by Wendy Qualls
“God, how would I even know?” Paul knew he was one of the younger faculty, which meant he did get the occasional overture from a female student hoping to look past the few years’ age difference between them, but only one had needed more than an oblique rejection. “There was a Tiffany something last year, I guess, but I did finally tell her directly I wasn’t interested in dating and I don’t think our paths have crossed since. And I don’t really see her as the stalker type. Clueless, yes, stalker, no.”
“We don’t know that it was a stalker, not for sure.” Brandon put his Coke down and leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. He really did have nice arms. “I’d like to swing by your place sometime to take a look at what you found, but don’t panic yet.”
Paul knew he was right and they should both shrug off the photo and hope it was just some poorly-handled attempt to anonymously shame him into staying in the closet, but logic and anxiety didn’t always correlate well. He was going to worry and obsess and keep picking at it in his mind until he couldn’t face even the idea of going back to his own apartment. And there was nothing he could do—
“Hey.” Brandon came around the table and sat on the bed next to him, nudging Paul’s shoulder with his own. Their legs were touching from hip to knee, but Brandon didn’t say anything so Paul didn’t either. Even that much contact felt oddly calming.
“There’s no point in stressing out,” Brandon reassured him. “This kind of thing is what my company does, and believe me when I say I’m one of the best there is at it. Disgruntled people with grudges and inappropriate access to administrative accounts are my bread and butter. I don’t know why whoever-this-is is targeting you, but I promise I’ll get to the bottom of it. I know it’s terrifying and invasive and wrong, but this happens to people every day and all you can do is to persevere and fight back. We’ll both fight.”
It was a nice speech. Not terribly effective, but nice. And it was good to know that Brandon cared enough to bother. “I appreciate the pep talk,” Paul admitted.
Brandon ducked his head, but he was smiling. “Sorry; that was a bit Braveheart, wasn’t it? But I did mean what I said—I promise I’ll see this through, and I am good at it.” He stood and started clearing up the remains of their meal. “In the meantime, I noticed you brought your laptop?”
* * * *
The hotel wi-fi was on the slow side, which meant the terrible framerates knocked most first-person shooters out of contention, but luckily they had similar tastes in video games and Brandon had a stunningly broad array of choices on Steam. Several of which were also in Paul’s collection, even though he did most of his gaming by console. They settled on Portal 2—they’d both played through it when it first came out, but neither had tried the multiplayer. Brandon ended up sprawled across the bed with his laptop on the table and a pillow under his elbow so he could use his external mouse without too much strain on his arm. Paul took the small desk and chair. Even with a laggy connection due to the substandard wi-fi, they managed to blow through about half the co-op campaign in three hours. It was nice, getting to game with someone in the same room—they couldn’t see each other’s screens, but it was refreshingly easy to just say “Go to your right” or “Watch out!” instead of having to worry about typing or microphone issues. They took a break at the midpoint of the game by mutual consensus, Brandon flopping back onto the mattress and grinning at the ceiling.
“You’re good at this,” he said aloud. “I usually hate one-on-one co-op gaming because so many other people are annoying idiots.”
“These aren’t exactly the world’s hardest puzzles,” Paul admitted. “But I am having fun. And it’s good to keep my mind off things.”
“Mmmm.” Brandon rolled to his side and shot Paul a look through heavy-lidded eyes. “I’d be up for more, if you want. Different kind of playing together.”
It was on the tip of Paul’s tongue to do the rational thing and say no—he’d already botched everything enough already, and doing anything more with Brandon was probably asking for trouble. But he was already in a much better mood after just playing a silly video game together, and Brandon looked so gorgeous sprawled out over the bed like that. Paul couldn’t help but visualize a whole slew of interesting scenarios Brandon might suggest. He swallowed back his insecurities and nodded.
Hell, he’s worth it, isn’t he?
“Yes,” he finally said. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know either. “You are offering what I think you’re offering, right?”
Brandon grinned and patted the mattress. “Come over here and find out.”
Chapter 9
Paul approached slowly, but Brandon didn’t seem to mind. Seemed content to watch, even as Paul’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he faltered a bit.
