Chapter 7Stiles
CHAPTER
SEVEN
STILES
“I’m going to clear out one of my drawers for you,” Mac offers, slipping his shirt off his shoulders.
It’s been four days, and not one word has been spoken about cockgate. Mac hasn’t brought it up, and I certainly haven’t. Neither of us has mentioned me moving back to my apartment, either. I haven’t even called my landlord to see if the fleas are gone.
“Thanks. I’m gonna grab a shower.”
One plus about this apartment is that it has scalding hot water. I like that shit to melt the skin off my bones. Grabbing McCormick’s purple loofa, I dribble soap onto it and scrub my body until I’m covered in suds. My neglected cock begs for attention, and I soap it up and drop the sponge, grabbing my cock instead. It hardens before my eyes, just from thinking about what I’m gonna do to it.
“Just so you know, I would have done it.” I can’t stop replaying those words in my head.
My fist strokes up and down my shaft, squeezing the head with each pass. Damn, that feels good, like?—
“Did you see that hickey on Rhett’s neck in group today? He’s definitely the bottom in that relationship,” he snickers, lifting the lid on the toilet seat.
“Jesus Christ! I’m trying to shower!” He just busts up in here like I’m not naked on the other side of this paper-thin curtain.
McCormick squints at the curtain, at me . “Are you washing it or playing with it?”
Usually, I might laugh at that, but not after the week we’ve had. “Okay, tomorrow I’m getting a shower curtain that’s not see-through. Get the fuck out. Go piss in the kitchen sink.”
He flushes the toilet, knowing it’s going to make my shower run ice-cold. “That’s disgusting.”
He leaves, but now I feel so self-conscious I can’t finish jacking off, so I shut the water off and get out—wet, cold, and unsatisfied.
“Everything. Just not with her.” Will I ever stop replaying his words over and over like a broken record?
I grab a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts and join him in the living room. McCormick has a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in each hand, one for him and I assume one for me. When he rounds the kitchen counter, I realize he’s not wearing anything but his American flag boxer briefs. I swear they’re about two sizes too small. Knowing him, they were on sale and that was the last size left.
“Jesus, can’t you put some clothes on?”
He shoves the sandwich at me. “My dude, you’ve been a soldier most of your adult life. You showered with other men, bunked with other men, and suddenly, you have a problem seeing me in my skivvies?”
“Skivvies? What were you, fucking Navy?”
“ You’re a fucking squid,” he mumbles around a mouthful of peanut butter. It makes his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, warping his words.
His dick print, which is hard to miss in his skin tight skivvies, looks like a fucking elephant cock. Christ, is he soft right now?
If I close my eyes, I can still feel it in my hand—the hefty weight, hot velvet wrapped around hard steel.
“Fine,” he huffs, heading toward his bedroom. He catches me staring. Awkward . “What is it, my leg? It bothers you?”
He thinks I’m looking at his prosthetic? Shit, if only!
He looks hurt, but does he really not remember that four days ago I held his cock in my hand? That he almost kissed me? Ironic, considering I'm the one with the short-term memory, not him.
“Come over here and say that to my face! You know I don’t have a problem with your fucking leg. I’ve seen it a hundred times. I just haven’t seen all of… this.” I wave toward his body.
He stares, making sure I meant what I said and that I’m not just placating him. Fucker should know better than to doubt me.
“Fine, I’ll go put some clothes on.” He pauses as he passes the couch and gives me a once-over. Absently, he rubs his crotch, and then pulls the fabric away from his body, probably because his dick’s growing and needs room to breathe. It’s a fucking monster. “I’m gonna go… knit.”
“By yourself, in the bedroom with your laptop?”
“Yeah.” Mac’s face blushes redder than his hair.
“Well, don’t knit all over my side of the bed. I don’t wanna have to change the sheets.”
“Whatever,” he laughs, giving me one last look. “Sorry I busted in on your shower.”
Mac smirks, and it turns into a throaty laugh. He’s not sorry at all.
“Well, go… knit.” I suggest lamely. “I’m just gonna watch a movie.”
He changes direction and plops his ass down on the couch beside me. “Oh, then I’ll join you.”
“Not that kind of movie, dipshit.”
He realizes we were both going to knit .
“Fuck it,” Mac grins, “I’ll still join you.”
In those underwear? “That’s just weird, man.”
“Only if you make it weird.” He picks up the remote. “Netflix and boil?”
“Boil? Don’t you mean Netflix and chill?”
“We can boil some dogs, watch a flick together, and chill.”
