8. Gideon
Chapter 8
Gideon
W hen I stepped into Fletcher’s dorm room for the first time, I saw him as he’d been that day. A cookie cutter version of his father, the next Sinclair heir. But when he came to my room, he’d seen…
Me.
He might have been the first person ever.
“Secrets will get you killed,” he rasped, clearing his throat and backing away from me. “Where’s your book, Gideon? We don’t have all night.”
“On my desk,” I said, gesturing with my thumb toward a stack on the edge of my cluttered workspace. “But you’re the one who wanted to come over here in the first place.”
“A mistake,” he muttered, shoving past me to get his notebook and my book from the desk. “Let’s get this over with.”
Dorm rooms at Rose Hill Prep were not designed for collaborative work. The desks came with one chair, the bed…a twin. Group work was meant to be done in the library or the classroom, but for as much as Fletcher and I followed the rules, that was one we’d never bothered with. Just as I had every night in his room, he climbed onto my bed and straightened his back against the wall.
His feet hung off the side and he tried to toe his sneakers off, but the laces had been tied too tight in his hurry to get over to my room. Without thinking, I plucked them both loose and then climbed onto the bed beside him. Fletcher looked at me with wide eyes, mouth twisted into a miserable-looking frown.
Thump.
Thump.
His shoes hit the floor, pristine white socks bright as day in the darkness of my room.
He flipped open the notebook to the page we’d left off on the night before and shoved my battered copy of Hamlet into my chest.
“Read the last chapter out loud,” he said, pulling a pen out of his pocket. “I’ll take notes on the metaphors.”
I could have told him every metaphor and allegory in the book from memory alone, but he didn’t trust me and I didn’t blame him. I was a North, and whatever tentative truce we’d accidentally stumbled into didn’t change that. Me getting myself off every morning with Fletcher’s name caught in the back of my throat didn’t change anything either.
I read the chapter to him, trying not to focus on the fact we were on my bed instead of his. I pointed out some symbolism he’d overlooked in his notes instead of pointing out how nice it felt to have the outside of his leg pressed against mine. It was the closest we’d ever been, and I was in the same pajama pants as always, the soft and worn cotton not doing much to hide my quickly growing interest in our proximity.
Adjusting the book on my lap with a grunt, I turned the page and kept reading. I focused on the sentences, the words, the letters, my attention so rapt I didn’t even notice when Fletcher set down the pen. He shifted his weight, pressing harder into my side, and I barely managed to stifle a gasp.
“I’ll read the rest,” he said carefully, holding his hand out for the book.
“It’s fine,” I told him. “I like reading.”
To you.
I like reading to you.
“I’ll read the rest, North.” He grabbed the book out of my hands, and I had a split second to decide if I wanted to try and hide my arousal or let it be seen. In the end, it didn’t matter. The book had hidden more than I realized, and the knowing sound that fell out of Fletcher’s mouth at the sight of my erection only made it worse.
“You don’t have to…” I trailed off, letting my hands fall to my sides.
The room fell so quiet, I could hear the spit move around in Fletcher’s mouth as he opened it, closed it, swallowed, opened it again.
“Gideon,” he said softly.
“Please, just…don’t.”
“Are you that into literature?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Show me.”
I choked on my own spit. “Sorry, what?”
He was dead serious, blue eyes dark as cut sapphires as he fixed his stare on me. Both of us ignoring the hard rod jutting up from between my legs.
“Show me,” he repeated, slower, lips curling around every word the way my hand always curled around my dick. “Take it out. And show me.”
Blinking hard, I shoved the waistband of my pajamas down and fisted the base of my shaft for him to see. But Fletcher didn’t look down. He kept his eyes on my face.
“Stroke yourself the way you do when I’m not here,” he said next, and I did.
It was impossible to tell him no, but even if it had been easier, I didn’t want to. This…whatever this thing we were doing together was…it was the ultimate act of rebellion, the biggest secret either of us would ever keep. Mr. Smith wouldn’t be the only one dead if either of our fathers found out how our assignment preparation had turned out.
I’d very likely find myself at the bottom of the pool alongside my piano.
I twisted my wrist and pulled my hand up my length, my entire body shuddering with pleasure. Only half of it from the feel of my hand, the other from the weight of his attention on me.
“Are you going to watch?” I asked, my strokes quickening, breath coming harder.
“I am watching.”
Fletcher swallowed and gently pressed the side of his finger against the bottom of my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to look at him.
“Are you cut, Gideon?” he asked.
My balls hurt. They ached.
“Yes.”
He hummed, lips pursed into a tight line.
“Are you?”
My head fell back and Fletcher grabbed me. One finger beneath my chin, the other hand fisted in the back of my hair, holding my face once again level with his.
“No,” he answered, leaning close.
I could still see his face, his eyes, the pained stretch of his mouth. His breath burned against my cheek, and I was close enough to see the thoughts racing through his eyes.
“I’m going to come,” I warned him.
“Good.”
My entire body seized as I finished, jets of cum spilling over the top of my hand. Fletcher’s fingers tightened in my hair and his other hand drifted down. I didn’t look away, not even as I registered the sound of his zipper, the rough slide of dry skin against dry skin.
Another burst of cum leaked out of my slit when Fletcher gritted his teeth together and grunted. He blinked hard, clenching his jaw and letting out an almost silent groan as he finished seconds later.
More than anything, I wanted to look down, to see what we looked like with our pants down and our arousal smeared and drying between our legs, but enough was enough and Fletcher wouldn’t give me the chance.
He tucked himself back into his pants and released his hold on my hair. He never even looked down at my dick, not even as he climbed off my bed and put his shoes back on, and especially not when he looked back at me before closing the door and letting himself out of my room.