“I’ve been fantasizing about you all day,” Brandon murmured. “Hoping you’d been thinking about this too. Pretty sure I lost a good twenty-minute chunk of time this afternoon, staring at my computer screen and remembering what you tasted like the other evening.”
“I…” Paul drew a complete blank for how to respond to that. “I’ve daydreamed about this too, but I don’t have a lot of experience. I don’t know if the things I’ve been imagining are too much. Or even if they’re physically possible.”
“That’s okay.” Brandon rolled smoothly up to his knees, shuffling forward so he could grip Paul’s hips lightly. The warmth of his palms burned, even through the fabric of Paul’s clothes. “It isn’t about experience—it’s about what feels good, and what we both want to do. Experience doesn’t matter.” He tugged Paul closer, close enough to lip at what little of his collarbone was visible through the V of his button-down shirt. “You tell me what you like, I’ll tell you what I like, and we’ll both enjoy it.” His hands tightened fractionally on Paul’s hips. “Trust me.”
Paul closed his eyes and took a moment to adjust. “I will,” he whispered.
“Anything come to mind?” Brandon kept it up, little licks and kisses, but his hands moved from Paul’s hips to his shirt and started undoing the top button. “I want to—hell. Just tell me what you want. I’m feeling pretty damn generous right now.”
Lots? “I haven’t… I don’t want actual sex.” Hopefully that was clear enough, without sounding too pathetic? “I mean, I don’t know that I don’t like it, but—”
Brandon’s fingers stopped moving. “Define ‘actual sex,’” he said in a quiet, controlled voice.
Oh God. “Um.” Paul knew he was flushed bright red, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. “You know—anything with…penetration.”
“Anal intercourse.”
“Yeah. That.” Paul closed his eyes, praying Brandon wouldn’t try to make him define it further. “That guy—a while back—he always wanted to try it, but I don’t think I want to.”
“Hey,” Brandon said gently. He sat back on his heels, putting a few vital inches of space between them, but nudged Paul’s face up with one fingertip under his chin so Paul couldn’t avoid eye contact. “You know that we’ve already had ‘actual sex,’ right? What we did the other night was sex. So was what we did freshman year. Sex doesn’t have to involve someone’s cock in someone else’s ass to count as real. It just means two people together, doing something that feels good, until one or both of them get off. No anal necessary.”
The honesty in his expression was enough to dry up any more embarrassing babbling Paul would have otherwise done. Paul swallowed back his instinctive refusal, the urge to duck his head and back out of the conversation entirely. “That’s not how Christopher made it sound,” he finally managed to say.
“No offense, but from the bits you’ve let drop, it sounds like Christopher was kind of a dick.” Brandon swiped his thumb softly over Paul’s cheek. “Believe it or not, plenty of guys don’t like anal. It’s not like there’s some hazing ritual or checklist you have to try before you can get your gay card. Anal
sex feels wonderful when done right and horrible when done wrong and even guys who generally like it don’t necessarily try it with a new partner right away. It’s not a deal-breaker here.”
Paul felt a hesitant smile break through on his face, one he had no control over. He still wants this. Wants me. “I don’t even know what to ask for,” he admitted. “But we should do something. If you want.”
Brandon’s reply was a nearly feral growl. “Oh, I want.” He grabbed Paul’s hips and tugged. Paul probably could have resisted, but instead he let himself be overbalanced onto the mattress. Brandon immediately went to work unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.
“I want to see you naked again,” Brandon announced, not slowing his fingers for an instant. “I want to take you right up to that edge and watch you when you come. I want to be right there with you. Tell me that sounds good.”
“It sounds good,” Paul echoed. Heck, it sounded fantastic. “You should be naked too.” He tugged ineffectively at the hem of Brandon’s T-shirt, scrunching it up over his chest and exposing his lean stomach. The angles were all wrong, with Paul mostly reclining and Brandon mostly kneeling next to him, but Brandon seemed to approve of Paul’s attempt. He broke away from his task long enough to whip his shirt off over his head, then popped Paul’s last few buttons free and spread his palms greedily across Paul’s chest.
