The Blueprint, page 15
He looked up at me, gray eyes amused and molten silver. And because we knew each other so well, I knew exactly why he was laughing at me. Yeah, maybe I was treating him reverently as herringbone china. I couldn’t help it if he gave the best head I’d ever fucking received.
I jammed my hand in his thick hair and used it to guide his face. And judging from the state of his tented Superman boxers, he really liked it. “That’s it,” I muttered. “Slow.” And when he complied, my toes actually curled.
“Slower,” I demanded as I carded impatient fingers through his hair and gripped it anew.
He pulled off, and his lips were flushed and shiny like freshly washed cherries. He held my dick in one hand and stroked it up and down, the rhythm equal parts heavenly and torturous. Fuck. If he’d asked for an organ right then, I’d have given it to him, no questions asked. Even if it was a vital one.
“Blue?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop with all the directions. I know how to give a fucking blow job.”
“Yes, you fucking do,” I agreed.
I watched as he went down on me again and his mouth stretched impossibly wide as he tried to deep throat my girth. He had absolutely no chance, but I fucking loved watching him try. And then his nose was in my pubes, and I felt stupid. He was better at that than I ever imagined. I didn’t move because I didn’t want to gag him, but every muscle in my body was tightly sprung.
I briefly spared a thought for Robert, who was no longer the recipient of the best head on Earth, and felt sorry for the bastard.
The rush of orgasm hit me in the base of my spine first, and I tried to hold off, pull back, but he kept sucking—hard enough to make me gasp a little. When he made a soft humming noise around my cock, I realized I was no longer in control of my own body. An orgasm washed over me like a wave. Instead of fighting the tide, I let it drag me out to sea, confident it would carry me back to shore. Eventually.
When I came down from my high, his mouth was curved in a slight smile. He looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen. His hair was crazy from where I’d nearly given him an immediate reason to join the Hair Club for Men. He looked kissable. Adorable. I wanted to fuck him, but I knew that wouldn’t be fair. And never let it be said I didn’t play fair.
He had one second to guess my intentions, and his eyes went wide. I pushed him back on the bed and started working his boxers down his legs. Despite the wealth of blue curacao sloshing around in my belly, I felt stone-cold sober at the thought of taking a dick in my mouth—not because it was gay, but because it was a dick.
In my mouth.
Fuck.
I touched him then, tentatively, and tried to gather my courage. At my first touch, he whimpered a little and undulated up, forcing himself farther into my hand. I smiled a little, even through my nervousness. Obviously I was doing something right, so I decided to stop being such a wuss and tightened my grip.
I started to pump him slowly, lingering with my fingers at the head and going all the way down to the base. When I dipped my thumb in the indentation in the head, he bucked against my hand. Okay. So that was more than good. I altered my strokes and gathered my cues from the expressions on his face.
It was strange to realize that I really, really liked watching him lose it. Better yet, I liked to see him lose it when I was the one taking him apart. I dipped my head toward the fluid leaking from his tip, and his arm flew up. He blocked me hard enough to choke me a little.
“Ow.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he babbled. He rubbed at my throat where he’d hit me, and I waved him off as I coughed. “Didn’t mean to do that.”
“What, karate chop me in the fucking throat?”
“Yes,” he said, clearly aggrieved. “Sorry. I just wanted you to know you don’t have to do that. This… this is fine.” He bucked again as I tightened my grip, and I gave him a few strokes and eyed him darkly. “More than fine.”
“Do you think I won’t be good at it?”
“No. I just—”
“Do you like it when other people give you head?”
“Who doesn’t? I just—”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Jesus, Blue.” He threw up his hands. “You wanna suck my dick? Go ahead and suck my dick.”
“Well, how can I resist since you rolled out the welcome mat?” I snapped.
God, we might as well just get it over with and get married already. We argued like we’d been together fifty years. I was aware that most of my irritation came from apprehension. His? Anticipation, maybe.
