Pi gives me that look he always gives me, the one that says,“Don’t talk shit about my best mate,”but he doesn’t bother to scold me any more.
“Fine, okay. I’ll see you later, yeah? Don’t you dare go to Georgia’s, just come straight to mine.”
Pi doesn’t bother with my doorbell. It’s out of batteries anyway. He just bangs on the wood like it’s pissing down outside and needs shelter from the storm.
“Good evening, princess,” I say, answering the door.
“Is Megan here?” He steps into my hallway.
“Of course not. Why would I invite you over if Megan was here? She’s gone to her mum’s.” I don’t need to add the air quotes around the word “mum.” Pi knows exactly what I mean.
“What about Sven?” he asks, in reference to my lodger.
“Switzerland. For some gaming convention. It doesn’t even start until next week, so the house’ll be empty for ages.” Not that it’d make a vast difference if Sven was home. He mainly sticks to his room—my spare room—and emerges only for sustenance-related purposes and toileting. We don’t need to worry about raising our voices even when he is here. Sven soundproofed his bedroom last year, and he’s never without his headphones.
However heated our discussions get tonight, there’ll be nobody around to listen in.
Pi smiles. It stretches to only one corner of his lips and lasts less than a second. He holds up an orange Sainsbury’s carrier. “I brought pizza. And drinks. I got zero beer for me and regular beer for you.”
“How very considerate of you.” I grab the bag from him and his backpack, and set both down on the herringbone floor next to my shoes. “Now, take off all my clothes and fuck me until I forget what century it is.”
And then I push him against the wall, slamming my lips down onto his.
Pi returns my kisses with the desperation of a diver returning to the surface for air. His tongue instantly plunders my mouth. His fingers grip the back of my hair like a life buoy. It’s been just over a month since we were last together, but it feels like a lot longer. A lifetime without his touch.
He pulls away to tug his T-shirt over his head. “You’re topping,” he says, frantically yanking the leather end of his belt.
“Nope. Not a snowball’s chance, princess. You’re topping.” I take my shirt off, toss it onto his.
“I topped last time,” he whines.
I pause to help him unfasten his belt. His shorts drop to the ground and he kicks them aside. “Yeah, and it’s my house. Imake up the rules here, and you’re topping. Plus, I douched. Did you douche?”
“No, I didn’t douche yet.” He sighs the world’s most petulant sigh. “Fine, I’ll top, but please try to maintain an ounce of self-control so you can flip fuck me.”
“Of course,” I promise solemnly. “Cross my heart.”
Pi sighs again and rolls his eyes. We both know the only thing crossing that part of my chest will be my cum in about ten minutes’ time, though he doesn’t dwell on it for too long before he’s pulling my mouth down to his.
The way we push and shove each other, bumping down the hallway and up the stairs, ricocheting off the walls, leaving items of clothing in our wake, is so cliché. It’s like an overused movie trope, but it’s like this every time, frantic and desperate, as though the world is gonna end any second so we might as well cram in one last shag.
We make it to my bed and I lie in the middle on my back because I want to watch his face when he falls apart.
Aiden Campbell is a stunningly beautiful man. It’s the Australian surfer-blonde waves, those pert, kissable as fuck lips, and those yellow eyes of his. I mean, technically they’re not yellow, they’re more golden-brown or amber or perhaps the colour of very unhealthy pee, but I’ve never met anybody in real life with that shade of iris before. They’re exactly as you’d imagine “yellow” eyes to be—at once ethereal, mesmerising, and disorienting. Even his eighties TV crime-detective moustache and trad-rugby mullet do nothing to diminish his haunting good looks.
Sometimes I find myself simply staring at him during training, or during meet and greets, or press conferences, and at post-game slap-up dinners. Jesus fuck, he looks magnificent in a suit and tie. Majestic.
I always try to hide my leering, disguise it behind another teammate, or filter it through the mirror or over the top of a menu, but right now, with him towering naked above me, I get my fill. I let my eyes rake down over his tanned flesh, his muscles, the curves of his pecs, the ridges of his abdominals, that pelvic V that homes my vision straight to his hard cock. He pulls on a condom, lubes up, and cages me with his body.
We stare at each other for a few seconds. It feels like both an eternity passes and that it’s over in a lightning blink, and I wonder if Pi ever thinks what I’m thinking. That maybe once, just one time, it might be nice to . . . make love instead of simply knocking the Mario coins out of each other. But I don’t voice that thought for several reasons.
One, Pi’s very recently been dumped by his girlfriend.
Two, I still have a girlfriend. That one’s a doozy.
Three, he’s already kissing me again, and tugging the plug out of my ass.
And four, well . . . it just feels too . . . raw.
