Chapter 9 Stan
Stan
We barely make it back into our room before I’m losing a fistfight with my pants.
The door’s not even fully closed when I’m busy trying to kick my slacks off, completely failing at it. My hands are too jittery. And my hot rod’s in the way. Go down, boy! Just for a second!
When I check on what Nil’s doing, he’s busy looking at the bunks. “Top or bottom?”
“Bottom,” I say instantly, giving up on the pants thing. “The bed, I mean. And maybe the other thing. Wait, no, I’m a switch. Whatever you need me to be, Ocean Eyes.”
“Stan,” he hisses. “I’m leaking here.”
My eyes drop to the front of his sweats where, yeah, there’s a dark spot, all wet and tempting. My tongue has opinions about it.
“Stop staring,” he warns.
“You mentioned it,” I protest.
“I asked,” Nil snaps. “Top or bottom?”
“I said bottom, babe.”
He grabs me by the collar and hauls me to my bunk. He falls onto it. I go with him, bracing above him so I don’t crush him.
Then I roll my hips. Hard.
Nil’s head tips back. A sound comes out of him that sends heat to my groin. I want that sound as my ringtone.
I kiss down the line of his throat. His pulse jumps under my mouth like it’s trying to sprint away. He’s never gonna get away from me. Now that I have him, he’s mine.
My hands hold onto his hips. His hands slide under my shirt, warm as they sweep up my back. My spine jerks hard enough that the mattress squeaks like it’s scared of us.
We might break it. Whatever. Let the bunk break.
He fists my shirt and drags me back to his mouth. I kiss him back because there’s no universe where I wouldn’t. His lips part, and everything in my head gets loud.
More, more, more. I want more.
I press my knee between his thighs and he lifts his hips into me.
“Oh, wow,” I say against his mouth. “Nil, you’re so—”
“—goddamn hard for you,” he growls.
Yeah, I’m gone.
His legs hook over my waist, and our hips move in a rhythm that hits me in places I’ve never had feelings before. Can cocks cry tears of joy? We’re about to find out.
I bury my face into his neck ‘cause looking at him hurts in a way I like too much. He smells so good, like fresh air and clean laundry, when all my thoughts are fucking filth.
My hips buck. The bunk squeaks.
Handle our joy, you cowardly bed.
Nil pulls me closer. I can feel him. He can definitely feel me. Everything in me tremors.
“Oh my god,” I say, smiling when I catch my breath. “This is unreal.”
“Kiss me,” he whispers.
Yeah. Game over.
We’re making out like we’ll never come up for air.
But we do need air, so I kiss his jaw. His throat. His collarbone. I kiss anything I can reach before my brain can yell at me about being too much too fast. That thought goes away faster when he makes these sounds every time I grind on a spot he likes. I want to tattoo every sound into my soul.
“Nil,” I whisper. “I’m losing it.”
“Don’t stop,” he says. His voice shakes. His legs wrap around my waist, grip me hard enough to bruise. I want him to.
He keeps moving with me. We’re lined up just right, each grind sending more heat through my entire trembling body. My arms start to shake. I try to hold myself up. I fail a little.
He holds me steady. “I’m right here, Stan. I’ll catch you.”
“Don’t say things like that,” I mutter. “I’ll come in my pants.”
He laughs, breath shaking. He rocks up against me, and everything in me kicks into overdrive. The friction gets intense fast. Clothes or no clothes, it doesn’t matter. I can fucking feel every damn inch of him. He’s longer, but I’m thicker. He’s leaking a lot. I wanna taste it real bad.
My stomach tightens, my body shakes, and I can’t come down. I’m only climbing higher and higher.
“Nil.” I gasp. “I can’t—”
“Keep going,” he whispers. “Stay with me, Stan.”
I stay. I keep going. I make a sound I’m going to pretend never happened. My forehead drops to his shoulder. My breath halts. The world goes blurry.
A heartbeat later, everything snaps, and I go over, shuddering hard, clinging to him while the heat crashes through me. I splatter all over myself, through my pants. Maybe it hits his too. I’m too spent to check.
I slump against him, breathing like I’ve run a marathon with emotional baggage strapped to my back and finally let it go right before sprinting through the finish line.
With a soft laugh, Nil rubs my shoulder. “Stan?”
“I’m alive,” I manage to form words. “Barely. Spirit in pieces.”
He laughs under me. He’s still tense, still worked up.
I push up on my elbows to look at him. His face is kinda pink, hair messy, mouth swollen.
He looks…incredible. I can’t believe this actually happened, and he’s still under me, staring at me like he wants more.
“Did I leave you hanging?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” he says.
That’s definitely not fine in my books, but then I see this proud look in his eyes that hits me straight in the stomach. “Medically died there for a minute, I think,” I whisper.
