Chapter 15 #2
The same goes for me, and I make myself promise that I won’t keep blowing him off. “I missed you, K. I’d love to come to one of your games soon.”
We lost the game, but we have another chance tomorrow night when we play again.
Kellan disappeared before third period was over–fair, since he’d probably have been mobbed walking out of the stadium.
I went down to the locker room after the game, and it was just as depressing as I expected.
Coop, who’s usually so upbeat that it makes me roll my eyes, stripped off his gear and left without even showering.
I did make sure to give Carter a slap on the back for his goal.
And, not that he knows it, but for the pep talk that his brother gave me a couple of days ago.
Now, I’m sitting in my apartment in the dark, watching replays of NHL games on mute.
The way the apartments are set up, every set of two units are back-to-back with one another.
The interior of my apartment is the opposite layout of Chase’s, so even though our doors are twenty-feet apart from one another, our staircases are only separated by a wall.
I think I can hear the faint shut of his screen door, wondering how he’s faring with the dismal start to our season.
I want to ask him. If I was braver, I’d march over to his apartment right now and strike up a conversation about whatever he wanted to talk about.
Lyla is with her grandparents this weekend–she made sure to tell me that when I saw her a few days ago–which means that Chase is all alone in his apartment, only feet away from me.
If I texted him and asked what he was doing, would he answer?
My fingers twitch against my thigh, imagining him opening up his front door and letting me in silently, a hungry look in his eyes. I’ve always liked thinking about abstract ideas, but I’ve never wanted to know this much about another person. It’s driving me a little crazy.
I’m surprised when I blink my eyes open and I can feel in my body that it’s late. The middle of the night, probably. I glance down at my watch and confirm that it’s close to two a.m. I fell asleep thinking about Chase, and my dreams weren’t ready to let him go.
This nap is way different than my usual fits-and-starts of exhausted sleep.
I reach down and touch on top of my pants, my cock hard.
I can’t escape him in real life, and my dreams seem to have the same idea.
Given how turned on I am, I’m surprised that I didn’t wake up covered in come.
In my dream, I was thinking about Chase–his body enveloping mine on the treatment table–the feeling of his hard cock pushing against my thigh.
I woke up just as my hand was wrapping around his shaft, and it’s like I can still feel him as my hands clench around my own throbbing cock. I don’t think about what it means that I’m masturbating to the idea of him. The only clear thought driving me forward is that I need to find release.
I snake my hand underneath my joggers–which I changed into when I got home–and I rub my fingers against my already swollen tip.
“Fuck,” I breathe out quietly, needlessly shooting a glance at the door and wrapping my entire hand around my length.
Once, before I’d fallen asleep, I’d heard something over in Chase’s apartment again. I wonder if he went out somewhere. Went out to meet someone. Or god forbid, if he invited someone over since Lyla was gone.
I can’t fight the idea of him. I don’t have that kind of power. And now that I’ve put a name to this feeling, it’s leading me around like I’m a dog on a leash. It feels so out of my control as I start stroking up and down, my balls already tight and aching.
What do I want from him? To take my cock in his mouth and suck me until I come? I groan, imagining it.
I stretch out my long legs and put an arm behind my head, trying to draw this moment of pleasure out.
Chase is back in my mind’s eye again quickly, my dream snapping vividly into focus.
I think about his clean lines of muscle and his thighs, how I want to see them shake with need while I stroke him exactly like I’m doing to myself.
God, how have I never done this before? I mean, I’ve definitely masturbated, but never thinking about a specific person.
Usually, I’m turned on but I don’t exactly know why.
Maybe it’s after a hard practice or maybe I just watched a movie and the thought strikes me.
Though, 300 being my favorite rewatch is starting to make a lot more sense.
I lean my head against the back of the sofa, blood pumping through me.
I want to run my hands down his body, to feel his skin under the pads of my fingers.
I want to take him in my mouth, too. I want to know the sounds that he makes while I lick him from his tip down to his balls.
I want him to press me down against that treatment table–or any surface, really–and press his cock against my ass, pushing into me like he can’t get enough.
I want him to feel this wild, out of control feeling percolating inside of me, too. I stroke harder and with more purpose. Yeah, that’s what I want.
Part of me knows that this is wrong–fantasizing about him like this–but the bigger part of me loves every fucking second of this, would love to tell him all about how I’m touching myself right now just to see his reaction.
How would he feel to know that I’m twenty feet away, jerking myself off to the idea of him?
Would he like that precum is dripping all over my fingers as I work myself up and down?
My hand picks up a rhythm when I start to think about his lips and tongue lapping up every drop of wetness.
I grunt when I think about taking his face in my hands and guiding my cock into his mouth.
He pulls me in deep and fast, and the idea of that drives me over the edge.
I grit my teeth to stay quiet, even though it doesn’t matter, coming hard with a shudder that wracks my body.
My muscles clench, and I keep working my cock, pulling every last drop out like it will do something to alleviate my obsession with him.
Not likely–he’s taken root in every molecule and nerve ending, spreading through my body like I’m infected.
My joggers are around my thighs and there’s come all over my shirt. I don’t recognize this version of myself–a guy who needed relief so badly that I hurtled toward my orgasm without a second thought.
I’ll clean myself up in a minute, I tell myself. Right now, I just need to bask in how fucking good this feels.
But, I do make a promise to myself. Tomorrow night, I can’t let myself be around the apartments when he gets back home. I don’t know what I’ll say to him if I am.