Chapter 23
23
GERARD
W hat do you get when a murdered football player and a bumblebee make out on the dance floor? A very happy Gerard.
I’ve kissed a few girls in my lifetime, but none compare to making out with Elliot. His tongue battles mine for dominance in a way I never knew I needed.
I love it.
The second we stumble into my bedroom, Elliot wastes no time pushing me up against the door and slamming it shut in the process. His hands roam over my broad chest, and I struggle not to take over and place them where I’ve never been touched.
I don’t want to rush him into anything he’s not ready to do. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Elliot since he moved into the Hockey House, it’s that he can be more skitty than a kitty.
“Can I grab your ass?” Elliot asks me, and I think my heart stops beating.
Why does that question send my dick from semi-hard to straight up pitching a tent? Or as much of a tent as one can pitch when wearing spandex pants.
There’s only one answer to Elliot’s request, and it isn’t no. “Only if I can grab yours, too. ”
Elliot smirks. “I’m amenable to that deal.”
He places his lips back on mine and slides his hands down my back to grip my muscular glutes. I moan loudly, which surprises me. I know I can be vocal at times when I jerk off, but I never sound this needy. I’m about ready to die if I don’t get some friction on my groin in the next five seconds.
Elliot’s fingers are small but powerful as they knead my cheeks, and I moan even louder.
I reach around to grab his pert butt, and I have to stifle the chuckle threatening to escape my throat when I realize how tiny it is. Or maybe my hands are simply that big.
He gasps when I give his cheeks a good squeeze. I gasp when he finally grinds himself against me, sending a thrill from my dick to my brain. If my eyes were a slot machine, they’d be rolling like crazy right now.
Elliot’s hard length presses into my thigh, and I moan for the third time in less than thirty seconds. I pull my lips away from his. “God, Elliot. Don’t stop.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
We continue making out like horny teenagers until Elliot’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of my pants and tease the sensitive skin there. I shudder as his fingertips trace lazy circles over my tailbone.
I never knew someone’s fingers could make me this turned on. “You’re driving me wild.”
“Good,” he chuckles. “That’s the plan.”
He steps back and examines my body in a way that makes my toes curl in my cleats. His gaze caresses every inch of me, from my broad shoulders to my quivering thighs. Huh. Who knew a guy like me could quiver?
I hold my breath and silently pray I don’t collapse under his scrutiny.
When his eyes land on the unmistakable outline of my hard cock pressing against the spandex, they widen with surprise and hunger .
“Yep. That’s my penis.” It’s almost obscene how visible it is, but I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed. Not when Elliot wants to devour me whole.
My cock twitches under his heated stare and spurts out a healthy dollop of precome.
“It’s so…”
“Big?” I finish for him. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”
He steps closer and hovers his hand over it. “Can I?”
“I don’t know. Can you?” I quip.
Elliot shoots me a dirty look, and I know I’ll pay for that later.
“ May I?”
My mouth goes dry. No one has touched me intimately before. How will it feel? How will I respond? Will I immediately cream my pants, or can I hold out for a while longer? Because, holy snickers, I really need to nut. “Yes, please.”
Elliot cups my erection, and I groan. His nimble fingers explore every inch of my penis, from the leaking head and the sensitive spot under the shaft to where the shaft meets my balls.
“How big is it?”
Most guys tend to lie about their size to impress their partners. But I know Elliot will sniff it out if I do. So, through gritted teeth, I answer him honestly. “Eight and a half inches.”
Surprised, Elliot grips my cock, and my eyes cross. I buck my hips in a silent plea for him to use more of his hand, more of his fingers, more of his everything.
He chuckles, clearly enjoying the control he has over my reactions. “You’re so responsive. I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already leaking like a faucet.”
Since I’ve already been honest about my measurement, I might as well be about the other stuff, too. “I’ve always been a leaker. Always been a shooter, too.”
Elliot hums, pleased. He grips me more firmly and strokes me through my pants with long, slow pulls. The fabric, now damp and clinging to my penis, creates the best kind of friction.
“I need more,” I all but whine .
“More what, Gerard? I need you to tell me what you want. Use your words .”
I swallow hard before croaking out, “Touch me, Elliot. Please. I want your hand on my dick.”
At first, I fear he’s going to refuse. But then he tugs my pants down to my ankles and frees my aching cock. It springs up, slapping against my stomach and leaving a smear of precome on my jersey.
