Chapter 31 Trouble
Trouble
Despite my best intentions, I seem to have found myself back at the apartment of two hapless dude-bros. To be clear, I’m here against my better judgment. I’m not sure how much it helps to say it, but I want it on record that I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be here.
Truth be told, I’m a little curious as to how it happened. I’m usually exceedingly disciplined about my no-repeats rule.
Last time was…There’s no getting around it. It was hotter than hell. It was my greatest fantasy come to life. Two hardened straight guys, one me, and a double bi-awakening?
Sign me the fuck up.
The whole experience was unreal. They were horny, nervous perfection. Hesitant and unhinged. Tentative and wild. Adam’s apples rode up and down and throats constricted. Hands shook and big boys whimpered as they touched my dick for the first time.
It couldn’t have been more perfect if I had choreographed it myself.
Who’d want to mess with that?
Everyone knows the mark of a master is to know when the final stroke of a masterpiece has been made.
And believe me, that night was as close to art as it gets.
Plus, call me crazy, but the reality of holding back the hair of a pair of brand-new baby bisexuals as they unravel isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.
When it comes to fantasy versus reality, I’m going to go right ahead and stick with fantasy, thanks.
The two of them are standing side by side, looking awkward and intense in equal measure.
Will is tall and dark. Very tall and very dark.
He has a hard jaw, a heavy brow, and deep-set eyes.
He has harsh masculine features that fall just on the right side of ugly.
If you altered one tiny thing about his face, it would all fall apart.
As it is, it’s fucking perfection. It’s giving gentle barbarian’s gonna drag me around by the hair.
I’m here for it.
Kind of have a thing for it if I’m totally honest.
Mattie is different. He’s the epitome of all-American boy next door.
Friendly and approachable. Seriously cute with a seriously killer smile.
I’m talking dimples, the whole nine. Looks like the type that never had braces because he didn’t need them.
His teeth just came out all perfect and pearly because he’s genetically blessed.
I’d hate him for it if it weren’t for the smile.
Or those eyes. They’re brown. Light golden brown.
His hair’s brown too. Thick and curly. Hard to look at without wanting to run your fingers through it.
He has the whole biceps that make the sleeves of his T-shirt strain thing going on in a very big way.
He’s the type of guy a ton of girls probably had their first crush on.
The type of guy every girl in school dreamed about.
The type of guy I had wet dreams about.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Fine.
Looking at them like this is definitely going some way to solving the mystery of what I’m doing back here.
One more time can’t hurt, can it? I’ll put it down to being thorough. After tonight, I’ll never see them again.
“Would you like something to drink?” asks Will.
“No thanks.” No need. I won’t be here for long.
Mat watches me thoughtfully. His eyes are soft. Encroaching and retreating. “After you left last time, it occurred to me we didn’t ask what your preferred pronouns are,” he says. “I’m sorry about that.”
It’s not at all what I expected him to say. It’s not the very last thing I expected, but it’s close. I feel the quick flutter I always do when people show me the consideration of asking.
“I go by he/him.”
“We do too,” says Will.
I’m taken aback by the fact he said it. I love it when people who appear totally cis do that.
It shows confidence and a level of self-assurance that’s very, very hot.
I love it so much that I almost forget to panic about the fact that it’s starting to look more and more like I misjudged these two when I categorized them as garden-variety barbarians.
It throws me off, so I add, “But in certain situations, my pronouns are flexible,” despite no conscious decision on my part to elaborate.
“What situations?” asks Will. His eyes are serious and notably without judgment. It throws me off further.
“I-I like typically feminine words being used to describe me sometimes.”
Will smiles. “D’you like being told you’re pretty?”
“‘Cause you are,” says Mat earnestly. “You really, really are, Trouble. You’re so fucking pretty.”
Be still my beating heart.
Blunt instruments are speaking my language.
I shrug and try not to squirm, but I realize immediately that I need to do something to wrestle control of the situation back before it’s too late.
“How ‘bout some more gay chicken?” I offer brightly.
“Thought you said we couldn’t play gay chicken,” says Mat.
