Chapter Seven #2
I nodded. Watching him push himself up, then tug his shirt off.
Body lithe and compact, making me wonder what he looked like sandwiched under Flynn’s larger, wider form.
How they decided when they’d fuck together, and when one would be relegated to the chair in the corner, destined only to observe as a stranger got off.
Well, the voice in my brain whispered, not quite a stranger.
William crawled up onto the bed, on all fours. Ass hiked, looking back at me over his shoulder.
“Condom?” I asked.
He licked his lips. “I’m on PrEP, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but...”
William rolled his eyes, but he still nodded at the nightstand. “Top drawer. With the lube.”
I slapped his cheek, as I leaned past him. “Did you get ready before I arrived,” I asked, as I tore open the foil, “or am I not your first tonight?” My slick fingers slipped into him easily; I leaned down, my chest against his back as I worked him.
He chuckled, wriggling delightedly under my weight. “Does it matter?”
“Just checking to see how easy I have to take it on you,” I said, trying to focus on more than just what my old friend could see from his seat across the room.
William pushed his dangling hair behind his ear, so there was no disguising his smirk. “If you hold back, I’ll kick you out.”
Snorting, I pulled my fingers free. “Does he like to hear you squeal?”
Judging by the way his back arched even more, William was equally keen for us to get on with things. “Less talk, Oli, before I start to think you’re all mouth and no action.”
I laughed, as I tugged his hips up with both hands on his waist, and stabbed into him.
A sharp hiss - and, across from us, Flynn’s eyes widened above the leather gag - but no move to stop me. William’s body leaning back, in fact, and my own hips responding to that silent invitation by driving forward. Barely time to savor the sensations, before I was pressed against his cheeks.
I knew I should be paying attention to him, watching for all those unspoken signs that punctuate sex, even between absolute strangers.
Only I couldn’t help but cut my eyes to where Flynn sat - as immobile as if carved from marble, fingers tightly gripping the arms of the chair - as he stared at me and his boyfriend.
Maybe William had done it intentionally; maybe they’d done this so often, now, the positioning was instinctive by this point. Either way, we were almost side-on to Flynn’s viewpoint. I barely needed to shift my leg, in order to give him a perfect view of where our bodies were joined.
“Don’t stop,” William gasped, hands clawing fistfuls of the sheets, then grunted again as I dragged my hips back.
I’d teased him, about not being the first that day, but he felt perfect. Easy, then, to set up a deep rhythm, the smell of sweat and musk rising from his body; all too tempting not to drape myself across his back and bury my nose in his soft hair, while my hips pumped.
“H-harder.”
I eased my hands down his arms, until my fingers were laced in his.
Covering William completely, pressing him down into the bedding until his stomach was flat against it.
Wondering, too, if Flynn’s angle was just right; whether he was imagining it was him on top of his boyfriend, or if - in the depths of a fantasy I still didn’t quite understand - he was picturing being the one caught beneath me.
No way, once that thought was lodged into my brain, not to imagine it myself. That it was Flynn, not William I was pounding; Flynn, not William, whose heat was like a furnace against my chest and stomach. Flynn’s sweat building between us; Flynn’s gasps as my hips twisted.
I turned my head, cheek pressed against William’s crown.
Glowering - my face flushed, I knew, mouth fallen open as I panted like something wild, an animal - at my childhood buddy as he watched me drag pleasure from his partner’s body.
Desperate, suddenly, to know how he saw me, what he thought of this version of Oli in his apartment, on his bed.
So different from the kid in the house next door.
We’d been naked around each other, then. In the pond behind the Peterson’s old barn, whooping with the other boys as we leapt from the stubby, worn-wood jetty into the cool and reedy water. But those were boys’ bodies, plasticine and barely possessing of promise. Flynn had never seen me as a man.
Pushing myself up, my hands on William’s shoulders, I screwed him harder. Showier: fucking as a performance. Flaunting myself, my liberation; how - unlike Flynn - my mouth was bared, even if all I could use it for was to grunt and hiss through clenched teeth.
His boyfriend gibbered and squirmed beneath me, begging me to keep going.
