Chapter 17
BENJI
For a brief second I heard it in the back of my head: holy fucking shit.
But it was gone as soon as it came. This wasn’t about idol worship, or New Day Tech, or Project Orthos.
It sure as fuck wasn’t about Beck, or my dad, or money.
This was about us. And sure, working on the project may have shown us how compatible we were and how well we communicated with each other.
It may have proven how much we liked to spend time together.
But being together? That was going to be about Anson and me and moments like the ones we shared in my bedroom that first night.
His hands trembled when he tugged at the button on my pants, and mine were no better as I yanked at his belt buckle.
He lost his balance, and we toppled to the bed.
Laughing, I let out a frustrated, “Fucking pants!”
When his face went from serious to alight with laughter, my heart soared. I slid out from where he had landed half on top of me and stood. He rolled onto his back, his eyes following me, taking me in from head to toe, barely stopping to admire the bulge in my pants.
Barely.
I smirked and leaned over him, my hand hovering over his belt.
He nodded slowly but enthusiastically, his smile more open than I’d ever imagined it could be.
Finally, I eased his belt buckle free, then I backed up a few steps, letting it clamor to the floor, my eyes still on him, my hands moving to undo my own pants.
“Fucking pants,” I said again, this time in a tone I hoped was silky and seductive even as it sounded performative to my own ears.
Slowly, I unzipped my own slacks. He propped up on his elbows to watch, his head bobbing in agreement.
His hair framed his face like I had imagined it would—in a moment I’d maybe pictured a couple of times over the past few weeks.
I pulled my neatly pressed pants down until I could kick them off, bending quickly to get rid of my socks. I remembered dressing for our fancy dinner with Anson, excited and distraught all at once to see him again. I’d worn the suit I had on the day we met. The one I planned to wear for graduation.
In that room, facing his hungry eyes and his bare chest, with its salt-and-pepper dusting of hair traveling the center of it beyond where I could see, I suddenly didn’t care about my neatly pressed pants at all.
No one will even notice wrinkled pants under my graduation gown, I thought as I kicked them away.
Anson’s eyes locked on mine as if he was too polite to stare at the bulge fighting its way out of my briefs.
I could sense a wet spot forming, and the fire in those blue eyes caused my cock to twitch.
I broke eye contact to look down at it, sensing his eyes as they raked the length of my body.
I gripped myself and squeezed, something I’d done many times before, even occasionally in front of other men.
But never, not once, had the move made a noise emit from me that sounded foreign to my ears, one so primal and hungry that for a beat, I thought I should be embarrassed by it.
But one look at the hunger in Anson’s eyes sent that notion right out of my head.
He wasn’t even touching me yet. We remained locked like that for a long beat. I waited for him to make a move.
“Is this okay?” I eventually whispered, squeezing myself again. It broke the spell he was under, and he lunged toward me, his hand enveloping mine as we stood so close that only thin flames danced between us.
His squeeze was firm, his palm warm against my own hand. “Is this okay?” he countered. All I could do was nod my assent as my head snapped back in pleasure.
“Move,” he growled as he batted my hand away, taking over, pressure surging through the cotton, his hand covering the wet spot that I felt growing.
My head and some small modicum of my senses returned to find him unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with one hand while the other continued to fondle me.
I helped him then, taking over the zipper and lowering his jeans and underwear at one time.
As I lowered myself, his hand lost its connection with my arousal.
I wanted to rush what I was doing so that we could go back to touching each other, so that he could go back to touching me there, but rushing had very recently caused both of us to stumble.
His hand found my shoulder, and I found myself on my knees.
I noticed he was still wearing his loafers.
I wanted to help him slip them off, but when I leaned back, Anson’s cock looked rock hard, pointing straight out, right in front of my fucking face. I licked my lips, then licked his slit, tasting the salty, clear precum that had formed there.
I leaned back again, grasping his sides and looking up. “Shoes. Off,” I ordered. He lifted a leg, and we wobbled, so I sat up taller, his hands finding my shoulders once more. I leaned down and continued teasing Anson’s tip with my tongue.
I heard the hitch of his breath, followed by the mutter of the word, “Focus.”
