Chapter 13 #2
“Look more sick,” Eggo mouths. He flushes the toilet and then opens the door.
As best as I can, I pretend I’m just righting myself from being hunched over the bowl.
Abs steps into the bathroom, making the space uncomfortably crowded. “Are you done barfing? Is it all out?”
I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and nod, and behind Abs, Eggo smirks. I’m so thankful Abs is anosmic, meaning he has no sense of smell and therefore no way to disprove the chunder story.
“You want me to get you back to the hotel?” Abs asks.
Eggo cuts in, looping his arm over my shoulder. “I’ll get him back safely. We’re sharing a room anyway.”
“Okay, but I’m coming with you.”
I make eyes at Eggo, but there’s no getting around it. If we tell Abs no, he’ll grow suspicious. The only thing I can do is pretend to be so drunk that the only solution for me is to go straight to the hotel and claw myself into bed.
“My jacket,” I yell, then fake stumble and point towards the rest of the boys.
Eggo nips back over to the bar to pick up our belongings, and the three of us trundle downstairs. Abs flags down a taxi the old-fashioned way, and we climb in, Abs in the front and Eggo and me in the back seat. I lean my head against the leather headrest and feign drunken dozing.
“You still never told me what Gadget did that you two were gossiping about,” Abs says.
I murmur, and the seat bounces with Eggo’s silent laughter. In the rear-view mirror, I see the taxi driver look over at Abs.
“Do you remember last month when the disabled toilet at the training grounds got blocked so badly they had to dig up the car park and replace all the pipes?”
“Yeah?” Abs says, drawing out the word.
“Yeah, well, that was because Gadget took a shit so solid and colossal that it flooded the entire bathroom and the original plumber they called out couldn’t clear it, even with this like spinning snake drill thing.
” Eggo’s fingers brush mine, and I fight laughter.
He’d already confessed to that crime as the jackhammers were opening the asphalt.
“Fucking hell!” Abs says, but he’s obviously satisfied by the story as he turns forward to face the road.
“Come on, pard. Wakey wakey.” Eggo gently slaps my cheeks as the taxi slows to a stop.
I grumble and open my eyes, feign a yawn, and “fall” out of the car.
It’s freezing outside and my breath fogs in front of me.
Abs drapes my jacket over my shoulders, and I let the pair of them prop me up and walk me in.
I don’t know if either of them has paid the driver, and part of me is celebrating how inadvertently cunning my plan of pretending to be drunk has been, and part is worried we’re fare-dodging and the driver’s going to be pissed at us now.
“What room are you in?” Eggo asks Abs as they guide me towards the lifts.
“Three oh two oh,” Abs answers, and I feel Eggo sag in relief. We’re not direct neighbours.
But Abs doesn’t leave us at 3020. He keeps walking us down the corridor despite my Cornish friend’s many protestations of “I got it” and “Don’t worry, mate.”
“Make sure he sleeps on his side,” I hear Abs say from the doorway as I pretend to collapse on the bed. “Also, you both owe me four pounds each for the taxi.”
“Who’s next door to us?” Eggo asks.
After a few seconds Abs says, “Gadget?” My heart trills. I’d forgotten Gadget is our neighbour. He’ll most likely be tucked up in bed and asleep already, meaning we don’t have to worry too much about being overheard.
“Hey, what time does Snatch usually get back?” Abs says.
“Oh, he’ll be one of the last to leave the bar, so you’ll have that room to yourself for a while.
” It’s such a sneaky move on Eggo’s part because he knows as well as I do Abs would rather video call Orlando than rub my shoulders as I spew into the night.
“Don’t worry, pard, I’ll look after your bestie. ”
“Good night, prick,” Abs calls out to me, unable to resist the lure of an empty hotel room.
“See ya tomorrow, cunt,” I reply affectionately.
The door clicks closed and Eggo walks over. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed watching him, not quite sure what I’m supposed to be doing with any of my limbs.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he says, taking my face between his hands and bringing his lips down to meet mine.
He pushes me backwards, climbing over me until his full weight presses me down into the mattress.
He whines into the back of my throat as he kisses me.
My stomach is a solid knot of nervous energy, but I’m so fucking happy right now.
We roll onto our sides, and then roll again so I’m on top of him. It’s desperate and messy. Our teeth clash, fingers get stuck in buttonholes, involuntary moans escape into the dark, lamp-lit room.
“What do you want to do?” he asks. “How far do you want to . . .”
“Uh . . . hand stuff?” I reply.
Eggo laughs, then wets his bottom lip. “Hand stuff is good. I like hand stuff.” He laughs again. He’s grinning his head off, and I’m half wondering if it’s because he’s taking the piss out of me or if he’s just nervous. Or excited. A mix of all three? “I can’t believe this is happening.”
He’s right, it doesn’t feel quite real. I’m not drunk like I was at Halloween, and I’m not in some weird four-hour coach journey fuelled haze like yesterday when we arrived, but I feel as though I’m dreaming. Like I could wake up any second, alone, cold, and naked, with my dick in my hand.
