Chapter 5
“Four field goals and a touchdown,” Lane said, glancing over at Trevor as he drove them back to his condo after the game. “Nothing to be ashamed about.”
“We lost,” Trevor muttered. He’d been quiet in the locker room after the game and even quieter on the ride home. Lane kept wondering if the next time he opened his mouth, Trevor was going to tell him the experiment was over. That they were going back to the way they’d been before.
Lane didn’t know if he would just accept it, or if he’d attempt to tell Trevor that he could go back, but Lane couldn’t, because that platonic situation had never existed for him in the first place.
“Hung in there almost til the end,” Lane said, which was not just him hyping Trevor up, but the truth. They’d only lost by a field goal, which considering that the Giants had played all their starters and half the Thunder’s players had been backups, was pretty damn impressive.
“Not good enough,” Trevor said, staring out the window into the darkness as Lane pulled into the garage under his building.
“Hey, there’s gonna be plenty of time to beat yourself up for the next two weeks, no need to do it tonight,” Lane said, even though he had no intention of letting Trevor do that.
Despite the loss, they’d nabbed the top seed in the AFC, which meant no game next Sunday. But that didn’t mean no football—they’d be working hard, preparing for whoever they’d face in the second round of the playoffs.
“Sure,” Trevor said, not sounding particularly convinced.
Lane parked the car and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Seriously,” he said, “you being pissed at yourself and pissed at me doesn’t get anyone anywhere.”
“I’m not pissed at you,” Trevor said, putting his hand on the door like he was going to open it, but before he could, Lane leaned over, grabbing it.
“Come on.” Lane tried for his most persuasive tone. Hoped he was at least a little better at it than Trevor was. “Don’t be like this.”
“I thought we were always like this. Demon twins, remember?” Trevor said, glancing over at him.
Their gazes stuck together like two magnets—unavoidable and inevitable.
“We weren’t two nights ago.” It was so stupid to bring it up. If he brought it up, it would be the perfect opportunity for Trevor to say the thing he was dreading to hear. That the experiment was done. Finished. Over. That he’d figured it all out, so he didn’t need Lane anymore.
But Lane needed him.
Trevor let out a rough noise, and the next thing Lane knew, their mouths were crashing together. Their first kisses had been hesitant, like Trevor hadn’t been sure, and Lane had let him take the reins because that had been the whole point of the experiment, right?
Lane already knew what he liked—Trevor on top of him, Trevor underneath him, Trevor next to him, Trevor half a step behind. Always close enough to touch—but he’d wanted Trevor to figure it out for himself.
It seemed too good to be true that maybe they were on the same page about this, but Trevor’s lips were pressing eagerly to his own, as he angled his body over the center console. Like he didn’t want to be so far away.
Trevor groaned in the back of his throat before pulling back barely an inch. “I like that better,” he admitted in a low, rough voice. His eyes were soft and hot, honesty blazing in their depths.
Lane felt shaken. Couldn’t help but meet Trevor’s honesty with some of his own. “Me too.”
Maybe after hiding it for so long, it should’ve been harder to admit it, but it was the easiest thing in the world to say.
Especially when Trevor’s brown eyes softened even more, practically melting into honey. He licked his lips, and Lane wanted to kiss him again, so this time, he let himself and did.
It was even deeper, even wetter than the last one. Lane cupped Trevor’s face and didn’t take, necessarily, because he’d meant what he’d said the other night—he wanted Trevor to find everything he wanted—but he let them fall into a give and take.
Trevor nipped at his bottom lip and pulled back again. Lane could barely resist the urge to drag him right back. He was a good kisser, sweet and hot in equal measures, and Lane was nearly shaking at how badly he wanted more of his mouth.
“We should . . . uh . . . go upstairs,” Trevor said.
That had been the plan, before they’d fallen into each other.
To go upstairs, get ready to go back out again, head to Vault for the now-regular after-game party that Ramsey threw for the team.
Even though Ramsey wouldn’t even be at this one, because he was traveling with the Wolves, Nate had claimed this one was going to be even better, even bigger, because they were celebrating a historic Thunder season.
He and Trevor should go. Before this moment, Lane had kind of wanted to go. Get a drink, sip it slowly, try to forget what Trevor’s mouth tasted like. But why would he do that if he could just keep tasting it?
“Yeah,” Lane finally said. “Let’s go upstairs.” And if he had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t be heading back out afterwards.
