Chapter 12
Cam was slumped on his couch, movie playing on the TV, but he wasn’t watching it.
He was staring at his phone, trying not to be a creeper as he attempted to justify texting Dawson.
It’s been less than twelve hours.
But he looked like he didn’t even want you to go.
Normally, Cam wouldn’t have overthought this. If he’d wanted to text, he’d have texted. Said something casual and simple. Not u up? but something similar, maybe.
Sure, Dawson was a teammate, but he’d hooked up with teammates before. It had still never felt as loaded as it did with him.
Maybe it was the way he’d woken up and the first thing he’d seen had been Dawson’s face, toothpaste still crusted in the corner of his lips. Hazel eyes bright and delighted that Cam was still here, still in his bed.
That was some permanently brain-altering shit. Or else, it seemed like it was, because here was Cam, obsessing over composing the perfect text that might draw Dawson down to his apartment.
“Fuck it,” Cam said, and began to type out, your apt is probably just as empty as mine. you wanna—
But before he could finish typing, a text appeared above it. A text from Dawson. You around?
Cam legitimately dropped his phone on the couch in surprise and then scrambled to pick it back up again. Had he? He had.
Cam sucked in a hard breath. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Yeah, he sent back. Then stupidly hit send before he could add more. Now he was going to double text, like a doofus. But then, Dawson was old. He might not know how bad double texting was. So he added, In my apartment.
Then groaned out loud, because that was even worse. He was going to have to add another one.
Triple texting. Everyone Cam had ever known was going to be embarrassed by him right now.
587, he sent next.
Five minutes later, Cam had barely had time to check his hair in the mirror before there was a knock on the door.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, telling himself that this didn’t mean anything, only that Dawson was probably horny and lonely—same as him—and went to open it.
Dawson was dressed in a smart wool coat, the shoulders and the crown of his head dusted with droplets of rain, and dark jeans. He looked good enough to eat, and here Cam was in a ratty pair of ancient gray sweatpants and an even more ancient Western T-shirt.
“Hey,” Cam said, trying to sound normal about this as he opened the door wider, letting Dawson in.
Dawson walked in and shot Cam a smirk. “Triple texting, dude?”
Cam flushed warm. “Guess you’re not that old.”
Giving him a look, Dawson gave the apartment a vague look around.
“Not that old,” he confirmed, his smirk deepening as he unbuttoned his coat and hung it up, right next to Cam’s.
Setting his shoes right next to Cam’s sneakers.
He was wearing a dark blue button-up underneath, the sleeves rolled up to expose a very nice pair of forearms.
No question, there was a part of Cam that wanted to lead him right to the bedroom—their apartments were laid out the same way, so Dawson would know where it was—but before he could, Dawson wandered into the living room.
“What are you watching?” Dawson asked, taking a seat on the couch right where Cam had been sitting.
“Uh, one of the Fast and Furious movies. It was on,” Cam said. Not that he’d been watching it. He’d been glued to his phone instead, trying to figure out how to get Dawson here.
Well, now Dawson was here. Sitting on his couch, looking up expectantly at Cam.
“Never seen them,” Dawson said.
“Seriously? Seriously?” Cam told himself not to get distracted, but it was hard, because he’d thought, more than once, that Dawson was old—not gross kind of old, but clueless kind of old—but this proved it.
“What?” Dawson was grinning, like Cam’s incredulity was cute.
“They’re more your generation,” Cam teased as he sat down next to Dawson, “but they’re classics. Kind of like someone else I know.”
Dawson was still smiling. “Been a little busy the last couple of years.”
“Still,” Cam said.
“And hey, you call me old one more time, I’m gonna have to prove the opposite.” Dawson leaned in, and it was so easy to close the gap between them. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dawson’s mouth opened under his and they kissed for a long moment before Cam leaned back.
“You know, you kinda kiss like an old person,” Cam joked.
Dawson’s eyes lit up, and a second later, Cam was being pushed backwards on the couch, Dawson’s thigh hot and heavy between his legs, his tongue in Cam’s mouth.
He might be shorter but Dawson was heavier, surprisingly muscled for a kicker, and Cam went limp under his weight as Dawson tangled a hand in his hair and twisted his head at precisely the perfect angle to keep kissing.
“Been thinking of this all day,” Dawson panted into his mouth. “All fucking day.”
Cam’s cock kicked in his sweatpants. “Shit. Me too.” He’d thought it would be really freaking amazing if he could convince Dawson to come to his place tonight.
But Dawson wanting it just as badly as him, wanting it badly enough that he’d been the one to reach out?
