14. Maddox
Maddox
I hate Killian Schultz.
He’s an incorrigible flirt, too carefree and impulsive, and he’s a risk to my job and to my future at this university.
He doesn’t let anything get to him, and even when I purposely act prickly, he acts like it’s the cutest thing ever. What the hell is that even about? He smashes down the barriers I’ve put up around myself, and the worst thing is that he does it effortlessly.
I hate him because he’s everything I swore to stay away from, and exactly what I can’t seem to resist.
In the end, though, the only person I have to be pissed at is myself. I’m the one who let it get this far. He’s right that I’m pent-up, and his presence and his charm only exacerbates it.
As I’m walking back to my dorm, I debate downloading Flair. I’ve never tried the queer hookup app before, but Caleb used to talk about it a lot. Maybe what I need is a one-night stand with a random stranger. I know I swore off hookups, but I’m at my wit’s end.
Yeah. Maybe what I need is just one night of fun.
One night of unhinged sex with someone hot—ideally someone who isn’t a student in a class I’m a TA for, isn’t someone I tutor, and isn’t someone I run into almost daily because we run in the same circles.
Someone who isn’t Killian .
That’s definitely what I need.
I download the app, though I don’t create a profile right away. Instead, I tell myself to rethink it and then gear up for a productive day. I do my laundry, have lunch, tidy up my room, work on some assignments, then call my sister up to see how she’s doing.
Then I rewatch the entire third season of Skam because why not?
By the time I’ve got nothing else to do, it’s already seven p.m. Even if I kept my curtains drawn today, the room got darker without me noticing it.
I’m still pissed off, and I still want to get fucked.
“Goddamn it,” I grumble, throwing myself into my bed and unlocking my phone.
I get on the app again to sign-up. I hate having to upload a picture of myself, but the default profile photo is literally just a blue, bald, faceless person, which is creepy as hell.
I look for a photo from my gallery that’s slightly presentable.
To hide my face, I choose one that’s taken of my back.
It’s taken from the waist up and at least shows that I’m a skinny, short, brown-haired guy. That’s probably enough.
I swipe through the profiles that come up.
Nobody in particular catches my attention, and I’m almost about to give up when a guy with cut abs makes me halt.
His profile says he goes to Hartley, the university across town, and that seems a safe enough choice.
He’s online right now, too. I swipe right on him, and before I can send a message, he beats me to it.
Hnk156: Bottom?
That message on its own makes me cringe, but then the photo he sends next is really the icing on top. I wasn’t really in the mood to see dick unwarranted. Like, maybe give me your actual name first or even what your hobbies are?
The hell was I expecting from a hookup app, though?
Still, I block him and go through profiles again.
And abruptly freeze when I see Killian’s photo.
His profile photo doesn’t show his face, but I’d recognize his stupidly built arms anywhere.
The photo’s cropped to only show his torso, but he’s lifting his black henley to show off a hint of his abs and a tattoo of a serpent on his hip.
A tattoo that I’ve glimpsed before when he stretched his arms once and his shirt rode up.
If the tattoo’s not enough, I know it’s him because of the small tear on the side of his shirt. I noticed it the other day, and realizing that I can recognize him from such a tiny detail is making me even more pissed off than I was before I downloaded this damn app.
His status says he hasn’t been online for weeks. That means the chances of him getting on it today and finding my profile are slim, but it’s enough for me to delete my very new account anyway and scream into my pillow.
But god. Those abs. Those arms…
Fuck it.
Time to deal with this the old-fashioned way. I push myself up from my bed with much more aggression than necessary, stomp over to my dresser, and yank the top drawer open. I dig around for my toy, brushing away the memory of Killian holding it up and giving me an awed look.
“Stop thinking about him,” I scold myself.
Now I’m talking to myself. Awesome.
I grab lube and yank down my sweatpants and underwear.
My stupid dick’s already at half-mast, which has been its default state for weeks now since Killian said he could make me come without even touching me.
I haven’t even touched myself since then, mostly because of my ego.
I knew that if I did, I’d only think of him, and that felt like I was giving in when I shouldn’t.
I don’t care about my ego right now.
Pouring lube into my palm and slicking my hand, I sit back against my headboard and pull my bare legs up. All the while, even when I tell myself to stop thinking about Killian, I’m cursing him. I blame him fully. He’s the reason behind all this.
And when I push two slick fingers inside my hole, I can’t help but imagine that it’s him doing it.