I knew Kelly and all his tells, and at that moment, I could tell he wanted me to do it more than anything on Earth. I wasn’t quite as sure about where I stood. He had given me a way out. I could just finish him off with the hand job, and he clearly wouldn’t mind.
As I watched him squirm and meet my hand stroke for stroke, I realized it wasn’t a time for extraneous worries. There wasn’t enough room in the bed for us and labels. Apprehension. Fear. If I just focused on how I felt, everything about that moment made me super horny. What the hell else mattered?
I held him the way he’d held me and took a cautious, testing lick. I didn’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t clean skin and bitter tang. I licked again, a little longer—harder. It wasn’t half-bad. Guys always used the phrase “suck my dick”—douches actually, not all guys—like it was the worst fucking fate imaginable. It wasn’t any worse than sucking his finger… if his finger were leaking salty fluid. That part was a little harder to get used to. But after a few seconds, I didn’t even mind that. I started getting into it, actually, and worked my own reenergized cock with a punishing hand.
I let him slide from my mouth, and his hand moved, almost reflexively, tightened in my hair, and jammed my head back down. I gagged a little, pulled back, and raised an arched brow. “I said I was new at this, didn’t I?”
“Sorry. So sorry,” he blurted, patting the sides of my face nonsensically.
Maybe too new. I worked my aching jaw. He wasn’t even as big or long as I was, but I still couldn’t manage to get him halfway down. Fuck, he made it look easy. He’d probably had better blow jobs—probably from Robert, maybe Connor—hell, probably from anyone who knew what the hell he was doing.
I was briefly embarrassed, and he leaned down and took my lips with his. When he pulled back, I said, “I wish I was better at this.”
“You’re doing fine,” he breathed, and he groaned when I took him back in my mouth. “Fucking perfect, actually.”
Parts of him began to tense under my hands a little at a time until his body felt like one taut muscle. I had a scant moment to process what was happening, and I pulled back. I was willing to try to swallow one of these days, but not when I felt like I’d been smuggling an anaconda in my mouth. It was a little too late to avoid a facial as he spurted over my lips and cheeks as though we were in a goddamned porno. He gasped and groaned and shook, and just when I thought it was over, another splatter of come striped across the bridge of my nose.
“Fuck,” he managed weakly. “Fuck me sideways.”
We stared at one another, both equally shocked, I think. His face turned a little pink, and I realized he was holding back laughter. I reached up to run a hand through my hair and felt damp stickiness. My hair. He’d gotten come in my fucking hair. A snort escaped him, and he slapped a hand over his mouth.
I narrowed my eyes. That sent him off into full-blown laughter—belly laughter. “Oh my God. You should see your face.”
I growled. “I can’t believe you. I said it was my first time.”
“Sorry about that,” he managed.
I pushed him so he rolled over and fell off the side of the bed, still laughing through his plaintive “ouch.”
“Asshat.”
I used his discarded boxers to wipe my face and my sticky hands and then tossed them on the floor. Then I realized my pitiful cleanup attempts weren’t going to cut it and stomped off to the bathroom. What the hell did I know about getting semen off my face? I was so going to get him back for that. I heard him still chuckling even as I washed my face and dried it on a damp towel. I ran the towel over my hair, happy that I kept it short.
He was already in bed when I came back through the door, and I hesitated briefly at the foot of the bed. I realized I should be freaked out. Upset. I was mildly annoyed that he’d given me a facial, but I was kind of pleased I’d made him come so hard. I’d probably do it again, if that’s what he wanted. And that in turn freaked me out. It was a vicious cycle.
“You coming?” he asked.
I blinked and realized I was still clutching a damp towel. So I draped it over an ottoman at the end of the bed. I didn’t have the answers to a lot of questions running through my mind, but I had that one ready. “Yeah.”
I got in bed and lay on my side, facing the wall. He snuggled—there was no other word for it—into my side. The juxtaposition of his smaller form cradling my bigger one was a little awkward, so I flipped over and turned him so I was in the back.