I wanted to understand, but at the same time I knew it was unimportant. Unnecessary, right now at least, for me to comprehend their dynamic, the outline of their relationship and its rules. Sufficient to have been brought this far into it: a tool, more than a man.
His gaze on me was like something sharp and physical, and that thought alone was enough to drive me to the edge of my own climax.
“Fuck... fuck...”
The words grated out of me, as with a wrench that felt sickening I yanked myself out of William. Flipping him beneath me, my knees straddling his thighs; the condom snapped off and flicked away, my fist a blur.
It felt more intimate, somehow, more flaying to be doing this in front of Flynn.
Even compared to screwing his partner: like what I was doing, now, was something deeply private, meant to be shrouded in mystery.
The way my fingers twisted; the way my stomach muscles clenched, one arm thrown behind me as I pushed my hips forward.
Driving myself through my grip, and knowing that his eyes were on me with a burning sort of certainty had to be enough, because turning to look at him was an impossibility in this universe.
William squeezed my thighs, fingers digging into the muscle, and then it was all too much.
Messy, across his face and neck, my abs clenched tight enough to cramp. Feeling the bed shake, William twisting beneath me, and then the sudden spray of warmth against my back.
I panted, and dripped, and tried to predict what Flynn’s expression would be when I dared turn to look at him.
Wondering, too, what the protocol was now; how the dynamic shifted.
Whether it was Flynn’s turn to get off, and if I was meant to stay for that or not.
If I’d been the appetizer, the amuse-bouche to an eventual orgasm at his boyfriend’s hands, or if this denial was to be dragged out.
A torture much longer than my presence in their apartment.
William tapped my legs, breaking into my reverie. I lifted off him, allowing him to sit up.
“That was good. Really good.” He stroked down my still half-hard cock, seemingly weighing it with appraising curiosity. As if trying to compare the knowledge that it’d been inside him with what he could look at, squeeze, now.
“Yeah, it was,” I told him, and meant it. He’d not been the guy I’d expected to fuck this weekend, but I couldn’t exactly say it’d been a disappointment compared to the flirtatious promises Conner and I had made each other.
“Sorry I made a mess of your back.” His grin suggested the words weren’t entirely sincere.
“Can I use your bathroom?”
He gestured the right direction. Watched me as I bent to scoop up my underwear and walked across the room. “Fresh towels under the counter,” he called out, at the last minute.
A shiver, of self-consciousness, as I shut the bathroom door behind me. I’d not looked across at Flynn, had studiously ignored him; as if he was an extension of the armchair, inanimate and inattentive. Terrified of having to explain my presence, now that the sex had been done with.
A quick shower; the scrub perfunctory, enough to make putting on my clothes a less sticky endeavor. Trying not to imagine Flynn doing laundry; washing, and drying, and folding the towel I used to rub myself dry. Avoiding my reflection in the mirror, too.
I pulled up my boxer-briefs and, jaw clenched, walked back into the bedroom.
Not knowing, really, what to expect; what scene might be in front of me. William astride Flynn in the chair, perhaps, or that same, indecipherable expression in Flynn’s eyes as he took his own pleasure in hand. Permission granted, as his boyfriend watched from the edge of the bed.
The chair was empty.
William looked up, from his phone. “That was hot, Oli. I’m glad we could do it.”
I nodded, reaching for my shirt. “Me too.”
“You just in town for the weekend?” He smiled, at my questioning look. “I hadn’t seen you on the apps before.”
I shrugged, feeling weirdly bashful. Like my hick status had been secretly confirmed. “Yeah. Just visiting.”
“Well, lucky me.” He stood, stepping closer. At some point, while I’d been out of the room, he’d wiped his face. Pulled his hair back into its loose ponytail.
The kiss was soft, and anodyne, and felt like goodbye.
He trailed me to the hallway; waited, as I slipped on my shoes. Head cocked, just slightly, with curiosity as I paused with my hand on the door.
“What about...” I stopped, remembering William had never said his partner’s name. “What happens to him?”
He smirked at the question. “Like I said, don’t worry about him.”
A beat. It was clear that was all the detail I was getting.
I nodded, pulling the door open. “Well, goodnight.”
William winked, so quickly I almost missed it. “’Night, Oli.”