“I got into the digital art class, next semester!” His happiness knows no bounds as he bounces on the balls of his feet. His face alight with pure joy.
It was touch and go for a while on deciding his classes for next semester, because his literature class this semester isn’t going as well for him as he originally thought it would. I encouraged him to try different art classes, to see if there was something else out there for him. There’s a whole market for book-related jobs that don’t involve a writing and editing background.
As I watch him pace the small room, walking into the small kitchen to get us two bottles of water and talking about the other classes he chose, my heart throbs in my chest, the feelings are too strong. I have to bite my lip until the taste of copper floods my mouth so I don’t do something stupid.
He hands me the unopened bottle, no matter how much he wants to open it for me. It’s in his nature to want to take care of the people around him, and I adore him for it. I can give him that. I know he would never hurt me.
“Open it for me?” His eyes widen and his mouth hangs agape because I caught him in the middle of talking about the curriculum for his digital art program.
He doesn’t say anything as he takes the water back, and I watch him crack the top open and pass it back to me. My hand doesn’t tremble as I take it from him and swallow down a huge gulp, letting the cool liquid soothe my parched mouth.
Hunter continues staring at me, pausing his explanation of the prerequisites he has to take.
“You okay, Collins?” I tug him closer to me until his knees hit the side of the couch.
He huffs an exasperated sound and flops down on top of me, knocking the air out of my chest. I gasp, trying to pull air into my lungs. Hunter takes that as his cue to press his mouth against mine and twirl our tongues together.
Who needs air, right?
We make out, our tongues battling for dominance until he pulls back. Hunter doesn’t go far, though; he’s too preoccupied with kissing all across my face.
“What’s that for?” I ask on a chuckle when he makes his way down to my neck, and my chuckle breaks off into a groan when his hot, wet tongue traces across the spot between my collarbones.
He doesn’t answer, instead he pushes my shirt up and wrestles with it until he gets it over my head, throwing it on the other side of the coffee table. I peer at him with wide eyes, but he’s not paying attention to me, too focused on his end goal.
He moves down the center of my chest, across my abdomen, and finally teases his tongue under the waistband of my pants.
“Take them off,” he demands, his eyes glassy. He looks fucking wrecked.
I can’t speak or move. He huffs in sexual frustration and pops open the button on my pants, pulling the zipper down and cupping my hard cock so it doesn’t get caught.
He pulls down my underwear, letting my dick pop free and slap against my stomach. He looks down at it, then up at me. His pink tongue traces his bottom lip, then his top one. The scar beckons me to kiss it, bite it, and mark him to let everyone know he’s mine.
He flattens his tongue and licks across the head of my cock, sweeping away the bead of precum. My back arches off the couch, desperation clawing in my veins to get closer to him.
“Ohh fuck,” I moan, and my eyes fall shut. I immediately open them again when I feel his tongue lapping the vein that runs the length of my dick. The teasing pressure is enough to push me to the edge but not send me over.
But this is going to be over quicker than he wants it to be if he expects me to reciprocate. The sight of him between my spread legs with the lust and longing on his face has my balls twitching and my hands white-knuckling the couch cushion.
He pulls his mouth away and I want to sob. My hand reaches out of its own accord and cups the back of his head. I’m not going to push him farther than he wants to go, but I need to get my hands on him in any way that I can.
“I want to make this good for you, tell me how I can be good for you,” he says hesitantly, and I want to reassure him thatthere is nothing that I will not like. He could bite the tip of my dick off, and I would still be begging for a crumb of his attention.
I nod, the only thing my mind is capable of doing.
He goes back to his teasing ministrations, swirling and licking the head of my dick like it’s a fucking lollipop. The visual is too much. I grab the hair at the nape of his neck gently and try to pull his mouth away. He doesn’t budge, instead, he sucks me down farther and harder until he’s choking around the head of my cock.
My orgasm barrels through me, and I watch as Hunter greedily sucks my release down. Gulping like my cum is the only sustenance he needs.
I can’t catch my breath, my chest heaving with every breath, but nothing is filling my lungs. And when he sits up and presses his lips to mine, sharing the taste of me on his tongue, I come to the conclusion that maybe I don’t need oxygen. The only thing I need is Hunter.
“What was that for?”
He hesitates, like he isn’t sure what to say. Maybe he’s worried about ruining my high or how I’m going to react. Either way, he straightens his shoulders and glances down at me.
“I love you,” he says, his voice full of conviction. “I know it doesn’t make sense and that there are still so many things in our way, but I had to tell you.” I’m frozen, staring at him and not saying anything because what the fuck can I say back to that. I want to tell him that he shouldn’t love me.
I’m selfish, an asshole, and I come with so much more baggage than he should ever have to put up with. But I also internally preen and cheer, soaking up the love he has for me, and the love I have for him. The sunshine on my bleary days and the moon on my darkest nights. The brightness that I never knew I needed or craved until he showed up in that dorm lobby three months ago. He’s changed my life.
