Chapter 9 #2
Pulled his jeans down impatiently like Trevor should never be wearing clothes. Didn’t even bother teasing, just swallowed Trevor’s dick right down.
Trevor had thought maybe he’d mentally exaggerated how good Lane was at this, but if anything, that memory paled in comparison to this one.
His mouth was so hot and tight around him, tongue stroking the underside, making Trevor sweat, making him moan.
But it wasn’t just Trevor moaning—Lane was doing it too, he realized—the sounds deep in his throat.
Fingers brushed up against his balls and then slipped further back, Lane using his shoulder to push Trevor’s legs further apart, giving him better access.
Trevor’s hips stuttered as Lane stroked behind his balls, almost where he wanted him. But had he even known he wanted that? He wasn’t sure. But suddenly he was craving it. Not just Lane’s fingers but his cock, too.
Pushing into him, remaking him from the inside out. A whole new realm of pleasure that he’d never explored.
“Fuck,” Trevor cried out. “I want—”
Lane’s gaze flicked up to meet Trevor’s, and his dick slipped out from his mouth. “Yes?” he asked.
“Yes.” The word came out more like a plea than the answer to a question.
Lane’s gaze darkened even more and he leaned in, sucking a mark into the cut of Trevor’s hip, making him twitch.
Then his mouth was back on his cock and his fingers were stroking that place again, just a tease, not even trying to penetrate him. But it didn’t matter. Even the thought of it, the flirtation of Lane’s fingers there, made him crazy. Made him writhe with pleasure as Lane sucked him harder.
Trevor didn’t want it to end—he wanted more, desperately. But before he could even tell himself firmly to hang on, to make the dirty pleasure of it last and last and last, he was right there on the edge, caught between Lane’s mouth and that gently stroking finger.
“Fuck, yes, I’m gonna—”
Lane nodded in encouragement, his eyes gleaming with intent, and Trevor couldn’t hold back a moment longer. He fell right off the edge, his orgasm swamping him.
Even with all his realizations coalescing into one incredible experience, it still was rocking Trevor’s world that the sex was that good. That he could come that hard. Could feel like he was just floating away on a fucking cloud, after.
Lane groaned roughly and a second later he was on his feet again, pushing Trevor back against the door with the ferocity of his kiss. Trevor would’ve sworn if it was physically possible, he’d have gotten hard again just from tasting himself on Lane’s tongue.
When Lane pushed his hips into Trevor’s, he didn’t need another invitation. He pushed down Lane’s sweatpants, stuck his fingers into his own mouth, swirling them around and imagining, for a split second, that it was Lane’s cock, and then pulled them out, reaching for it and giving it a firm stroke.
“Fuck, fuck,” Lane cried out and it wasn’t exactly the world’s best handjob but apparently it didn’t matter how uncoordinated Trevor was or how inexperienced, he was shuddering out his orgasm less than a minute later, face pressed into Trevor’s neck.
It was a good thing Trevor wasn’t a slouch in the gym, because he was definitely the one holding them both up after that.
Slowly, they untangled.
Lane looked at him for a moment before turning away, mumbling something about cleaning up, even though it was Trevor’s hand and wrist and sweatshirt that were covered in Lane’s come.
But Trevor had begun to figure out Lane’s tells, and he knew what Lane was doing now.
What he’d done earlier, when he’d kissed him.
So when Lane went to his bathroom, Trevor yanked up his jeans with his clean hand and followed.
“I heard you, you know,” Trevor said, not wasting any time flicking on one of the sinks so he could wash up.
Then he pulled off his sweatshirt. And why not, his T-shirt too.
Enjoying the way Lane’s gaze snagged on his bare chest and then sank lower, to his abs.
“Obviously you did.” Lane huffed out a frustrated breath.
“You don’t want to talk about it.” Trevor didn’t ask, because it was painfully obvious. He just didn’t know why. Had some theories, sure, but it was another thing entirely to know.
“No shit,” Lane mumbled. He finished stripping down and flipped the shower on. Like showering was going to stop Trevor from asking.
And it wasn’t. Trevor felt like he was finally on the precipice of getting some answers, even though he hadn’t realized that initial question was going to be the cause.
He wasn’t going to leave it alone now, even though he understood he was going to need to step delicately around this, because Lane was obviously freaking out.
But maybe if Lane got in the shower and they weren’t actually looking at each other, with a pane of fogged-up glass between them, it would be easier.
“So,” Trevor said, leaning back against the counter as Lane got into the shower and ducked his head under the spray, “you’ve liked me for awhile, yeah?”