Elliot stares in awe. “Holy fuck. Gerard, you’re massive .”
I preen. I’m a guy—sue me.
His fingers wrap around my bare cock, and I become putty in his hand. I thought I knew how to masturbate, but my goodness, what Elliot is doing makes me question everything.
He twists his wrist on every upstroke, and I let out the strangest gurgle. His thumb swipes over the sensitive head, and my toes curl. His fingers get lost in the thick bush of pubes, and it tickles, only heightening the pleasure.
Everything Elliot is doing to me is absolute heaven. I don’t want it to end. I want him to keep stroking me until the day I die. Yet, all too soon, that familiar tightening in my balls makes itself known.
“Your balls are massive, Gerard,” he says as he cups them in his small hand, making me gasp.
I glance down and realize he’s right. I’ve never given much thought to their size.They’ve always just been there, chilling out with my penis.
“Elliot,” I hiss, thumping my head on the door. “I’m gonna…”
“Do it, Gerard. Come for me.”
My whole body tenses as the orgasm crashes over me. A guttural groan that sounds more animal than human rips from my throat. Pleasure explodes through every nerve ending, setting me ablaze from the inside out as my cock pulses in Elliot’s firm grip.
Elliot gasps in surprise as the first thick, creamy rope erupts and splatters loudly on the hardwood floor. The sound of my load hitting the floor, accompanied by the slick, wet noises of Elliot’s hand working my shaft, only intensifies the sensations racking my body.
Spurt after spurt paints the floor white as my orgasm stretches on forever. My cock throbs, painfully hypersensitive but still rock hard, as Elliot guides me through the aftershocks.
I whimper and shudder, caught between pulling away and thrusting further into his grip. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
Soon, my legs are jelly, and I struggle to regulate my breathing. “Wow, Elliot. That was…wow.”
“Yeah,” he breathes out, a wild expression on his face. I’ve heard Drew use the word once, and I think it fits here— debauched.
I glance down at my feet and see a generous pond of semen between them. My load tonight is impressive, even by my standards.
But it’s the sight of Elliot licking the excess off of his fingers that has me moaning and my eyes rolling back. I slump to the floor, completely spent. “Elliot, you’re going to be the death of me.”
Elliot smirks, mighty pleased with himself. “But what a way to go, right?”
I should be listening to my professor, but I can’t focus. This morning, Elliot woke me up with a hand job, and now, I don’t think I’ll be able to wake up any other way ever again.
Despite loving what we’ve been doing since Halloween, I don’t want hand jobs to define our entire relationship. I want more with Elliot. I want to take him on a proper date and show him how much I like him. I want to hold hands as we walk across campus, unconcerned about who notices. I want to bring him back to Elk Valley for Thanksgiving to meet my parents and Lily.
I want him to be my boyfriend.
Yes, I said it—boyfriend. The word excites and scares me. I’ve never had a boyfriend before, only boys who are friends. It’s a big step, but I’m ready.I want those relationship milestones with Elliot that I’ve seen others enjoy. First date, first kiss—well, we’ve already done that—and even the first time saying those three little words that truly cement a relationship.
It was just a few weeks ago when he moved into the Hockey House, but since then, he’s been constantly on my mind. Whether I’m in the shower, ordering a cup of coffee at The Brew, or even now, as my professor drones on with a boring lecture.
Heck, even a text from him saying, “I’m working. Stop annoying me,” makes me grin.
It’s safe to say I’m falling for him, hard and fast, with no end in sight. He makes me experience emotions I never thought possible. But before I can make any grand romantic gestures, I need to talk to someone important—Jackson Monroe.
He’s Elliot’s best friend, and his opinion matters greatly . If Jackson thinks I’m a lousy match, then I might as well hang up my skates, tuck my tail between my legs— no, I’m not talking about my dick —and move back to Colorado for good.
I need Jackson’s blessing before I take things to the next level with Elliot. I want to do this right. I want to show Elliot that I’m serious about our relationship. I don’t want him to think he’s an experiment because we’re in college.
This is the real deal. He is the real deal.
Looking up, I notice Professor Daniels still talking about a war our forefathers fought in. God, can this class move any slower?
I’m tempted to scream that I’ve seen a spider to make things interesting. But that would probably land me in the dean’s office. Instead, I discreetly pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find Jackson’s name.