His fingers are a lot thicker than mine, though, and longer.
And he’d be leaning over me, watching my face, and I’d hold his stare.
I wouldn’t back down, even if my skin would be overheating, even if my voice would be stuck in my throat.
And he’d be whispering the filthiest things as he thrust his fingers in and out of me.
He’d probably tease me, too. He’d play with me and make me beg. Probably smile the entire time.
I let out a low moan as I put in another finger. When I’m ready, I fumble for my toy and slick it up.
It’s cold and soft. Killian would be the exact opposite. I think he’d also be bigger than this, but only because my fantasies won’t shut up. Maybe I’m getting carried away, but I truly think that Killian’s cock would match the rest of him. It’d be huge and thick, and—
“Stop. Thinking. About. Him.”
But as I lean back and lay my feet flat on the mattress, easing my toy into me slowly, he’s all I can think about. The reality of it makes me choke back a sob, though that could also be because of how full I feel when I finally stuff myself to the hilt.
God. It feels good. My eyes slide shut, and I breathe slowly. I’ve forgotten how it feels to have something filling me up like this. My knees tremble slightly, but the sensation calms me.
I should have done this sooner. I don’t even move, don’t thrust the toy in or out—I’m satisfied just having it in me. It’s angled so that it’s bumping against my prostate, but it’s unmoving and giving a gentle pressure, and the pleasure’s just enough to silence all the noise in my mind.
It’s cathartic.
A pleasant buzz overtakes me, and I lean back against my pillows. Dazed, I blink at my ceiling. My mind’s blank. Finally.
Suddenly, my phone beeps and it yanks me out of the peace I’m floating in. I ignore the new message, but then another comes in, and then another one—
“What the hell…” I mutter, reaching for my phone.
I twist my body to take it from my desk, groaning at the way the dildo shifts against the spot inside me.
My fingers are still slick, so I turn my hand around and use my knuckles to swipe around the screen, and I only me an to turn it to silent mode when I realize that it’s Killian.
Because of course it is. He can’t even give me a few moments of peace.
He’s sent a photo of a tiny, light-brown cat that’s fast asleep in what seems to be a corner of a room.
Killian: Look at this cute cat napping at our dorm lobby. :’D
Killian: It kinda reminds me of you. Teeny. Light-brown fur.
Killian: The guys at my dorm are arguing about where it should sleep because it’s freezing outside.
God.
As cute as it is that he’s going on a tangent about a cat and felt the need to tell me about it, I could honestly strangle him with my bare hands right now. I swipe down on my phone screen to hit the mute button when I accidentally hit Call instead. Fuck.
Killian’s name pops up on the screen as the call tries to connect.
“Oh, dear lord—”
I frantically knock on my screen to hang up, but Killian answers in a split second, and instead of hitting End Call, I hit the speaker button.
“Hello!” Killian’s cheerful voice says. “What’s up?”
Kill me now.
Maybe if I don’t talk he’ll think it’s an accident and that I’m not even looking at my phone. Gritting my teeth, I give up on life and bury my face sideways into my pillow.
“Maddox? You there? Ha ha, did you butt dial me?”
His deep voice resounds through the four corners of my room. Would it be weird to end the call now? But then he’d know I was actually here. He keeps calling for me, and I think he’s outside because I can hear voices in the background.
“Maddox?” he asks again, and my dick takes all sorts of attention against my will because I’m stuffed full of a goddamn dildo and the guy I’ve been fantasizing about is speaking right next to my ear.
“Fine, maybe you did butt dial me. It’s fine.
I’ll pretend you’re listening. Anyway, the cat woke up and ran away.
I think we spooked it. It climbed on top of the post boxes and—”
I can’t do this. I lift my head from my pillow and brace myself.
“Killian,” I say, leveling my voice as much as I can. It comes out slightly raspy, but hopefully he’ll just think I’m sleepy.
“Maddox!”
“I was napping. I accidentally called you instead of muting my phone.”
“Ouch, were you muting me because all my messages woke you up?”
“Yes,” I say, hopeful he gets the hint that this isn’t a great time to talk.
“Oh, shit, my bad.” He lets out a soft laugh that’s low and quiet and vibrates through me. I’m frozen. Stiff as a board. I can’t move at all at the risk of dislodging the dildo in me, at the risk of the noises I’d make if I did. “Now that I’ve got you though, I forgot to tell you something.”