Pacific.”
Dylan squeezed her back. “I’ll let him know.”
***
When Dylan was younger, he’d had a dream. When he got old—really, really old, like thirty or something—he wanted to be an astronaut. Or a firefighter. Or a policeman. He wasn’t quite sure yet, but it was definitely one of those three. He wanted to settle down with a wife, maybe have some kids, but he never, ever, ever wanted to change diapers because they smelled worse than his grandma’s cabbage surprise.
His life had only turned out partially like that. Firstly, he’d learned the meaning of heteronormativity and discovered the wonders of men, so the wife option was out the window. Though maybe not the kid option. If he did end up adopting, perhaps he could adopt them old enough that he really wouldn’t have to change any diapers.
Secondly, Dylan’s interests had veered toward engineering more than any of those other jobs. He still thought it would be as cool to introduce himself as an engineer as it would be to introduce himself as any of his childhood dreams, but then again, maybe not.
He no longer found thirty-something very old, seeing as he was eight years off himself.
The thing was, as Dylan had learned and grown and let the world shape him, he had found so many other dreams to dream for. For a world that was equal and safe, though Dylan had a feeling there would always be something that favored one group over another. He dreamed more than anything of being happy, and in the recent few days, he honestly believe
d he had a shot at it now.
“You think too much,” Evan told him sometimes, times when Dylan disappeared inside his head, when his eyes lost focus when doing his homework, or when he zoned out while they were talking.
“I know,” Dylan would reply. It was true. But it wasn’t bad. He liked looking to the future, wondering what it would hold. Sometimes he felt like he was back in kindergarten, stepping out into a strange place for the first time, not really knowing what he would be facing.
“What are you thinking about?” Evan would ask.
Dylan would look at him and smile enigmatically. “Oh, nothing.”
*THE END*
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