Chapter Two - 2. The Hookup
CHAPTER TWO
The Hookup
He was lounging on the couch, wearing his soccer shirt, glaring at the TV while he jabbed at the console controller in his hands.
“Just come back from training?” I asked.
“We played FIFA afterwards. And I lost. Again.” His scowl deepened as he punched a button. On the TV, a loud alarm announced the game had ended, and he’d lost 3-nil. “Fuck this fucking game.”
I squeezed onto the couch beside him. “Toss me a controller.”
He grumbled but handed me one, and we set up a two-player game. I let my head fall against the back of the couch as we played. This was fun. Mindless, but entertaining enough to keep you awake. Taylor’s head bumped against my shoulder, and I shook him off. I had a game to win.
“Does it really matter if your teammates beat you?” I asked idly. “It’s just a video game.”
“If you’re not the best at something, there’s no point doing it.”
“So everything’s a competition?”
“Obviously, everything’s a competition. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.” Taylor kicked and scored a goal, my goalkeeper totally useless as he dove and missed.
“You don’t mean that,” I said. “You don’t compete with your parents, do you?” I thought of myself at five years old, arms crossed as I refused to leave the house. I don’t wanna go to school and you can’t make me. You’re not the boss of me.
Oh, yes I am, young man, Mum had said, dragging me to school despite my protests, and within five minutes of arriving I totally forgot that I hadn’t wanted to go.
Now, Taylor huffed, but didn’t say anything. He never talked about his parents, I realised.
“Or, like, if you get married,” I said. “Are you going to race down the aisle to be first at the altar? ‘Cause that’s just going to piss your spouse off.”
Taylor gave me a sideways look.
“Oh, right,” I said. “You’re never getting married.”
“Why do you say that?” He sounded offended.
“Because…” I floundered. “You said it yourself. You’re not interested in dating anyone.”
“I might get married,” Taylor mused. “For practical reasons.”
I made a choking noise. Why was I so flustered? Why did I even care? “Practical reasons?”
He shrugged. “Money.”
“You’re such a dick.” I felt…unbalanced and I wasn’t sure why. This conversation was stupid anyway.
Taylor scored another goal, which I felt was unfair, because I had been distracted imagining Taylor marrying some pretty heiress. The match ended, and Taylor dropped his controller onto the coffee table and faced me. “You’re going to get married.”
I looked at him. “Uh —”
“You’re going to get married and live in a townhouse with a rose garden, just like your parents.”
“Leave my parents out of this,” I said. “Also, how do you know our house has a rose garden? Stalker.”
He leaned in close, close enough I could see the specks of greyish navy in his dark irises. “You’re going to have two kids and a dog and a cat and you’re going to drive a Toyota and volunteer to coach the local high school’s soccer team.”
“Do you know how weird you sound right now, making up this whole fanfiction about my life?”
Taylor just smiled a closed-mouth smile, stretching himself over me.
“Get off me,” I said, shoving him away. “Did you even shower?” It was a stupid question, since he was still in his soccer kit.
“Didn’t bother. I didn’t train that hard.”
That was Taylor to the core. Acting all nonchalant while outperforming every other player.
“It’s still gross. You stink like —”
Taylor hooked an arm around my neck and shoved me into his side so I was forced to inhale the smell of him.
Sure, he smelled like sweat, but surprisingly, not in a bad way.
It wasn’t the stench of a locker room after a match, but the way he smelled when we had sex.
Then there were the mingling scents of his soap, his fabric softener…
“Are you sniffing me?” he asked. “You freak.”
“You literally forced my face into your armpit,” I retorted.
Then, because I felt like flustering him — and also because I was genuinely curious — I inched my face up to the collar of his neck, pressed my forehead against his neck, and inhaled.
He smelled good. Not like marshmallows and rainbows, but just…
good. In a way that made me want to keep smelling him.
Maybe I’d taken it for granted all the times we messed around.
As I inhaled again, Taylor threaded his fingers through my hair, then pushed me down, so my nose was grazing his chest, his abs. When I saw where he was leading me, I looked up at him. “You’re the freak,” I said, ignoring the swelling in my pants.
My face landed in his lap and I definitely did not rub my face against the outline of his erection.
“Does it smell good?” he asked.
“You’re disgusting,” I said with a glare.