“Thought you said you’d kick our asses six ways from Sunday if we played ‘cause you’re fully gay,” finishes Will.
“Keep up. I didn’t say I was going to play.
You’re going to play. With each other.” Mat’s cheeks go bright red and Will’s expression changes into something totally unreadable.
My dick stirs and starts raising its head.
I take it as a sign to continue. “Bet you won’t kiss again,” I tease. “Bet you’re too chicken.”
Will gives me a well-practiced smile. Not too big. Not too small. Impersonal, almost professional. At least it would be, except for the fact his eyes darken notably as he does it.
Sweet Jesus.
He’s into it.
“Mattie, come ‘ere,” he says.
Mat steps closer obediently. He looks at me for approval and then checks in with Will.
As he does it, Will leans in and kisses him.
No wavering. No hesitation. He kisses him softly.
Surprisingly softly. Playing with his lips for a few seconds, pulling the bottom one into his mouth and releasing it, teasing, before wrapping a hand around the back of his head, holding him steady, and kissing the ever-loving shit out of him.
Blood rushes south so hard and so fast it leaves me reeling.
My temperature rises. The room feels too hot.
Skin burns and pulls tight. I try to steady myself.
I don’t remember choreographing this segment of this little performance, but if I had, believe me, this is exactly how I would have planned it.
Two pairs of eyes blink at me, waiting for further instruction.
Far be it from me to leave a pair of brand-new baby bisexuals to fend for themselves.
I look at Will and say, “Undress him.”
Oh my God. There it is.
I see it again, that quick little flash of heat.
He pulls Mat’s T-shirt off over his head.
He’s a little rough. A little off-hand. I can almost see him having done it before.
When they’ve been drunk and Mat needed help, maybe?
He tugs the T-shirt off hard, leaving Mat’s hair disheveled and standing up at the back.
He yanks at Mat’s belt, pulling it tight before releasing it.
He undoes his jeans in the same way. Mat pushes them down and steps out of his shoes and jeans at almost the same time.
“Do him too.” I smile, indicating to Will and enjoying the double entendre a little more than I probably should.
Mat undoes the top two buttons of Will’s shirt.
There’s a very, very slight tremor in his hands as he does it.
If you weren’t paying close attention, you’d probably miss it.
Given this shit is pretty much the cornerstone of my very existence, I don’t miss it.
Heat surges again, cupping my balls and stroking them gently, tightening them, raising them a little closer to my body.
Will pulls his shirt off and drops it on the floor.
Mat reaches for his belt and tugs at it.
As he does it, his hand grazes Will’s belly.
Will tenses. He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move a muscle for several long seconds, and when he finally exhales, there’s a visible quiver in his breathing.
Jesus take the wheel.
I feel dizzy.
Seriously, I’m lightheaded right now.
They’re both standing stiff-legged, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and looking at me expectantly.
They’re both hard. I can see the clear lines of their erections through the straining fabric of their shorts.
The urge to reach out and stroke them is so strong I can taste it in the back of my throat.
Thick. Salty. Two big mouthfuls. Several hard gulps. A subtle burn as it trickles down.
No, no.
I shake it off.
Must keep my wits about me.
“Drop ‘em.” I smile as soon as I recover.
They do.
Their bodies are fucking insane. Will’s tall and defined. Mat’s a little shorter, but not much. He has more muscle and bulk. One’s lighter. One’s darker. One’s sunshine and smiles. One’s borderline scary. Mat’s cut. Will isn’t. Both are rock hard, leaking and straining to get close to each other.
Stand back, people. I know just what they need.
“Run your hand up his arm,” I say to Will. He does as I say. His fingers move slowly up Mat’s forearm, lingering at the curve of his bicep, then tracking up to his shoulder. “Touch his chest,” I say to Mat. He hesitates. I smile. “Chicken?”
He shakes his head and swallows hard. He runs his hand firmly across Will’s broad chest, fingers tangle in dark chest hair. Pecs tense. Nipples pebble. Sensitive skin gleams and contracts under the overhead light.
My head swims. I’m so horny I can’t feel my face.
Jesus, if you’re out there, the wheel is yours, babe.
Seriously, come take it.