“Are you hard?” he asks.
“Yes. Are you?” I say, even though I know he is. I feel it pressing into my hip.
“Can I see?” That question is hotter than it should be. “Undress for me.”
“Yes, boss.” I stand beside him, pull my tie over my head, and begin unbuttoning my shirt. I undo the button on my pants, unzip them, let them drop to the ground.
“Just FYI, you’re fucking stunning,” Eggo says, still fully clothed on the bed.
I am such a slut for compliments even though I never believe them and always second-guess the motivation behind them—the complimenter’s lying to sweeten me up, they’re making fun of me, they want to see how gullible or stupid or desperate I am.
Nevertheless, my heart flutters every time someone directs something nice towards me.
With Eggo it’s different. I actually believe his words, without question, without the internal barter of how deserving I am of them. If he tells me I’m stunning, I must be.
A smile cracks my face while I hook my fingers either side of my undies and slowly pull them down until I’m standing in front of him in only my socks.
He says nothing, only stares at me for a few moments, his eyes travelling down my body and up again. Then he gets to his feet and kisses me. Gently, like he’s savouring it. He’s long since lost his tie, so he unbuttons his shirt and throws it on top of my clothing pile.
Still kissing me, he drops his pants and undies, and pauses to pull off his socks. When he straightens himself back to his full height our cocks brush together.
“Well, this is very rude,” I say.
Eggo laughs. “So rude.” He kisses me again, and I try to memorise the sensation of his body against mine. Firm, and hairy, and damp from being too warm in our suits all evening. He smells of his spiced cologne and a little of Deep Heat.
His hands smooth down my bare back, pausing above my ass. “Can I?”
“Yes.”
Consent granted, he grabs my flesh, pulling me towards him and rocking his hips at the same time.
He has goosebumps all over his skin, and before I realise what I’m doing, I reach forward to trace them with my fingertips.
Over his shoulders, down his chest, over his hairy belly, and along his pelvic lines. I pause before I get to his cock.
“Okay?” I ask.
Eggo grabs my right hand and closes it on himself. “Let me show you how I like it,” he says, guiding me up and down.
It’s different from how I like to be touched, how I touch myself. It’s rougher, quicker, more urgent. He pillows his head on my shoulder and moans into the space between us. Then, abruptly, he lets go. I maintain the speed and rhythm he set.
“Do yourself too, at the same time. I need to watch,” he says.
I close the fingers of my other hand around my cock, but before I’ve even garnered a single second of blissful friction, he knocks it away.
“No, do us both with the same hand. Do us the way you do yourself.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, wrapping my fist around both our shafts. “This is fucking hot.” I start stroking. Slowly at first to get used to the extra girth, then continuing slowly because that’s how I like it. All the way to the hilt and back to the tip.
Eggo’s bending his knees a little so we line up better, and I can’t help but think how much easier this would be if we were lying down.
But the doubts don’t last long. No thoughts last long.
He kneads my right buttock with one hand, and the other cradles my nape as he kisses me, pausing every few seconds to catch his breath or look down between us at the show I’m putting on.
Every time he glances at our cocks he clenches his jaw or bites his lip as though the sight of us butted together like that, wet with precum, is going to send him right over that peak.
Neither of us says anything. We alternate between kissing and watching, and I’m praying my photographic memory never lets me forget this moment.
“Woah.” Eggo places his hand over mine, stopping my movement.
“I’m gonna come. Oh, fuck.” He closes his eyes and holds his breath.
“Phew, okay it’s passed . . . Oh, shit no, I’m coming.
” He jerks his fist, moving mine at the same time, and cries out.
And I watch his orgasm shoot from his cock, covering both our hands.
That might have been the single, most intensely arousing thing I’ve ever witnessed.
“Shit, sorry. I’m crap at timing that.” He’s out of breath, his face flushed bright red. “Are you close? Can I . . . kiss you when you come?”
“Yes,” I say, answering both questions.
Eggo places his hand on my hip, doesn’t move the other from the back of my head, and kisses me as I stroke myself quickly, replaying the moment he broke over and over in my mind.
A few seconds later, I hit that peak and grit my teeth as warmth erupts over my fist. Eggo holds my head still, breaks the kiss, and drinks in my face as I come, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, I’m jealous I didn’t think to do it to him.
I open my eyes and he’s right there, smiling. He kisses me again, and it’s so gentle I barely feel it. We pull apart, catch our breaths, laugh, and survey the damage to the hotel room floor.
He watches me for a few moments longer, tracing my lips with his fingertips. His are kiss swollen, and wet, and stretched into his signature cheeky grin.
“I wonder,” I say, my voice feeling as though it’s been days since I last used it. I clear my throat. “How badly Abs is going to take it when I request a room with you next time too.”
“There’s gonna be a next time?” he asks, his hand still cradling my nape.
“If you want there to be.”
“If I ever say no to a next time, you should probably check me over for a brain-eating slug infestation. I would never say no to this.” He laughs. “Also . . . fuck, my dude. That was literally the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”