Oh yeah, this isn’t weird at all. Let’s pretend last week didn't go sideways and that it’s not going to spiral into a total shit show by watching porn together.
“Alright, let’s do this. Netflix and boil.”
Mac busies himself in the kitchen while I try to find a movie. Why did I even mention I was gonna watch porn? One thing about McCormick, he has a stellar porn collection. Old school DVDs from the nineties. I think it’s the only reason he still owns a DVD player because he doesn’t own a lot of non-x-rated movies.
It’s not until he sits back down on the couch that I realize I’m on my knees, bent over with my ass in the air, covered by nothing but a short, thin layer of cotton. How else am I gonna look through his movie cabinet? He’s got quite the view right now. I risk a glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, he’s staring.
“Can I make you some popcorn for the show?”
“Sorry,” he laughs. “Let me help you.”
McCormick grabs a slim case from the lineup and pops it into the player. I recognize the cover. Am I not supposed to feel suspicious that he chose a movie with two guys and a girl?
Keeping my mouth shut like I have all week, I join him on the couch. He reaches for a hot dog and slides it in his mouth. Mac is usually a loud chewer, but this is ridiculous! He’s licking his lips and making little pleasurable moaning sounds like the boiled hotdog is the best thing he’s ever tasted.
I can’t look away. The dog is the same color as his cock. Dark pink, puckered at the end, and thick and juicy, just like him.
Shit, stop! Think of something else. Nachos, pizza, steak… anything but hotdogs.
He realizes I’m staring like a creeper and grins. “Want one?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
The scene is picking up, the clothes are already off and the girl is on her knees, taking turns sucking their cocks. I’m watching, but not because I’m interested. It’s just easier to look at the screen than at him. Layers of tension float between us, so thick I can practically see them.
Finished with his snack, Mac sinks deeper into the couch and spreads his thighs, palming his cock through the cotton. “Have you seen this one?”
“Probably,” I grunt, trying to sound as casual as he does. I rub my cock. It’s thickening, but it has nothing to do with the movie.
My heart’s beating so hard and fast that I feel like I might pass out.
I realize I’m panicked, knowing my world is about to change, and not knowing if it’s for better or worse.
After tonight, nothing will ever be the same again.
Mac reaches into his boxers and plays with his dick. Hopefully, it’s not obvious that I’m watching him from the corner of my eye. Why can’t I look away? Why is his fat cock suddenly the most important thing in my life? I’m fucking obsessed!
Shit .
“It’s okay, you can touch your dick,” Mac insists. “It’s not weird.” He’s stroking his cock beneath the fabric, and watching me like he’s watching the microwave, waiting for the timer to ding. Totally nonchalant.
Sliding my hand inside my boxers, I rub the heel of my hand up and down my shaft. I can’t do much more than that because I’m so hard there’s barely enough room for my fingers.
The chick in the flick is making the sloppiest sounds as she salivates all over herself trying to fit two cocks in her mouth at once.
I sneak a peek at Mac and he’s got his cock fully out, stroking shamelessly with his eyes on the screen.
He catches me staring. Shit, say something! Something not awkward. “So, do you have ketchup in your pants?”
“Excuse me? Just because I like hotdogs doesn’t mean you have to insinuate I do freaky shit with ketchup.”
Good going, Stiles. Not awkward at all. “No, that's not what I’m asking.”
“What the fuck are you asking? Why would I have ketchup in my pants?” Mac asks angrily.
“You know…” I raise my brows, hoping he isn’t going to make me say it.
He stares back, raising his brows higher like it’s a competition. Damn, he’s gonna make me say it. “Jesus fuck, are your pubes red?”
Two bright spots color Mac’s cheeks. “Of course, so’s the hair on my ass. But my hair ain’t red, it’s orange. So technically, I’d have to mix mustard and ketchup in my pants. Then again, not sure that would turn out orange, more like brown,” he muses. “I’ll have to experiment with that.”
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? WTF? “Oh my God, I’m so sorry I asked.”
“You didn’t get a good look yet?” Mac pulls the band of his boxers down lower, exposing his dark orange pubes.
And I stare, because how can I not? He’s trying to normalize staring at it. Christ. He’s even trimmed it all nicely into a neat patch. Like a strawberry patch. Hell, what is wrong with me?!
“What’d you got?” Mac tilts his head at my crotch, raising his brows.
Does he really want me to whip it out? Are we comparing cocks now? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? I’ve probably seen a dozen pornos that started out like this, just two bros on a couch, casually comparing their cocks. I remember what comes next.
