Chapter 6 Tragically Heterosexual
TRAGICALLY HETEROSEXUAL
Alex
“Want to play more of the question game?” I ask, watching through the screen on my phone as Elliot curls up into the corner of his sectional couch, a red and gold Redwoods throw blanket draped across his lap.
He’s wearing a cropped t-shirt again, this one sporting the logo of a popular energy drink.
It's much shorter than the one he wore to the club, the hem hitting right at the top of his ribcage.
And when he leans back and lays his head on his forearm, I get a glimpse of the underside of his nipples and the black band of his underwear poking out of his sweatpants.
There is no reason that a peek of boxer briefs and the sight of all that bare skin should make me feel like I need to avert my eyes, and yet…
It's just because this friendship is new. That’s the only reason my cheeks are flushing and my palms are sweaty.
“Hell yeah. I think it’s my turn to ask, so…what’s your zodiac sign?”
“Pisces. My birthday is March 13th, and I was born during a full moon in the Year of the Tiger.”
“Pisces, I should’ve known. You’ve got that creative, intuitive, compassionate thing in spades.”
“Is creative your nice way of saying I’m kind of a weirdo?”
“A little bit. But I happen to like your brand of weird.”
Elliot’s compliment washes over me, and I feel my stomach go topsy-turvy.
“Elliot Baker, you flatterer. Alright, tell me your zodiac sign. Oh! No, let me guess!”
“Guess away, my friend.”
“Well, you’re solid. You’re clearly a hard worker. Definitely an earth sign. You’re helpful and kind, and you put others first. You gave up your chance of getting laid to help me correct my bad karma. I’m going to say…you’re a Capricorn, aren’t you?”
“You nailed it. January 9th.”
“I knew it! A Pisces and a Capricorn, no wonder we get along so well. We’re compatible as hell.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Of course! We’d make wonderful partners in crime. We’ve got great conversational compatibility, and sexual…” I trail off, clearing my throat. A flurry of images pass through my brain. My front porch, the night sky, Elliot’s lips brushing against mine before claiming them…
“Partners in crime, huh?” Elliot snorts, brushing past the awkward moment. “Well, it's a good thing we found each other. Now I know who to call if I ever want to rob a bank and need a getaway car driver. And I also know that I should add “searching for sexy Pisces” in my online dating profile.”
I press my tongue against my teeth, noticing something hot and unpleasant curdling in my stomach. It feels almost like jealousy, but that doesn’t make any sense. I’ve got nothing to feel jealous about. Hearing about Elliot’s dating life does not bother me one bit.
I bet it's just the three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I scarfed down in the locker room after the game. They’re not sitting well. I’ll have to take a shot of Pepto to calm my tummy before bed.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for an online dating profile kind of guy, El. I thought you were more interested in hookups?”
“True, but I’ve got to find those hookups somewhere. Every time I meet a great, hot, funny guy out in the wild, he turns out to be the tragically straight goalie of my city’s new hockey team and isn’t interested in pegging me at all,” Elliot says with a shrug and a self-deprecating smirk.
Right. That’s me, the tragically heterosexual goalie.
The peanut butter and jellies roll over in my gut once again.
I’d better make it two shots of the pink stuff.
“I think it's my turn to ask a question,” I mumble, pressing a hand on my abdomen to try to calm the whirring flurry of activity happening there.
“Make it a good one,” Elliot says with a wink.
“Tell me a secret that no one knows about you,” I hear myself asking before my brain has a chance to catch up with my mouth. Elliot lets out a low whistle, the five o’clock shadow on his jaw highlighting his pink, pursed lips.
My mind flashes back to Sunday night and the way those lips had felt against mine. Soft, new, different, but not at all unwelcome. Everything in me tightens at the memory, at the regret I’d felt when I’d pulled away.
I’ve never had so many warring thoughts over a simple peck of a kiss in my life.
But then again, before Sunday, I’d never kissed another man before.
I’d never kissed Elliot Baker before.
“Truthfully?” Elliot asks, breaking through my thought process and bringing me back to the conversation.
“I think I might be lonely. I didn’t notice it before because I’ve got my friends, I’ve got my team.
I’ve got my mom back in Minnesota. Up until recently, I’ve been perfectly content with my life just the way it is.
But lately? Coming home to an empty house tends to sour my moods.
Not having someone kind of sucks. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of sex to fill my time, but not having someone to talk to at the end of a long day bums me out. ”
“I get that. I’m in the same boat. Old friends, the new team, but.