I pulled off again. “Oh, I’m focused,” I assured him, my voice heavy as I took him in as deep as I could.
He smiled down at me. “I meant me. I would really like these jeans off.” He cupped my cheek gently and pulled away to sit on the bed and toe off his shoes. He yanked and kicked at the denim and cotton material that had bunched below his knees and tossed them aside as well, with my help.
I couldn’t wait any longer. Standing, I quickly shed my briefs, watching Anson follow them as they fluttered to the floor. His hungry eyes snapped back to me with a crooked smile before he purposefully took me in from head to toe. He seemed to like what he saw.
I grasped his hand and climbed on the bed, knee-walking my way to the center until I felt a tug from Anson’s hand.
“Socks.” He bent, and I propped myself up in the center of the bed, waiting for him.
It was my turn for my dick to stand at attention, and the thought of release became overwhelming.
As Anson rose and shook his hair back behind him, a pulse had me spouting more precum than I ever remembered seeing, either from myself or someone else.
“Touch me, please.” I’d anticipated my voice would still be heavy, but instead, it came out high-pitched and desperate. It made me feel young and self-conscious for a moment, but Anson’s smile wiped every thought away except for thoughts of him.
“With pleasure,” he responded, sitting on the bed and stroking me, his hand finding the moisture and using it to slick the way.
I watched him work, my body on fire, but it was on fire for so much more than him sitting primly at my side, jerking me off. “Not what I meant,” I said, and I caught the quick look of concern on Anson’s face.
“Come. Here,” I demanded with a smirk that turned to a smile as Anson crawled up my body, his hair draped around him, framing his face just like I’d dreamed. I collected his strands in one hand, guiding him to look at me.
“Please tell me you want to fuck me. I want you inside me so bad.” As if to prove the point, I opened my legs so Anson could settle between them, our members touching and pressed between us as he got comfortable and propped himself up on his arms.
“I … yes. Yup. I can definitely do that.” I pulled him gently to me, and our lips sought each other like they were made to be united. What started out soft and sweet escalated quickly until we were both writhing as we rolled around on my bed.
I ended up on top of him and couldn’t help myself. I reached down between us and grasped us both in my hand, lifting up and separating our mouths after what seemed like forever.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Anson gasped in time to my ministrations, but then it turned to, “No, no, no,” as he hoisted himself up below me.
“Benji, sweetheart. Stop, stop! I’m going to come and … and I want to give you what you want. Please!” he shouted. I was on the brink, too, and had to fight my own instincts to stop.
I did so by jumping off of him and scrambling to the end table at the side of my bed—trying hard not to think about the fact that my dad had made the furniture in my room—as I leaned down and found the box I had made out of Lego bricks as a kid, the one that now held lube and condoms.
I had had guys in my room before and been embarrassed by my little multicolored creation, but that thought never crossed my mind as I sat up, tossed a packet on Anson’s chest, and pumped lube onto my fingers.
Anson was focused on the box even after I placed it on the nightstand, until I sat up on my knees, one hand propped up behind me as I reached back.
His eyes went wide as I stretched my arm in order to stretch something else. “This will just take a minute, baby.” I gave an up nod at the packet he was absentmindedly spinning in one hand. “Suit up.”
“Yes, yup,” he sputtered, tearing open the packet and slipping the condom on.
Straddling one of his legs, I performed a show for Anson, reaching back with lube-drenched fingers, my back arched, my mouth open.
My eyes locked with Anson’s, watching him as he pictured what I was doing behind me.
I went quickly, too ready for the main event to waste time, sure I could take what Anson had on offer.
Soon, I pulled my hand around, seeking out the lube and using it to coat the condom Anson was leaking into, loving the hiss he made when I touched him.
He began to sit up after I let him go, but I gently pushed him back to a propped-up position on my pillows, adjusting my body until I was straddling him fully, up by his waist.
I reached behind me and grabbed his cock, swearing I could feel it pulse as Anson gasped.
I watched him like that, his head back, his chest flushed and arched.
I let my free hand trace the patch of hair between his pecs, and his gaze followed.
I adjusted and positioned him to my hole, and it pulled his concentration from the hand I had tickling his stomach.
“Wait!” he huffed.
“I really don’t want to!” It sounded like I was begging.