Trevor had liked what they’d done, but there was so much more. So many ways to keep Trevor right where he wanted him, tucked up in his bed.
The walk to the elevator and the ride up was tough, only because Trevor kept sending him these little curious looks and biting down on his plump pink bottom lip. Lane dug his nails into his palms and tried to get ahold of himself.
This was Trevor’s show; he couldn’t, shouldn’t, push. But he wanted to. He wanted to press Trevor right against the back wall of the elevator and replace Trevor’s teeth with his own.
But he didn’t.
They made it to the right floor, down the hallway, and through the door of Lane’s condo.
And then Trevor looked up at him, those three inches between them seeming more radical than ever, and Lane couldn’t help it any longer.
He kissed him, pushing them backwards through the hallway, towards his bedroom.
The first time they’d done this, Lane had thought maybe it was better to do it on the couch. Felt more casual, more like a hookup.
But he hadn’t even gotten Trevor naked last time and that felt like a loss. One he was going to remedy this time around.
He got them through the doorway and nearly pushed Trevor down onto the bed before he remembered what he’d promised.
But in the end, it didn’t matter, because at the last second, Trevor used his strength and switched their positions. It was Lane’s knees that hit the back of the mattress, Trevor crawling over him, slanting their mouths together in another, even hungrier, kiss.
Trevor’s cock was pressing hard and insistent against his hip as Trevor groaned into his mouth, working up to a slow and steady grind that was driving Lane out of his mind.
They could absolutely do this again. It had been shockingly good last time—all Lane needed to find the edge was the fact that it was Trevor’s mouth on his, Trevor’s skin under his palms. Trevor’s cock that kept nudging up against his own, even through too many layers of fabric.
But Trevor pulled back. God, he looked like every wet dream Lane had ever had, and his cock twitched in his sweatpants.
“What if I want more?” Trevor asked, teeth digging into his bottom lip again. He pulled his sweatshirt off and then stripped his T-shirt off. In the shadowed light of his bedroom, Trevor looked like a sculpture from one of those European museums, come to life.
“What do you want?” Lane asked.
He couldn’t help but touch, fingers trailing down the smooth line of his neck, down to his pectoral, then grazing down lower, enjoying the way the muscles of Trevor’s abs flexed under his touch.
Trevor groaned a little, thighs clenching around Lane more firmly.
“Could I make a suggestion?” Lane asked. He wasn’t going to make demands, no matter how much he wanted to.
Trevor nodded. His hands were tugging up Lane’s clothes too. The slight chill of his hands on Lane’s bare skin made him shiver. Or maybe it was just Trevor’s touch.
“Want to suck you off. Would you be okay with that?”
Trevor’s eyes went so wide. “Would I be okay with that?”
It was hard, but Lane shrugged casually, like his heart wasn’t in his throat at even the thought of it.
“It’s your experiment,” Lane reminded him.
“You fucking idiot,” Trevor said, but his voice was brimming with fond incredulity, as he slid off Lane’s lap. He shucked his jeans and then tucked his fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs, then, God, stopped.
Lane’s breath caught in his throat.
But before he could ask—no, demand—that Trevor keep going, because if he didn’t, Lane was going to die, Trevor opened his mouth and asked, a thread of uncertainty running through his voice, “I don’t know how you want to do it.”
Truthfully, Lane wanted to do it however Trevor wanted to do it, but he thought he understood what Trevor wasn’t quite saying.
“I got you,” Lane reassured, sitting up. He pushed his own sweatpants and wrestled off his sweatshirt. Then he curled a hand around Trevor’s hip and gently pushed him down on the edge of the bed.
“Just like this,” Lane continued. He replaced Trevor’s fingers with his own, stroking them absently for a second, before tugging down his boxer briefs to his ankles.
Trevor’s cock was as pretty as the rest of him. Flushed bright pink and a little smaller than Lane’s own, but honestly it wouldn’t have mattered what it looked like. Only that it belonged to Trevor, and he wanted him so bad he felt like he was going to choke on all that desire.
But it was Trevor who made a choked sound as Lane leaned in, hand curled around Trevor’s thigh, and licked up the length.
It had to be in his own fucking head, but Lane’s mind swam with the sweetness of his taste. It was just salt and skin, but the phantom echo of sugar had him doing it again and again.
When he glanced up, Trevor wasn’t looking at him, but at the ceiling, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed convulsively, fingers digging into the comforter.
“You can touch me if you want,” Lane said.