We swapped numbers after the Halloween party, but I haven’t had a reason to text him until now.
Me
Dude! It’s Gerard. Do you have some free time later today?
My leg bounces under the desk while I wait for his response. I don’t know what I’ll do if he says no. Maybe scream. Maybe throw up. Maybe let a Zamboni run me over.
I put my phone face down on the desk and give Professor Daniels my undivided attention. Five minutes later, my phone buzzes, and I pick it up faster than you can say “hot potato.”
Jackson
I’m free as a bird. Why, what’s up?
Me
Wanna grab a bite at The Brew?
Jackson
Are you asking me out on a date?
Oh, gosh. It kind of does sound like that, doesn’t it?
Maybe it’s because I’m bored out of my mind right now. Or maybe it’s because whenever I think about Elliot, I get this tingling in my belly that makes me act loopy. Either way, I answer Jackson in a way I usually wouldn’t.
Me
Only if you want me to be ;)
Three little dots appear, vanish, then pop up again. The suspense of whether I made a huge mistake is killing me. Another five minutes later, he responds.
Jackson
I think you made me hard…
How does one o’clock sound ?
The belly laugh that rips out of me echoes through the lecture hall, bouncing off the walls and drawing everyone’s attention.
Professor Daniels stops mid-sentence, his marker frozen in the air as he glares at me. “Mr. Gunnarson, is there something about my lecture that you find particularly amusing?”
My face turns a shade of red that not even a mother could love. “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”
I slump down in my seat, wishing the ceiling would cave in on me. Professor Daniels stares at me with the same intensity as Coach does when I try to make excuses for a missed play on the ice being too slippery.
“I’m watching you, Mr. Gunnarson,” he warns before picking up where he left off.
I return my attention to my phone. Jackson’s message, “I think you made me hard,” stares back at me, the words practically leaping off the screen.
I smirk, resisting the urge to laugh again.
Me
You should probably do something about that, then. And one o’clock sounds swell. See you then!
Jackson surveys the Hockey House, from the mismatched furniture to the team photos on the walls and the various knickknacks littered about. “Wow. It looks so normal without ghosts and goblins lurking in the corners.”
I chuckle, remembering how the house had been transformed for Halloween. “Yeah, we clean up pretty good. I can’t promise no monsters are hiding under some of the beds, though.”
Jackson snorts. “As long as they don’t try to steal my coffee-soaked clothes, I’ll be fine. ”
I grimace, reminded of how I clumsily spilled my coffee all over Jackson when I tried to talk to him about my feelings for Elliot. Nerves had made my hand shake uncontrollably, and the coffee mug slipped from my grasp, shattering on the table and splashing hot coffee everywhere.
Somehow, I managed to escape mostly unscathed. But Jackson? He ended up soaked.
I push open my bedroom door and usher Jackson inside. For the first time, I’m not embarrassed by the mess. Because there is no mess. Ever since Elliot moved in, he’s taken it upon himself to keep things cleaner than the White House.
I have to admit, I kind of like it this way—all neat and organized. Elliot was appalled at the dirty laundry I had all over the place, and he was even more appalled when he found that pair of crusty socks.
In truth, I hadn’t thought about cleanliness that much. Growing up, my mom always took care of laundry and cleaning. Now, living with a bunch of guys in the Hockey House, we sort of let things pile up until someone’s girlfriend takes pity on us and does a massive cleanup.
But Elliot? He attacked my mess with the devotion of a neat freak on a mission—scrubbing, folding, and putting things away until the room sparkled.
“You know cleaning my room isn’t a requirement, right?” I told him after he cleaned for the tenth time in two days. “The chores in this house are more along the lines of washing the dishes, grocery shopping, and vacuuming the living room.”
“If I’m going to be spending time in here, I need it to be somewhat bearable,” he grumbled, not tearing his eyes off the stack of books he was organizing.
That made me unreasonably happy—him talking as if living here would be a permanent thing, not an “until next semester” thing.
And because of that, I’ve made a concerted effort to keep it nice. Partly because I know how much it bothers him when things are messy. But mostly because I’ve come to appreciate what he’s done. Having a clean room makes my mind less cluttered, and now I can focus on what’s important.
Getting Jackson’s blessing to take our relationship to the next level.