He huffed out a laugh as I latched my arm around his waist. “The big spoon is also a gay spoon, Blue.”
“Shut up.”
“Bisexual spoon?”
“Shut up, Kel.”
It felt a little strange, but not for the reasons I expected. It didn’t feel weird to be in bed with Kelly—maybe because we’d crashed in each other’s beds so many times in the past. It felt strange because I was a serial “hit it and quit it” kind of guy.
I never had dates over to my house, and I never slept over at theirs. Hell, even calling them dates was probably a little generous. We fucked, and I left. It worked for everyone involved. There was no… goddamned cuddling in my world. And yet there I was, my legs tangled in his, his silky hair all in my face.
I probably should’ve been thinking of an escape route, chanting “I’m not gay” in my head, and thinking about whose pussy I could fuck to prove it. Instead everything we’d done ran through my mind like a dirty film reel, and I was critiquing my own performance. I wished I’d made it last longer. Wished I’d swallowed.
Too bad there wasn’t going to be a next time. I had to stop thinking with my little head and start using the big one. Going down that road would just bring me a whole lot of trouble—a lot of trouble I wasn’t ready for. A lot of trouble I didn’t need.
I had to figure out how to go back to being just friends and not… whatever the hell we were right then. Once I figured out how to actually do that, I’d be golden. Until then?
I rubbed my face against his soft hair and sighed. I would basically do everything I said I wouldn’t do. And I would enjoy every second.
Chapter 16
Kelly
ON MONDAY I debated dismissing my class ten minutes early. I’d like to say my kids just zoomed through the practice exercises I assigned, but the real reason was a little less academic. The rustling and restless shuffling and clock watching just got to be too irritating. I guess a ninety-minute lecture on the definition and applications of torque wasn’t exactly a crowd pleaser.
“Go on. Get out of here,” I finally said.
There was a whoop in the back as everyone started to pack and leave. “We’re discussing force and acceleration next time,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the noise. “Please do the reading and be prepared to…. Ah, fuck it,” I finished under my breath.
I folded my arms and watched them scurry for the exit. A rueful smile pulled at my lips. Ungrateful whelps.
“Is everything okay?” Connor stepped aside to let a few stragglers out and then came in. He seemed worried as he looked around. When he saw me glaring, he wiped his forehead dramatically. “Oh good. It’s just your teaching. I saw the stampede in the hallway and started to worry.”
“They hustle out of your class too.”
“Not like there’s a carbon monoxide leak.”
I had to laugh. I looked around quickly to make sure the room was empty. Then I gave him the finger. “I think it goes without saying, but fuck off.”
He looked wounded. “And here I am, bearing gifts.”
“What kind of gifts?” I shut down my laptop and shoved it into my messenger bag with the HP emblem still illuminated.
“Heads up.”
My hand flew up almost automatically, and I caught the package. I turned it over in my hands. Dry erase markers. I grinned. “Finally. And a pack of twelve. Now we’re livin’ large.”
“I went to Costco. One for you, one for me.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Mostly because I’m a nice person, but also because I couldn’t listen to your bitchin’ one more day.”
“They’re not just primary colors. Fantastic.” I hugged them to my chest briefly and put them in my messenger bag. Those puppies weren’t leaving my sight. I could already see my diagrams on the laws of force, with the arrows in each direction in different colors. “I’ve never loved you more.”
“Good. Then maybe you’ll come over for dinner.” He raised an eyebrow at my surprised expression. “Unless that’s a problem, for some reason.”
“No, it’s not a problem, exactly, but I do have plans. Blue’s coming over after practice, and I promised I’d make him dinner.” I checked my watch and realized I’d better get going. I still needed to stop by the store. “Rain check?”
“Sure.” He looked uncomfortable as he scratched his neck. “So this thing with Blue… is it serious?”
