Chapter 10 #2
Jesus Christ, he's so fucking hot. He waves at me, still talking, and his arm flexes in a way that makes my dick firm up. He walks toward me, scratching the back of his head like he always does, but this time, he’s in that tank top so I get an eyeful of everything, even the divot in his armpit.
How is it possible for me to find that irresistible, too?
“I really wanted to see you,” Ian says, snapping me back to reality, or what I think is reality because I'm not sure what's real anymore, and—
Oh, god, I’m in heaven—he's straddling me! Ian is straddling me, and his tank top is gone and he's pressing his lips to mine and his hands are in my pants, and it feels so good. So fucking good. Way too good. I’m gonna—
I wake up right as I come. Hard. I let out a low groan as sparks surge down to my toes, my core tightening as the pleasure courses through me. Holy shit, that’s so good.
Disoriented, I blink into the blurry morning light as I get my bearings, and my foggy, blissed-out confusion is replaced with the worst sense of dread I've felt in years.
My chest tightens as I force my way through deep, harsh breaths.
I had a sex dream about Ian.
Ian.
The guy who's been nothing but kind to me and hasn't asked for anything in return. For crying out loud, he took me into his house and then my depraved brain had to use him for something awful, and I’m not even a week into living with him.
I roll over to jam my face into the pillow, and the movement presses my release into my leg, reminding me, again, that I'm disgusting.
Ian is too good to me. I don't… No. I don't deserve a friend like him. All I’ll do is mess this up, like I did just now.
A door opens. Oh, shoot. He’s up.
“Hey, man, are you awake?” Ian calls out from the other side of the bookshelf, and the fact that he's cheery instead of grossed out manages to make my chest lighter.
Right. He doesn't know I had a wet dream about him, so of course he's still being nice to me.
The weight returns.
“Y-yeah,” I manage. “Still in bed though.”
“Nice. Anyway, I'm going to work out, and I won't be back until late tonight as usual. There's breakfast in the oven if you want any.”
“Awesome, thanks,” I reply before realizing that I spoke like Ian does. There's no way I would have said awesome a month ago.
The front door clicks shut, and I'm left alone with the renewed realization that all I do is take from him.
His food. His living room. His privacy. I can add his body, consent, and even the way he talks to that long, shameful list.
I need to stop whatever it is I'm doing. Ian doesn't need to have a voyeur sleeping on his couch. While I've tried to keep myself under wraps, I have a feeling that I'm not being as subtle as I'd hoped, given his constant absence and meticulous scheduling.
It's like he’s sick of me already.
The thought makes my core sink. I don't want to keep thinking this way about him, and I don't want to lose the first friend I've had in years.
I've got to get better. I’m trying, but it needs to happen, and fast.
So I do the only thing I can think of and reach for my phone to schedule another appointment with Anita, and thankfully, thankfully, she has drop-in slots open today.
I was doing so well and crawling out of my own hole until I betrayed myself and started lusting after the guy who least deserves it.
Wincing, I push myself off of the couch and strip the sheets, throwing them into the washing machine on my way to the bathroom.
While I wait for the shower to warm up, I scrub my boxers with cold water and hand soap the way I always have.
Back at home, I had to hide all evidence of my involuntary, dirty transgressions, and I now know that nothing has changed.
Into the shower I go, and I use a lot more pressure than usual when cleaning myself off.
I’m no dirtier than normal, at least above my waist and below my knees, but I feel like I am.
There’s something tenacious settling across my body, so I stop just short of scraping my skin off with my fingernails.
I do the same in my groin, where I really need it.
My dick stiffens, clearly missing the memo.
No. Down. You’ve done enough for today.
My shaft pulses in protest as I yank my hand away, and I hiss a frustrated breath through my teeth, rinsing the soap off and thinking about all the assignments I haven’t done as an ineffective distraction.
Water off, towel dry, get dressed. Then I’m off to my impromptu appointment where I’ll hopefully get my bearings, and some advice on how to control myself.
“Hi, Callum,” Anita says as I walk into her office. “How are you?”
I offer a noncommittal, “I’m okay, thanks.”
“What brings you here last-minute?”
After leaning forward in the armchair and picking at a fingernail, I catch her up on the whole dorm evacuation and moving in with Ian, before pausing to consider how I can explain my crush without looking like a total perverted creep.
While I've mentioned him before, she doesn't know the full extent of how bad I have it for him. Not yet.
“I also have constant, unwelcome, and inappropriate thoughts about him,” I say. “It isn't fair to him that I think about him like that.”
Anita takes a quiet breath, finishing up a note in my file. “Are you doing anything differently, either in your thinking or your behavior around him?”
“My thinking?” I grit my teeth. “Same as always—I’m telling myself that this isn't right and that I need to fix it. And I'm trying not to be weird around him, but hey, I'm me, so that's easier said than done.”