I rummage through my dresser and pull out a gray sweater and matching sweatpants. As I turn around, clothes in hand, my breath hitches. Jackson has pulled his coffee-stained shirt over his head and has started unbuckling his belt. “Uh, Jackson? What are you doing?”
“Changing. What does it look like?”
“I can see that. But why are you doing it here? The bathroom is down the hall.”
Jackson shrugs, unconcerned. “You’ve already seen me naked once.”
He has a point. “Here. These should fit you.”
“Thanks, man.”
Jackson takes the sweater and sweatpants from me, and I stare at the ceiling as he shimmies out of his jeans. He pulls on the sweatpants and ties the drawstring tight around his trim waist. When he puts on the sweater, I bite back a smile at how it engulfs his body.
We may be close in height, but our frames are vastly different.
Jackson spreads his arms wide and twirls. “How do I look?”
“Like a million bucks.”
And he does. Seeing him in my clothes makes me hope that one day, it’s Elliot in his shoes—wearing my hoodies in the wintertime and my jersey at my games.
“So, this is where the magic happens?”
Wait. Oh God, does he know about the hand jobs? And my porn-star-worthy moans muffled by pillows and sheets?
Panic rises in my throat like bile. I thought Elliot and I were being discreet! But apparently not, if Jackson is making sly comments about “where the magic happens.”
Who could have told him? Elliot? They are friends, after all. Or maybe Drew? His room is next door, and I know he’s trying to worm his way into Jackson’s life.
Cheese on a Ritz cracker. This is not how I wanted this conversation to start.
Jackson takes one glance at my rapidly reddening face and chuckles. “Relax, Gerard. I’m messing with you.”
Relief floods through me so fast that I nearly collapse. I have to grip the edge of my dresser to keep myself upright.
“Right. I knew that.” I try to be suave, even though my heart pounds against my ribs like a caged bird.
Jackson smirks, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t push the issue. He flops down on my bed, making himself at home among the navy comforter and white pillows. Propping himself up on one elbow, he fixes me with a curious stare. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
I swallow hard. This is it. The moment of truth. Either Jackson and I are about to become best friends or sworn enemies.
I take a deep breath and sit down in my desk chair. It creaks under my weight, and I make a mental note to get that fixed.
“It’s about Elliot. I like him, Jackson. I want to date him, be his boyfriend, and do all that couple-y stuff that I used to make fun of my parents for.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I know it might seem sudden, considering the last time we talked, it was nothing more than a simple crush, but I can’t help how I feel. Elliot is amazing. He’s smart and funny and cute as a button. He makes me laugh, challenges me, and sees me as more than a dumb jock.”
I pause and take a deep breath. Jackson is listening intently to every word I say, but his face says nothing. Man, he has a good poker face.
“When I’m with Elliot, everything feels right. Like, this is where I’m supposed to be. This is who I’m supposed to be.”
Jackson stares at me, the silence stretching between us, thick and heavy.
I have no idea how he’s going to respond. Will he punch me? Knee me in the balls? Throw me out the window and watch me kersplat on the deck?
Or, oh God, what if he forbids me from ever seeing Elliot again? I don’t think I could handle that. I’d probably curl up into a ball and cry for days, mourning the loss of something I never truly had.
Jackson sits up, runs a hand through his hair, and exhales a long, slow breath. He studies me, really studies me, and I make a concerted effort not to move a muscle.
“Gerard, all I want is for Elliot to be happy. That’s it. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for him. He deserves to be treated as a king—worshipped, adored, and cherished.”
With every word he says, my head bobs up and down like my bobblehead. “I know, Jackson. I know. And I want to be the one to give him all of that. I want to be the one to make him smile. I want to be his person, the one he comes to when he’s had a bad day or when he’s excited about a new book at the library.”
Jackson studies me for another long moment. It unnerves me, but I force myself to hold his gaze. I need him to see how serious I am about this. About Elliot.
After an eternity, Jackson’s face softens. “Okay.”
I blink, unsure if I heard him correctly. “Okay? That’s it? You’re not going to threaten to shove your foot up my butt if I hurt him?”
Jackson laughs. “No, Gerard. I’m not going to do that. But I can’t promise I won’t be tempted.”
I stand up and hold out my hand for a shake. “This means a lot to me, Jackson. Thank you.”
He gets off the bed and grips my hand. “Give him the world, Gerard.”
“I’ll give him the whole universe if he lets me.”