Chapter Thirty-One #2
Dustin kept going until Elliot was thrashing like a fish and yelling that he was definitely, definitely, definitely going to come, and he was really serious this time Viejo, and that if Dustin didn’t stop he was never going to fuck him again, and oh God, it’s really coming, it’s really really really going to happen now – and just before it did Dustin pulled out his tongue and rolled off him and onto his back. He smacked Elliot on the ass, panting.
“Alright. Take a break.”
“Take a break?” Elliot gasped. “I nearly just came you fucking dick.”
“Right, well was just the first one.”
“The first what?” He sat up, chest heaving. “Oh God, how long is this gonna take? I have to eat! I have to sleep!”
Dustin bent an arm behind his head and pursed his lips at the ceiling. Then he squeezed Elliot’s thigh. “I guess that’s true.” He lifted his head to look at him. “Do you wanna finish up so we can eat?”
Elliot did not. What he actually wanted to do was this for the rest of his life. He’d never leave this room. He’d have to quit hockey. Fine.
“Well…I mean…we did only just get started…” he said.
Dustin’s face got a look that reminded Elliot of the purple devil emoji, and then he launched himself across the bed and they were at it again.
It went like that for fifty minutes. It was completely unfair – Dustin had like twenty pounds on him and Elliot was already destroyed from the game.
He didn’t stand a chance. He started to think Dustin really was punishing him for whooping his team, because he kept pinning him down and bringing him to the brink over and over and over and then denying him every time, until Elliot was so straight up angry about how horny he was that he was just verbally abusing him.
Dustin seemed to think this was hilarious.
“What does that one mean?” he said, as another string of Spanish expletives fell out of Elliot’s mouth.
“It means fuck you cocksucker,” Elliot gasped, “you goat, motherfucker, you son of a big whore, I shit on everything, I shit on God, I shit in the skull of your mother.”
Dustin laughed his head off and put another finger in his asshole.
Eventually, Elliot lulled Dustin into a false sense of security by pretending to need a glass of water, and when Dustin turned his back to get off the bed and get it, he pounced.
He managed to wrestle him onto his back on the pillows and then leaned on his chest with his forearm to hold him there while he felt around with the other hand on the nightstand for a condom.
He found one, and the lube, and sat up, straddling Dustin.
“Put this on right now.”
Dustin put his hands behind his head, looking amused. “You do it, you little brat.”
Glaring, Elliot tore open the packet with his teeth and seized Dustin’s dick harder than he needed to and rolled it on.
He grabbed the lube and squeezed it with both hands like a ketchup bottle, dumping an unholy amount of it all over Dustin’s cock, then threw the bottle across the room and stood over him on his knees to get into position.
Dustin watched all of this with an infuriating little smile. “Look at you.”
“Fuck you,” said Elliot, and sat on his dick.
Dustin’s hands shot to Elliot’s thighs and squeezed as he pushed up into him. His back arched and his eyes closed, and Elliot was very pleased to see the smirk disappear.
“Fuuuck, Roddy,” he growled.
“You like that?”
“Yes–”
“?A puneta, de verdad?”
Dustin grit his teeth. “What does that one mean?”
“Means if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll make you come.”
He started to move.
Dustin swore and dug his fingers in, watching him.
His face was pure lust, and the thing that turned Elliot on even more than lust: pride.
Dustin watched him not like he couldn’t believe Elliot was this person, but like he couldn’t believe he got to be with this person.
Sometimes Elliot couldn’t believe it either.
He braced a hand on Dustin’s chest, feeling him so deep it was like they were made to fit that way, and a strange, sharp sadness hit him.
He wondered what it might have been like if he was ten years older, or Dustin was ten years younger, and they had played on the same team.
What they could have pulled off on the ice.
Dustin covered Elliott’s hand with his, and Elliot picked it up and kissed his palm, sloppy and sideways.
He let Dustin push his thumb between his lips and sucked it all the way in, staring him down as he wrapped his tongue around it.
He could’ve never done that six months ago. With anyone. It was crazy.
Dustin growled and Elliot pulled his thumb out and smashed his lips against Dustin’s palm again. “Tell me you like it.”
“I fucking love it. I love–” Dustin swallowed. “I love it.”
Elliot felt his breath catch. Was that the same thing he’d been almost saying for weeks?
That kept getting stuck on the way out? Because he didn’t want to say it down the phone?