It was impossible to miss the spluttering noise as Lane apparently sucked in water. But after that telltale noise there was nothing. Nothing for so long, Trevor almost thought he’d been wrong.
Finally, though, Lane spoke up. “Why do you think that?”
There were a couple of reasons, but it was more than that, too. A feeling, suddenly insistent, growing in the back of his mind. Because of the reasons, sure, but also what they all added up to.
“You said you liked me the most,” Trevor said. “And you said it was weird, and that made me think you’d liked me before we ever had sex. It wouldn’t be weird if you liked me after we had sex.”
More silence.
Trevor licked his dry lips. Worried he was pushing too hard, but he needed to know. “Did you drown in there?” he asked, trying for levity.
The shower shut off, which Trevor supposed was his answer.
“No,” Lane said flatly as he opened the door and grabbed his towel.
Trevor had just gotten off, in a very satisfactory manner, but it was impossible to be faced with a naked, wet Lane and not feel some type of way about it.
“Lane—” Trevor tried again as Lane dried off, then wrapped the towel around his waist.
“Do we have to talk about this?” Lane asked impatiently.
Shoving a hand through his wet hair, Lane headed into his attached closet. Trevor followed, because he was sure now, by the very fact that Lane didn’t want to talk about it, that he was right.
“Yes,” Trevor said, standing in the doorway. Lane sighed, pulled his towel off and pulled on a pair of shorts.
Ones that Trevor knew he slept in, because they’d been sharing the same bed now for almost a week.
Lane had never kicked him out. Lane had never said a word, just let him.
“You’re annoying,” Lane blustered.
But Trevor was beginning to see the truth. “You don’t really think that.”
Lane opened his mouth like he was going to insist he did, but then he snapped it shut again.
“Exactly,” Trevor said. “Just fucking talk to me, okay?”
Lane looked like he wanted to leave the closet, but Trevor shifted so he was right in the middle of the doorway. Could Lane muscle him out of the way? Sure. Probably not easily, but he could do it.
Instead, he just shot Trevor a look that said, are you fucking kidding me? And sighed, resigned.
“Fine, fine. You wanna hear about it? I like you. I’ve liked you. That make you happy?”
“Actually, yes,” Trevor said, grinning. “Was that so hard?”
Lane glowered. “You have no fucking clue, do you?”
“About?”
Lane threw up his hands. “I’ve fucking liked you since the beginning, you idiot.”
Trevor’s brain stuttered. Actually literally blue-screened. “What?” he managed to ask.
“From the beginning,” Lane repeated.
“You mean, from when we met? But—”
“But that makes it really fucking weird, yeah. I get that. Why do you think I don’t want to talk about it?”
When Lane gave him a gentle shove to move him out of the way, Trevor was so shocked he didn’t even try to fight against it, body just moving where Lane put him.
It took him a second to realize Lane was leaving.
Not the apartment—he was only wearing shorts, not even a T-shirt, and it was fucking negative twenty degrees or something equally insane outside.
But away, away from Trevor, and he couldn’t let that happen.
Not until he was sure he understood exactly what Lane was saying.
Lane flopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, like he didn’t know Trevor had followed him in.
But he knew. Trevor had hardly made a secret about it.
“It’s not weird,” Trevor said quietly, but firmly.
Lane looked over at him, his light blue eyes wide. “Come on,” he said, not sounding convinced at all. “You don’t think it’s . . . well, weird that I was attracted to you?”
Honestly if Trevor was really considering that possibility, all it did was fill him with 1) frustration that Lane had waited so goddamn long to tell him, and 2) arousal, because Lane liked him.
He wasn’t imagining things. He’d liked him this whole time, and he wasn’t going to want to stop.
Not if he’d felt this way about Trevor for years, and he was only just now getting Trevor in his bed.
“No?” Trevor took a deep breath. The thoughts were hitting him hard and heavy now, one after the other.
Was he annoyed? Was he mad? Was he relieved?
Was he thrilled? It kind of felt like all of the above.
“I just wish you’d been honest about it.
Is this why you’ve been so fucking cagey about us being a family? ”
Lane looked away, and didn’t say anything, which really, said it all. Trevor wanted to get in his face, and yell at him about it a little. Tell him, bluntly, that whenever he refused to answer a question, it only made his feelings more obvious.
“Dude,” Trevor said. Maybe he sounded a little harsh. “I can’t believe—”
“I thought you were gorgeous, before I even knew who you were.” Lane still wasn’t looking at him, and Trevor couldn’t hear any of this, which was actually ragingly, bone-meltingly, scorchingly hot, without making him see.
So he climbed up onto the bed and then settled next to Lane.