Chapter Eight #2
Eric beamed, far too happy about this development.
He stood and offered Kyle his hand, a natural gesture that he would offer one of his teammates on the ice or at the gym.
But when Kyle took his hand, suddenly nothing about it seemed natural or familiar.
Kyle’s fingers were cold, probably from rinsing out the beer bottles, and his skin was rougher than Eric had been expecting.
He pulled Kyle to his feet, and then Kyle’s face was inches away from Eric’s own.
Their chests were almost brushing against each other as Kyle gazed at him with sleepy blue eyes.
Eric was still holding his hand.
“I’ll, um. I’ll show you your room. I can lend you some pajama pants, if you like.”
Kyle brushed his thumb over Eric’s knuckles, then released his hand. “Thanks.”
Eric turned away before he did something unforgivable, like invite Kyle to share his own bed. He led Kyle to the bedroom that was on the same floor as the kitchen. It was Eric’s favorite of the two guest rooms.
“Oh wow,” Kyle said when Eric turned on the bedside lamp.
The room was at the front of the house, and there was a large window that looked to the street.
The wall with the window was exposed brick, which Eric loved, and the rest of the walls were stark white, as was the bedding, the armchair in the corner, and the rug.
Above the bed’s light-stained maple headboard hung a large framed black-and-white photograph of a fog-laden rocky beach.
“There’s a white noise machine,” Eric said, gesturing to the small device that sat beside the lamp. “If you need it.”
“I might,” Kyle said. “I’ve been in the city for over six years and I still can’t quite block out the noise at night.”
“Where’s home?”
“Vermont. Or, it was home, anyway.”
Eric didn’t like the sound of that, but he also knew that three in the morning wasn’t the time to be getting into sad stories. So he just said, “I love Vermont.”
“Me too. This photograph is beautiful. Do you know where this is?”
“Wales.” Eric hesitated a moment, then said, “I took it.”
Kyle’s head whipped around, his eyes wide under his glasses. “You took that?”
“I dabble. I’m not a professional by any stretch.”
“You could be. Holy shit.” He winked. “What other talents are you hiding?”
Heat crept up Eric’s neck. Kyle was not making it easy to think pure thoughts.
“Sorry,” Kyle said. “That was the last one. I promise. I’m just sleepy and silly. And I haven’t had sex in forever.”
“Right. No problem,” Eric said stiffly. “I’ll go get you those pajamas. And a toothbrush. Do you need anything else?”
“Can’t think of anything.”
Eric left quickly. He did not like how easily flustered he got in Kyle’s company.
In his bedroom, he took a moment to compose himself, then he grabbed his softest pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt before going to the bathroom to find a new toothbrush and some toothpaste.
When he returned to Kyle’s room, he nearly dropped everything he was carrying.
Kyle was sprawled out on the bed, shirtless with the button of his jeans unfastened. His body was lean and toned—the body of an athlete who was built for speed.
Kyle propped himself up on his elbows, his abs flexing as he curled up to face Eric. “Is this duvet cover linen?”
“Yes,” Eric said weakly. “The sheets are too.”
Kyle fell back on the bed and let out a long, guttural moan of pleasure that made Eric lower the bundle in his hands so it covered his crotch. “Fuuuuck. And these pillows,” Kyle continued, oblivious to the alarming spike in Eric’s arousal. “I am so fucking horny for this bed.”
Oh, come on, universe. Not fair.
“I have pajamas. And a toothbrush. I’ll just...” Well, Eric couldn’t hand them to him. Not with his erection trying to bust through his pants. “I’ll leave them here.” He set them on the chair in the corner and turned quickly toward the door. “Goodnight.”
“Hey,” Kyle said.
Eric paused, but he kept his back to Kyle. “Yes?”
“It was a good party. Everyone had fun.”
“You think?” Eric turned his head to the side so he wasn’t completely shutting Kyle out.
“Definitely. I watch people drinking and having fun several times a week at work. I’m an expert on who’s having a good time and who isn’t. The party was a hit.”
“That’s good to hear.” He stood for another moment, waiting to see if Kyle had anything more to say, then said, “Sleep well.”
“I am going to sleep so hard in this bed.”
Eric smiled to himself and pulled the door closed behind him. When it was almost shut, he heard Kyle say, “Happy birthday.”
Eric had his jeans unfastened before he’d even reached his bedroom on the top floor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this desperate to jerk off.
The moment he closed his bedroom door behind him, his jeans hit the floor with the loud clatter of his belt.
He shoved his hand into his briefs and groaned so loudly when he gripped his cock that he shoved the knuckles of his free hand into his mouth to muffle the noise.
He fell on his bed and slid his briefs down to his ankles, kicking them away as he yanked his shirt off and threw it to the floor.
Eric had never directly—or indirectly—compared his masturbation techniques to another man’s, but he assumed he was in the top percentile for efficiency. Eric was efficient in all things; efficient, disciplined, and practiced. He had jerking off down to a science.
He wondered if Kyle was stroking himself too.
If at this moment he was naked and writhing on Eric’s linen bed sheets, his long, work-rough fingers working a cock that Eric could only imagine.
And god, could he imagine it. Long and beautiful and jutting out from pubic hair that was the same dark blond as the hair that had trailed into the waistband of his jeans.
Kyle’s abs clenching and flexing as he got closer to the edge.
As he got himself to where Eric was right now, teetering on the brink.
If Kyle was jerking off too, was he thinking about Eric? Was he about to come with Eric’s name on his lips like Eric was about to—
“Fuck. Kyle. Please.” Eric whispered the words as he arched and came all over his stomach.
When it was over, when the last rush of pleasure had left his body and Eric was left holding his softening dick with semen drying on his skin, shame set in.
What the fuck was he doing? He was a dirty old man jerking off to thoughts of the lovely young man who’d been kind enough to help him clean up after his party.
Barely more than an acquaintance. A possible new friend.
Eric was pathetic.
But he was definitely attracted to men. His bisexuality felt a whole lot less theoretical, even just allowing himself to fantasize about another man. A specific other man. A man who was sleeping two floors below Eric right now. Wearing Eric’s pajamas.
Unless he was sleeping naked.
Oh god.
Eric took a few long, slow breaths and then began to reason this thing out. No one was getting hurt here. And Kyle had to know that his flirtations would have an effect on Eric. Assuming that Kyle knew Eric was attracted to him—attracted to men.
Was it a problem if he did know? Eric had always assumed it was something that people wouldn’t guess about him, but he’d never been faced with a man he’d wanted as much as Kyle. Maybe his desire was plain as day when he was talking to him. It was something to think about, for sure.
Eric dragged himself into the bathroom and cleaned himself quickly. He went to his walk-in closet and found his second-softest pajama pants, enjoying the caress of bamboo as he pulled them on. The slick fabric felt cool against his heated skin.
When he got into bed, he realized how exhausted he was. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of winter-blue eyes dancing behind glasses, calloused hands, and disheveled corn silk hair.