“I love this,” Brandon murmured, trailing his fingers through the wisps of dark blond chest hair. “Enough here to enjoy but not so much that it hides the skin beneath. I can still touch you—and taste you.” He ducked his head and pressed a firm kiss to Paul’s sternum, square in the middle of his chest. “You smell good, too,” he added with a tiny smirk.
“I sme—oooh!” Paul lost his train of thought completely as Brandon pinched sharply at his nipple.
“You do,” Brandon murmured against his pectoral. “Some of it’s soap or body wash or something, but you’ve also been exercising today. I can taste the salt on your skin.” He licked a broad, flat stripe over Paul’s other nipple, which absolutely should not have been as erotic as it was. “Very masculine,” he added.
“You’re saying I’m sweaty.”
“In the very best of ways.” Brandon’s face was hidden, but Paul could sense the smug satisfaction in his voice. “Trust me, that’s a turn-on. I want to absolutely devour you.”
Paul found that he didn’t entirely object to the idea, mostly because he was feeling very much like he wanted to be devoured. He couldn’t see all that much of Brandon now, other than the top of his head, but that quick flash he’d seen of Brandon kneeling over him, peeling his T-shirt off…damn. Brandon wasn’t thin, not really, but he was casually in shape the way you can only achieve through good genetics and not really caring about your weight one way or the other. The overall effect was acres of smooth lines, the gentle angle of his collarbones arrowing down to the little dip above his sternum and the line of his lower ribs sloping upward to delineate his chest from his stomach. He had almost no chest hair to speak of, just a few dark curls which only highlighted how pale his skin was. The anti-tan of a computer geek. It fit him.
“Hey.” Brandon gave no other warning, just lowered his head and bit at the lower edge of Paul’s ribcage.
“Christ!” The bite didn’t hurt—more of a nibble, really—but between Brandon’s teeth and the way his hands were roaming all over Paul’s chest and sides, it was hard to even think straight. They were both still half dressed, and Paul was already harder than he’d ever been in his life.
“Mmm,” Brandon breathed. “Delicious. Where else do you want my mouth?”
God, anywhere. But… “Not quite so hard.”
“Mmm. Kisses, then. Licking.” Brandon trailed his tongue inward, swirling it over and around Paul’s navel. “Sucking.” He scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin of Paul’s abdomen. “Tell me—where?”
“Everywhere.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be more specific than that.” Brandon pulled back and pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to the tip of Paul’s nose. And then scooted down to dot a second kiss on the point of his left elbow, and a third to the crest of his hip, and a fourth to the side of his calf right above the top of his sock (which required some awkward shuffling to get his pants leg out of the way). “Like this?” he asked, moving back up for a final brush of lips back over Paul’s navel.
“You know very well what I mea—oh.”
Brandon sat back up with a smirk, but he didn’t remove his hand from where it was now, slowly fondling Paul’s cock through the fabric of his khakis.
“Eager, aren’t you,” he growled. “And oh so lovely when you’re at my mercy like this. How long do you think I could keep you hard like this? Until you’re completely incoherent? Until you’re begging me to let you come? I could suck you until you’re right on that edge and then—” He tightened his grip around the base of Paul’s cock, just to the edge of pain, but Paul was beyond caring because that tight grip was probably the only thing keeping him from already coming in his pants like some helpless teenager. “What do you think?” Brandon asked. “Want me to draw this out?”
Yes. No. Paul groaned, loud and raw, no longer caring about how he might sound. “Want to come,” he gasped.
“Now?”
“Not…” Paul sucked in a breath. “Want to see you, first. Want to taste you. God, Brandon, I’m so close right now—”
Brandon let go abruptly, then backed away until he was standing next to the bed and looking down at Paul’s sprawled form with undisguised lust. “Take a second, then, and get us both naked. I’ll wait.”