.. leaving Boston was tough. I’m lucky that Miles and I were traded together, but he’s married and they’ve got a kid on the way.
It’s different here. The team is new, the city is new.
Everything is new and I feel like I haven’t found my footing yet,” I sigh.
Elliot gives me a half-smile, a softness coating his features that tells me he’s listening and understands. That somehow, we just get each other.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask quietly. My heartbeat picks up in my chest as I wait for Elliot’s nod to continue. “I know it’s only been a few days but…I feel less lonely since I met you, Elliot. You make me feel less lonely.”
“Alex,” he sighs, blinking those green eyes in rapid succession, matching the flutter of my pulse. “You make me feel less lonely, too.”
I feel the hum of a moan in my throat, hear the soft sound escaping my lips as tingles spread through my body.
God, everything tingles. My cock is rock hard, trapped between my stomach and something hot and solid. It's too dark to see, but I reach out, feeling for whatever it is I want to desperately grind against.
Skin meets skin, my hands latching on to a ribcage, thumbs tracing the shorn off edge of a cotton t-shirt.
My palms slide down, down, down, gliding over a ripple of abs covered in hair.
A thigh presses between my legs and I groan, rubbing and bucking my aching cock against it.
Hot breath tickles across my neck, stubble scraping at my jaw and making my every nerve ending come alive.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” a low voice rasps in my ear as a pair of hands come down to cup my ass. “I can’t stop wanting you. I shouldn’t, but goddamn, Alex.”
He pulls me closer, grinding that hot, hard thigh against my weeping erection, and my head goes fuzzy from the friction.
“I…oh god…” I stammer, moaning and sighing as we rub against each other, pleasure swirling in my gut, coiling tight and threatening to burst.
“It's my turn to ask a question, Alex, and I want to know. Do you want me as badly as I want you?”
I whimper, and he squeezes my ass harder, grinding me faster against him.
“Don’t bother lying to me, either. Not when you’re rubbing your dick on me like a needy little kitten. You gonna come all over my thigh and then tell me you just want to be friends?”
The motion of our dry humping pulls at the loose waistband of my pajama pants, and when the sensitive, leaking, throbbing head of my dick meets the fabric of his pants, my balls draw up tight.
Pleasure swirls in my gut, coiling and threatening to burst at the seams. My breath comes in hot, needy pants, and the overload of sensation sweeps me under.
With one last hard thrust against his thigh, I’m coming, shooting everywhere and shaking with the force of it, gasping and moaning as the orgasm rolls through me.
And as it subsides, as the pleasure fades from intensity to soft contentment, leaving me gooey and sated, I feel the light of morning warming my bare back.
I try to take a deep breath but I’m met with a mouth full of cotton fabric and realize my face is buried in a throw pillow.
My heart is pounding, my crotch is wet, and I’m pretty sure I ruined my favorite pair of Home Alone themed holiday pajamas.
Well. This is fucking humiliating. I’ve never been more happy to live alone in my life.
The man holding me close and whispering dirty things to me in my dream may not have been real, but the way I just defiled my poor couch to completion in my sleep certainly was.
I groan as I roll over, trying and failing to keep the cum in my pants from making me any messier.
My phone is still propped up against a stack of books on my coffee table, right where I left it last night while Elliot and I talked about everything and nothing until I watched him fall asleep.
I say a quiet thank you prayer to any gods and goddesses that might be listening for giving me the good sense to end our video chat last night before falling asleep myself.
I think the only thing more humiliating than having a wet dream at the ripe, old age of twenty-seven is having a wet dream in front of your new friend because you didn’t want to stop watching him sleep long enough to hang up the phone.
Sitting up, I prop my elbows on my knees and drop my face into my palms. That was the third dream I’ve had in as many days where I’m happily and enthusiastically hooking up with another man. Which, okay, fine. It’s happened before. Dreams are dreams, they don’t have to mean anything.
Except this time, I went all the way. This time, dream me and real life me came, hard. Dream me and real me were super into dry humping the fuck out of that guy’s legs.
And this time, I have to try extra hard to lie to myself and pretend that dream guy was some nameless, faceless entity sent to my subconscious to have me questioning my sexuality.
Especially when I know for a fact that it was my new friend’s name on my lips when I was coming, that hearing myself moan his name is what woke me up.
And especially when, ten minutes later in the shower, I’m hard again and stroking myself to green eyes, happy trails, and abs in crop tops.