I lower my waistband enough to expose my pubes. “Dark, like my hair.” Too bad I hadn’t manscaped like he had. I didn’t know it’d be on display!
“You cut?” Mac asks casually.
“Yeah, you?” I’d only seen his fully hard, so it was hard to tell.
“Nah. Still intact.”
He continues to stare as I return my gaze to the screen, and I reach into my pants again. The tip of my cock is throbbing knowing his eyes are on me. I’m dying to whip it out and stroke it freely like he is, but I can’t. I just can’t. Not yet. He’s jacking his cock while staring at me. And I’m acting like a bitch just sitting here pretending I don’t notice.
Christ, Stiles, do something!
With a loud huff, I pull my hand out of my pants and ask disbelievingly, “Are we just gonna sit here and jack off and pretend the other day didn’t happen?”
“Oh, it happened,” Mac agrees matter-of-factly. “I remember it clearly.”
His eyes burn with a challenge, daring me to go on. “We gonna talk about it?”
“You sure that’s what you wanna do?”
“Yeah, you don’t?”
Mac calls my bluff. “You just didn’t seem ready. You’ve been pretending it didn’t happen.”
“You didn’t say anything either!”
“Was waiting on you. Feeling you out.”
I’m about to kick his motherfucking ass! The movie’s all but forgotten as we turn to face each other. “You kissed me!”
“You had your hand on my cock. What was I supposed to do?”
How can he sit here looking so damn calm when I feel like every cell in my body is exploding at once. “What did you mean when you said, ‘not like this’?”
Mac reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. He lays his hand on my thigh, making all the nerve endings in my body come alive. “Four years, Stiles. Four fucking years. When were you gonna tell me you wanted to kiss me?”
Did I? “I didn’t! At least, I didn’t know I did.”
He smirks. “And now that you do? What now? You gonna wait another four years to make your next move?”
Fuck him! Fuck… fuck everything. In a flash, I surge forward and crush my mouth against his. He tastes slightly salty, like a hotdog.
Is that what his mouth would taste like after he swallows my cum?
Mac sucks my tongue into his mouth and suckles like he’s trying to gag himself with it. It’s the sloppiest, most uncoordinated kiss of my life as we fight for dominance, trying to roll each other on the narrow cushion.
“Is this what you wanted?” I grunt, splitting his thighs with my knee.
“Fucking finally.” Mac tugs at my boxers, exposing my ass enough to dig his fingers into my cheeks.
He changes the angle of our kiss, delving deeper, like he’s trying to tickle my damn tonsils. I sound like I’m out of breath, wheezing for air in between kisses. Lust flows rampant through my body, plumping my cock until it throbs, making my heart race painfully, and blood rush in my ears. My head feels light enough that I can’t chase any thought but him. More of him . His kiss, his touch.
He winces and the socket of his artificial knee scrapes my thigh. Worry replaces my haze and I sit up, struggling to catch my breath. “You okay?”
“Yeah, don’t stop.” Mac tugs on my tank top, pulling me back down, but I resist.
“Let’s move this to the?—”
He chuckles. “I’m nowhere near ready to get horizontal with you.” His face and chest are bright red. Is that what happens when he’s flushed? I did that to him. I turned his skin red.
The knowledge gives me a deep satisfaction and a feeling of possessiveness. That blush belongs to me .
Mac belongs to me.
He always has, though. He’s always been mine.
“I didn’t mean—” I break off and chuckle with him, dragging my fingers through my hair. “I don’t want you to hide your pain just to kiss me.”
His red face breaks out into a huge grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. “I’m kissing you.”
I can’t not laugh with him stating the obvious like it’s the best thing since the invention of sliced bread. “Yeah, we’re kissing. Imagine that.”
“Oh, I have. Many times.”
“Wait, seriously? Since when?”
“Fuck you. I’m not telling.” His eyes light mischievously.
God, I want to kiss him all over again. I just sort of collapse on his lap with my head against his chest. McCormick cards his fingers through my hair and smiles down at me.
“How did we even get here?” I ask, wondering aloud.
“Once upon a time, years ago, this big bear motherfucker walked into the Bitches with Stitches meeting and plopped his scowling ass down beside me and he’s been there ever since. Right beside me.”
God damn him, getting me choked up when I’m still rock hard. “And you know what? He’s not scowling anymore,” I add, “he’s smiling.”
Mac bends down and kisses the smile right off my lips. “So am I,” he breathes over my lips. “I don’t know how we got here, and I don’t care. It’s been a long time coming and, you know what? It feels right. It feels good.”
It does. It feels fucking amazing.