A second. A second is good. Paul closed his eyes and focused on breathing, in and out. He ran through his mental list of erection-killers: bio lab dissections, his childhood piano teacher, the time his scout troop went camping and the port-a-potties were nearly overflowing. After a minute or so he was able to sit up and adjust himself without exploding. He kicked off his shoes, letting them thump one at a time on the floor as they fell, then peeled off his socks and khakis. He hesitated a second over taking off his boxers, but hell, it’s not like Brandon hasn’t seen it before. And fondled it. And tasted it. He wriggled out of those, too, until he was completely nude and kneeling at the edge of the bed in front of Brandon in a reversal of the position they’d started in.
Brandon was both silent and patient as Paul removed his shoes and socks. Brandon raised his feet one at a time to brace against the mattress and dropped them on the floor to join his own. He was just as hard as Paul was—the evidence was kind of difficult to miss given their positions. Paul obediently maneuvered around to tug Brandon’s jeans and boxers off, though, and didn’t comment. There was something incredible about being there, stripping Brandon down to his skin, and it felt like speaking would ruin the moment.
Brandon’s thighs were muscled much like his chest. Nothing defined, nothing deliberate, but they were still long and powerful and Paul couldn’t help running his hands up and down one and then the other, enjoying the feel of the crisp hairs against his palms. Brandon let out a little sigh and spread his feet wider. Paul replaced his palms with his nose, trailing up the inside of Brandon’s leg—
“Holy hell,” Brandon breathed. “You know, for someone without a lot of experience at this, you’re really damn good at that.”
“I didn’t say I’ve never done anything.” It was true—whatever kind of messed-up relationship Paul and Christopher had eventually stumbled into, the physical aspect had become more and more present as time went on. And the interludes had grown increasingly intense. They’d never talked about it, but Christopher had been very good at making his needs known. If he hadn’t kept trying to bully Paul into doing one more thing and one more thing and one more thing, they’d probably have bumbled along together contentedly for quite a while.
Actually, that wasn’t true—Paul had started to get frustrated with Christopher lo
ng before their troubles in bed. And now he was practically nuzzling at Brandon’s groin and what the heck is wrong with me? I’m thinking about my ex while about to go down on someone else! Paul sat back on his heels and scrubbed his hand over his face.
“Something wrong?” Brandon twined his hand into Paul’s hair, then slid it down to caress his cheek. “I was enjoying that, if it wasn’t already blindingly obvious. You’re welcome to keep going. Unless…?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Paul grabbed Brandon’s hips and tugged him forward again. Into tasting range. “Weird thought brought me out of the moment, is all.”
“Oh. I see. In that case…” Brandon leaned in and barreled forward, rolling as he pounced, until Paul ended up landing with a huff and an incredulous little laugh squarely on top of his chest. “I was hoping we could come up with something else we might enjoy.” Brandon shifted his hips, pressing the hard length of his erection against Paul’s, and oh it felt amazing. He smirked at the expression on Paul’s face and repeated the motion, slower. He stretched up to kiss Paul gently on the lips, just once, then let his kisses trail down over Paul’s jaw and along the side of his neck to his ear. He didn’t pull, didn’t hold Paul down, but Paul plastered himself to the warm body below him anyway as if he had.
“Want to do it like this,” Brandon breathed in Paul’s ear. “You on top of me, our whole bodies skin-to-skin. Tell me that sounds good.”
“Nngh.” Paul practically gave a whole-body shudder at the suggestion. “God, yes.”
Brandon nipped at Paul’s earlobe. “I put my lube in the nightstand drawer next to you—can you reach it?”
Paul peeled himself off Brandon’s chest far enough to yank the drawer open. A small bottle of lube and a Bible. The sight brought him a moment of hesitation—this is pretty much everything a good Christian shouldn’t be doing—but Brandon’s body was shifting silkily beneath his own as he ran his hands up and down Paul’s sides and then it didn’t matter. God versus gay was a personal crisis Paul had been living ever since freshman year. In all these years he’d yet to come up with a good answer and the dilemma would still be waiting for him tomorrow. Brandon was gorgeous and waiting on him right now, though, and Paul had no intention of letting the opportunity pass him by. He grabbed the lube, slammed the drawer shut—having enthusiastically gay sex with the Bible right there seemed disrespectful somehow—and pressed the bottle into Brandon’s hand. “Show me?”