Anita doesn’t laugh at my poorly timed levity, and she puts her pen down, fixing me with a softer expression than I've seen her use before. “Intimate thoughts about someone you're attracted to are completely natural.”
“Yeah, I know that, but it still feels wrong to keep having them. He doesn't know I’m gay, and I just know he doesn't want me to be attracted to him.” Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I search for the right words. “I guess I'm too weak to properly control myself.”
“So let me get things straight,” she starts. “You say Ian is kind, friendly, he opened his house to you with no strings attached, and on top of that, you found him attractive as soon as you saw him.”
I nod, and heat floods my ears. “Yeah, he’s kind of irresistible.”
“You aren't weak for liking him,” Anita says firmly. “You're allowed to like him. But if it's not reciprocated like you say, it's important to manage that so it doesn't consume you.”
“Sounds easy enough,” I say. “What would that look like?”
“Do you think it might be helpful to get some distance from time to time?”
“We live together,” I remind her.
Anita offers me a warm smile. “Physical distance isn't all that matters. For a start, you could see friends who aren't Ian. That's not to say you two can't spend time together, but for a while, you could let him initiate plans instead, if you're the one suggesting them.”
My mind replays the start of our most recent hangouts, and pretty much all of them, save for a couple of workouts or study sessions here and there, were because he asked me. So I tell her.
“Right, so he keeps himself busy, but often invites you to spend time together,” Anita repeats.
It seems like she's thinking or holding back something, but I can't tell what.
“I can also suggest time, because it hasn't been very long. He sounds like a very good friend, and after a while, it’s possible that you accept him in that role, rather than as an unrequited interest.”
“It’s already been a month,” I mutter. “Shouldn’t that be long enough?”
It certainly should have been long enough to not have a wet dream about him, and to shut down the wild, dangerous fantasies that creep into my brain every time he does something cute. Which, given who he is, is everything he does.
I swear, watching him rub his eyebrow when he’s tired shouldn’t make me lose my breath.
“Emotions are complicated, Callum. That’s one of the reasons why I’m here.
” She writes a few notes into her tablet before continuing.
“For now, you could try making that space, and if you continue feeling bad about having these thoughts, you can always use some of the anxiety exercises we’ve worked through. ”
Oh, right. Those. I haven’t needed to break those out too often, but I suppose they could work on my ever-increasing spirals about how much I like Ian.
The rest of our session is spent reviewing the various anxiety and grounding exercises we’ve discussed before, and I leave feeling okay—better than before, but not great. Still, I need time to get over him, and it’s only been hours.
Once I’m back at Ian’s place, I shake my jacket off and grab my laptop to get some work done. The second I sink into the couch, there's jangling at the door, and my breath catches.
He’s back. The sound of keys shaking in the lock continues for a little too long, as usual, followed by the door creaking open.
It's not that heavy, and he’s an athlete. He's doing that on purpose. Again, he's tiptoeing around me, and that makes my gut plummet.
Ian comes crashing in, dropping his snow jacket to reveal his baseball uniform. Right. He started outdoor training for the season today, hence his lack of a hoodie.
Why on earth do baseball players have such tight uniforms?
He’s facing away from me to hang his jacket and gear up, and my eyes stay glued to those pants. They’re so frustratingly form-fitting, especially around his butt. That makes my mouth dry and wakes my dick up.
So much for seeing him as a friend.
I avert my gaze to the safety of my laptop mere milliseconds before Ian turns to me. Deciding to be friendly, I give him the kind of upward nod he always gives to me, and his face lights up.
That tiny little action sends delightful sparks into my tailbone.
“You wake up from a nap?” he asks, walking over.
“No, why?”
Ian’s eyes crinkle at the corner as he grins at me. “Your hair is kinda messy.”
Crap. I bring a hand to my head and try to smooth the unruly strands.
“Hey, I didn’t say that was a bad thing,” he says. “I kinda dig the relaxed vibe.”
“Yeah?”
“For sure!” He somehow manages to smile even wider, and my stomach manages to flip even more. “Tell you what, you should snag some of my hair paste and make your hair all scruffy.”
Make myself look disheveled on purpose? That sounds like the best way to make people stare at me even more than they do already. “You think so?”
He remains undeterred. “Totally. Cute, rugged hair on a guy like you? Chick magnet, guaran-fucking-teed…” He trails off, his face firming up. “Anyway. You got any plans tonight?”
Yeah, following Anita's advice and trying not to fall harder for you.
I shake my head instead. “What about you?”
“Me neither. I thought about having some friends over, but some one-on-one dude time with you sounds better. Other than, like, hitting the gym, we haven’t really hung out since you moved in, and I really want to do that tonight if you’re down.”
Ian wants to hang out. With me. Alone.
That should be the worst thing for me and my lack of self-regulation, but I smile and nod instead because he made my night, simply by wanting to spend time together.