“There is no ‘thing’ with Blue.” I barely kept my mouth from twisting into a scowl.
Sure, Blue and I played around a little, but he hadn’t mentioned it in the three weeks since then. He’d been busy with football, and I’d been busy with teaching, and we just fell back into our old patterns. Apparently, without the alcohol fueling him, Blue was perfectly all right with just being friends. That was just that. And to hell with how it made me feel.
I couldn’t even be bitter about it. He hadn’t made me any promises. In fact I knew it was probably just the alcohol talking. Maybe some part of me secretly hoped that, if we ever had sex, he’d realize how great we’d be together. But that was the stuff of fiction. Fairy tales. It went right up there on the shelf with true love and all that mess. In real life Blue had his taste, and he’d put his curiosity to rest. The end.
Back in the real world, Connor sent me a look I couldn’t quite decipher but was more than happy to ignore. “I’m not asking.”
I huffed a breath. “By not asking, you’re asking.”
“What the hell kind of double speak….” He shook his head. “It’s a wonder anyone ever passes your class.”
“And yet they do. In droves.”
“Yeah. I think I saw them running out of here. Also in droves.”
“They’ll be back.” I narrowed my eyes at the door. “They’ll all be back.”
“I think that’s what happens when your class is a prerequisite.”
I was getting really good at ignoring Connor. Level expert.
“Just tell me this. Are you happy with whatever is going on? Or not going on?” He tacked on the last when I opened my mouth in protest.
“Yes.” I shouldered my messenger bag. “We’ve decided to rewind things a little and see what we both want.”
“Maybe it’s time to see what you guys need. Not what you want.”
I lifted my gaze to his. He had a point. I wanted what I’d always wanted, and I didn’t need time to think about it. Maybe I needed to finally understand that I wasn’t getting what I wanted or needed.
“I have to go,” I finally said.
“To cook dinner. For Blue.” I could read the expression that time. It was pitying. “Do you think that’s healthy?”
I fingered my shoulder strap and tried not to pick at a fraying edge. Like I would know what the hell was healthy. “It works for us. Why rock the boat?”
He grabbed my arm as I passed and held me still. The concern in his gray green eyes was nearly my undoing. I almost broke and told him everything, just so I’d have someone to talk to. In the end I held my tongue. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, and I gave him a little head shake.
He sighed and let his hand drop. “Just be careful. Okay?”
He should have saved his breath. I already knew I was barreling full steam ahead toward trouble. Not only that, I was lowering the ladder and beckoning trouble aboard. There didn’t seem to be a damn thing I could do to stop myself.
“You worry too much,” I told him. Self-destruction, thy name is Kelly. “I know what I’m doing.”
I STOPPED by the store for dinner supplies. I hated grocery shopping, so I zipped through the store and picked up anything that looked good. At the last minute, I added a stupid blender for Blue’s smoothie crap. As I waited in the checkout line, I glanced down at my cart, ran my list in my head, and made sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. The woman on the cover of the blender box—way too ecstatic to be making smoothies—stared at me. All judgmental and shit.
What did Connor know, anyway? Since when was it wrong to cook dinner for a friend? Blue’s schedule was super tight during the season, and if I wanted to see him, it just made sense to consolidate our activities. That was my fancy way of saying he had to eat, I had to eat, might as well eat together. Jeez. It didn’t mean anything. When you successfully sold a good lie to yourself, you deserved a treat, so I knocked a few candy bars into my cart.
When I got home, I lugged in all the groceries and set up the blender. I took a few moments to shed my work clothes and put on my oldest, softest jeans and an equally soft shirt. Then I used my five-star kitchen to whip up some three-star spaghetti. I was only a passable cook, but Blue always ate everything I made. That made me try harder. Conversely, the harder I tried, the worse my cooking got. At least spaghetti was basically Kelly-proof.
I was just poking at the noodles when he came in the door. “Luuuccccy,” he called. “I’m home.”