Could he say it now? Maybe. He mustered up the same courage he’d used to send Dustin all those dick pics and managed, “Me too. I love it too.”
Dustin’s eyes sparked, and he smiled, and laced their hands so Elliot had something to brace on. Elliot had to close his eyes because he was getting close, and Dustin smiling at him was too much.
“Look at me,” said Dustin, so low and rough and quiet that it had the effect of immediately snapping them back open. Their eyes locked and Elliot felt another wave that put him dangerously close to the edge.
“Fuck – I’m so close,” he whispered.
“Me too.”
“I – I love it.” Dammit, no that wasn’t it.
Dustin smiled again. “Me too.”
He pulled Dustin’s hand to his cock. Because if he couldn’t say the thing out loud he could at least come while it was in the room with them.
“Now?” said Dustin. Elliot nodded, and he began to stroke him. “Fuck yes, kid, come for me.”
Elliot moaned, squeezing Dustin’s other hand in his as his head tipped back. “Are you coming with me?”
“Yes. Yeah, I’m right there–”
“Are you sure?”
“Jesus, yes, you’re gonna make me come, don’t fucking worry. You’re doing so fucking good, Roddy.”
“Ay – Shit–”
“Let me see you do it. Show me how good you do it.”
“I am. Fuck. Oh fuck, I am, I’m coming–”
He shouted, and looked down. He knew Dustin wanted to see the literal geyser that was about to come out of him and soak probably everything in the room – but he just wanted to watch Dustin’s face.
To his surprise, when he looked at Dustin, Dustin was looking right back. Not at the mess he was making. At him.
When he got his shit together afterward enough to make words, they wouldn’t come out in English.
He was shaking, and Dustin pulled him down by the back of the neck and held him with his forehead against his shoulder until he stopped.
When Elliot sat up, he looked down at his chest and stomach and the sheets, and Dustin’s chest and stomach and…
forearm and shoulder and eyebrow and…hair? And the pillows? And the wall?
Jesus, it was everywhere.
They staggered to the shower, where Elliot sat on the floor because he was too exhausted to stand up.
Dustin sat on his haunches and washed him, then heaved him onto his feet and wrapped him in a towel and steered him back to the bed.
They lay with Dustin propped against the headboard and Elliot’s head in his lap.
His fingers slid into Elliot’s damp hair, and Elliot sighed and closed his eyes and felt like he could finally breathe.
“You were right,” he mumbled. “It was worth waiting.”
Dustin chuckled and smoothed his cheek with his thumb.
“You didn’t even watch it come out, though,” Elliot yawned. “I thought that was the whole point.”
“I think you know that wasn’t the point,” said Dustin.
The thing he’d almost said roared up inside Elliot again. He had a go at saying it, but disappointingly it came out as, “I loved it,” again.
Dustin squeezed his shoulder. “Me too.”
“Now what?” he mumbled.
Dustin reached for the remote on the nightstand. “Room service, because you’re starving. Then I think we sleep for…ever.”
He handed the remote to Elliot, who clicked on the TV while Dustin leaned over and picked up the phone.
He went through the channels while Dustin ordered.
An ad for a strip club, a show about two guys flipping houses, Star Trek.
His heart skipped as he passed a familiar face.
He paused, glanced over his shoulder at Dustin on the phone, then tapped back to it and put the show on mute.
It was the same episode he’d been watching in Portland.
Did all the hotels play it, or something?
Dustin hung up and his fingers slid absently back into Elliot’s hair as Sophia put her back to the door on the TV. At the bottom of the screen the subtitles said, Fasten your seatbelt, slut puppy. This ain’t gonna be no cakewalk.
Oddly relevant, considering the shitstorm he and Dustin had started tonight.
Dustin’s fingers stilled. “Wait…” he said. “What are we watching?”
Elliot nervously mumbled, “...Golden Girls?”
“This is the Golden Girls? Did that little old lady just say slut puppy?”
“Claro.” He grinned over his shoulder.
Dustin was staring at the TV in disbelief. “Did you tell me your grandma learned English from this show?”
Elliot laughed. “Yeah, my grandma’s English is filthy. Wait–” He frowned. “When did I tell you that?”
“A while ago. I think I said something shitty about it and you got all sassy and told me to fuck off.”
“And you remember that?”
“Sure.” Dustin looked down and smiled. “I guess I must’ve thought it was cute.”
“You thought my grandma was cute?”
“No, idiot. You. For defending her honor.”