“That’s what it looked like,” he says. “Thought I broke you.”
“You did,” I say. “But not in a bad way.”
His hand caresses my arm, all careful and warm. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.
“Not even close,” I say. “You were so good.”
“I’m glad. I want this to feel good for you.”
“It does. You do. I want you to feel good too, y’know.”
He smiles big. “It’ll happen. Don’t worry.”
We take a breath, both trying to get our bodies to go back to normal. Well, at least I am. But my body’s buzzing.
I look down and stare at the sticky mess I made. I don’t know if I should frown guiltily or grin smugly, so I land on grinning guiltily.
“Shit, sorry about your sweats,” I mumble. “And this mattress. Sorry, sheets.”
Nil snorts. “Stop apologizing to inanimate objects.”
“At least let me respect the room. The room has seen some shit now.”
His laugh comes out real and sweet, and I swear something in me clicks into place.
I rest my forehead against his. “We should change.”
“Yeah, soon,” he says, but he still doesn’t let go of me. “Stay here for a second?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper, smiling back. “My legs can’t pass a sobriety test right now.”
He closes his eyes, like my stupid joke settles something in him. I like that look on him a lot.
He settles me down too. And I really think I could get used to this.
***
Nil eventually shuffles from under me like he remembers he has blood flow and stiff muscles and maybe a brain with a decent conscience.
Not like mine, though. I’m still thinking dirty thoughts.
“Let me help you clean up,” he whispers, voice rough.
“Uh, sure,” I say, still half melted onto him and definitely not wanting to move.
But the sexy stickiness down below’s turning into an awkward strain. You know that feeling where it’s getting stuck to the groin? Yeah, not recommended.
He sits up first, tugging me with him by my shirt. His sweats have a dark patch where he was leaking. He’s not bothering me about it, but he really should.
Push me down on my knees and make me suck you off, Ocean Eyes. That’s what I wanna say.
And for real, I would. Big time. Beg real hard.
But the look on his face is all serious and daring, like if I try to start something I’m not ready to finish, he’ll finish me.
We’re just getting started. I don’t want it to end yet, so I let him take the lead.
I follow him into the tiny half-bath. The light flicks on. The mirror fogs up a bit. Usually, I hate mirrors—too many flashbacks of Ma’s office and all the ways she turned my reflection into a nightmare.
But then Nil steps in behind me, his chest on my back, and suddenly I can stare at my reflection.
He peels my pants and boxers off. My face is sorta pink, and my shirt’s twisted halfway up with my abs peeking out.
Hello, hot stuff.
But Nil’s way hotter. He looks completely in control, which is unfairly sexy. His pupils are blown. Barely any blue there.
Through the mirror, I watch his hands find my waist. He pulls me back a step, and my knees briefly consider giving up on life.
“Be a good boy for me and behave,” he says.
My spine straightens up. I nod. I don’t know if words exist anymore.
His fingers are tight at my waist and he guides me backward until my hips meet his. The pressure’s so perfect it punches the air out of me.
I brace my hands on the sink. The ceramic feels cold. Everything else in here is scorchin’ hot.
He watches me in the mirror. “You’re worked up,” he says, calm and cool.
“Y-Yeah…” I whisper, voice breaking.
“Wonder why,” he whispers back.
Fucking tease.
One hand slides up under my shirt, his palm firm enough to jolt my chest. “Hold onto the sink,” he says.
“I am.”
“Tighter.”
Groaning, I grip the ceramic until my arms shake.
Nil’s mouth finds my ear. His teeth graze my earlobe, then he bites. “Good boy.”
I close my eyes. My cock’s up, aching for attention. I think I might come again.
He obviously sees. I’m barenaked except for my shirt riding up. The tip of my throbbing cock is dipping his forearm in precum.
I wanna thrust up. I want him to strip me completely naked. I could explain the tattoo. I could promise to laser it off, even if I heard those hurt worse than getting it.
Nil breaks me away from my thoughts. His hand’s sliding down real slow. Fingers trace my abs. Touch my v-line. Then they wrap around my aching cock.
Yes.
The groan out of me sounds like it was ripped outta my throat.
“Such a perfect good boy,” he whispers into my ear.
I shudder. Full body, soul-floating shudder.
“Open your eyes, Stan.”
I didn’t realize I closed them. Blinking my heavy eyes, I look at our reflection. My eyes are half-lidded, dazed. There’s a line of drool down the corner of my mouth.
“I want you to see what I do to you,” Nil says.
My throat closes. Words are on strike. My heart’s negotiating.
His other hand’s low on my hip. My whole body reacts with rocking motions.
“You take my direction so well, Stan,” he says.
“I’m trying…”
“You don’t have to try. You’re good at it.”