“You don’t need to play coy,” Taylor said. “We made an arrangement, remember?”
“Agreeing to fuck sometimes,” I began, “doesn’t mean you can boss me around whenever you want.”
“I’m not bossing you around.” He let go of my head, and I immediately missed the sensation of his fingers in my hair. “Walk away if you want to.”
I glared at him once more. Then I sank to the floor, knees landing on the rug, and tugged his pants down.
His erection bobbed out, and the fact that the tip was already wet with precum made me feel slightly less humiliated about the fact that every cell in my body was singing for him. Taylor Taylor Taylor Taylor Taylor.
I wrapped a hand gently around the base, pressing my lips against the head, and he let out the softest exhale. My gaze fixed on him and while keeping eye contact, I slowly took him in.
“Mmph.” He pressed his lips together tight, legs jerking wider apart.
I rolled my tongue over the tip, then pressed it flat against the sensitive underside, watching the muscles in his thighs jump under his skin.
“God,” he said, hand landing on my head, and I nuzzled against his palm like a pet kitten begging for cuddles. “You’re so good at this.”
I bobbed my head as I sucked, taking him in deeper and deeper. Then, just as his hands let go of me and landed on the couch, fingers curling into the weave of it, knuckles turning white, I slid my mouth off him a loud, wet noise. “That was fun,” I said, then stood up as if I was about to walk away.
“No you don’t,” Taylor said, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back until I landed in his lap, straddling him.
He spat into his hand — my cock throbbed at the sight — then shoved my pants down, freeing my dick, and stroked me until I was flushed and rigid.
He lined up his own erection with mine, and wrapped his big hand around both of us, jerking us off with a twist of his wrist, and squeezing harder at the tip.
I leaned forward, my forehead resting against Taylor’s. His exhales were warm against my mouth.
“That’s so good,” I managed through uneven breaths.
“Yeah?” Taylor’s eyes flicked down. “Look at your cock weeping all over my fist. You’re so desperate.”
I whimpered in response.
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I wondered how I could have ever found his gaze cold. “Kiss me,” he said, and I did.
We came at the same time, wet and sticky. Once the orgasm receded, I blinked rapidly, clearing my vision, and found myself staring at cum all over Taylor’s soccer shirt.
“I’ll get a towel,” I said, climbing off his thighs.
My legs felt like jelly, and I hoped he didn’t notice me wobbling to the bathroom.
When I returned, Taylor sat there with his legs spread like a lazy prince as I cleaned him up.
He patted a spot on the couch next to him and I flopped down, and he touched my jaw and kissed me.
That was something I was still trying to figure out.
There was a specific window of time right before and after sex when it was okay to kiss without the express intention of getting off.
Taylor seemed to know it intuitively; he always kissed me after we came, but only minutes after.
We never, for example, kissed in the middle of breakfast. That would just be weird.
After he pulled away, hand falling from my jaw, I licked my lips and let my head flop back on the couch. “I, uh...”
I wanted to tell him that I’d been thinking about the whole fucking raw thing. That I hadn’t forgotten about it. But I still hadn’t made a decision, and it was pointless to bring it up just to say, yeah, I don’t know.
The truth was, part of me wanted to — really wanted to.
But at the same time, it almost felt like too much. It was a silly thing to feel, because Taylor and I had already had sex in pretty much every possible way. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal to let him inside me, skin to skin.
But it felt like it.
Taylor was watching me. “Yeah?”
I thought of what he said, all those days ago. That if we were going to do it you can’t touch anyone else.
“Nothing,” I said.
Taylor let out a soft laugh, tugged me close, and kissed my forehead.
The Commerce Students Society always hosted their meetings in a large classroom on the top floor of the business school building. Unlike the rest of Halverton, which was all stone archways and rose gardens, the business school was a modern glass and steel monstrosity.
Next to me, a large square window looked out at the sports centre. Grey clouds hung in the sky above the empty soccer field. I checked the time on my phone. After this meeting, I’d have to rush to training.
I used to find my overpacked schedule stressful, but in that moment, I couldn’t have felt more relaxed.
Hell, I was even doodling in the corner of my notebook as the CSS committee droned on about budgets and student memberships.
Taylor and I had been messing around for over a week now and every day, it felt like I was walking on clouds.
I guess everything they said about sex — relieving stress, flooding you with endorphins — was true.