Cam felt like he was floating on cloud nine.
Dawson pulled back, his dark pupils swallowing up almost all of the hazel. “You’re so . . .” He trailed off, hand that wasn’t supporting him cupping Cam’s cheek.
“So?” Cam prompted, even though he wasn’t sure he could hear what Dawson thought of him, without his cock—his heart—his soul—exploding.
But instead of answering, Dawson just groaned under his breath and kissed Cam again, like he couldn’t stay away from his lips for longer than a moment.
They made out for a few minutes, the pleasure spiraling through Cam as he imagined all the different ways they might get off together. But one thought kept overriding all the others. Something he wanted so badly he nearly burned with it.
It was tough, but he broke apart, pressing another absent kiss against Dawson’s neck. He smelled so good. Like citrus and the spiced cookies that his dad always baked at the holidays.
“Hmm?” Dawson murmured. He was staring at Cam like he’d give him anything he wanted, and so it was easier than he’d expected to voice exactly what he craved.
“Would you uh . . .be interested in um . . .”
Dawson raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Fuck me,” Cam whispered. Not a question, but a statement. A declaration.
Dawson didn’t look surprised or disgusted. “Yeah? You want that?”
It wasn’t tough to nod his head. “Yeah. Yeah. Um, yeah.”
“Oh God, yeah.” Dawson rubbed a hand over his head. “Baby, you don’t gotta even ask.” Then he grinned suddenly. “Not that you actually asked.”
Cam flushed and reached behind him to pull his T-shirt off. The moment it hit the floor, his fingers found the buttons on Dawson’s shirt, plucking them open one by one.
“Wait, here?” Dawson asked incredulously as Cam tried to reach around to shuck Dawson’s shirt off, now that it was finally unbuttoned.
“Why not?” Cam’s mouth ended up on Dawson’s neck again, sucking a mark into his pulse point. If Daws could leave marks on him, then he could return the favor.
“Um, well,” Dawson muttered.
“Lube’s in the drawer in the coffee table,” Cam said.
Dawson froze. “What?”
Cam squirmed under Dawson’s weight, pressing him into the couch. “Do I need to give you directions? A map? I kinda thought you’d want to take point here.”
Sitting up, Dawson gazed at him incredulously. “No. I don’t need directions or a fucking map, and I sure as hell am gonna fuck you. But, you, you—”
Cam ordered himself to not be self-conscious or to feel exposed by Dawson’s gaze. Or what he was about to make him admit.
“Thought about it, okay? In the shower, this afternoon, and I thought, maybe.” Cam shook his head like he was trying to clear it. But his dick was so hard, and he just wanted Dawson to take him.
“But I texted you,” Dawson said, in the exact same way Cam had said last night, I kissed you.
“Might’ve been about to do it myself,” Cam admitted quietly.
“Shit,” Dawson said and stumbled backwards getting up.
For a split second, Cam thought he’d pushed too far, too hard, but then he realized Dawson was shucking his jeans off and yanking the drawer in the coffee table open.
He made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat and then he leaned over Cam again.
That smirk was back in full force, and Cam groaned as Dawson palmed over his hard cock and then tugged his sweatpants down.
“I’m gonna fuck you into this couch,” Dawson said in a low, determined voice. “And then I’m gonna fuck you into your mattress, next.”
Cam’s breath caught in his throat. There was no air in this room, and then there was even less of it when Dawson leaned over, kissed him hard, and then slid his hand between his thighs.
Knew the moment Dawson discovered why he’d been thinking about it in the shower.
“Oh fuck, you didn’t . . .you did.” Dawson groaned into Cam’s mouth as he kissed him harder. Two of his slicked-up fingers sliding into him easily.
“Was thinking if I hadn’t left this morning,” Cam panted. The pleasure was fizzing through him now, bubbles exploding under his skin. Turned out that Dawson’s fingers were even better than his own; even better than in the fantasies he’d spun this afternoon.
“Didn’t want you to go either,” Dawson admitted in a low, wrecked voice.
If Cam was thinking—which he was not—he might admit that this was not like any other hookup he’d ever had. It was so intimate, Dawson breathing in his mouth, two fingers buried deep in him, moving perfectly like this wasn’t the first time they’d ever done this.
“Come on,” Cam begged.
But Dawson didn’t move. Well, he did. His fingers were working him so good, and then there was a third one, Cam nearly choking on the feeling as they slid inside.
“Not yet. I’m enjoying myself,” Dawson said. He paused. “And you are too. I can tell. God, the way you’re taking me. I can’t—” He bit off the rest of his sentence, a low groan escaping him.