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"That was basically the hottest thing I've ever seen,” Mills says. “All I need is a video, and I can watch it till the end of time and then die happy.”
I laugh as Miller wipes my chest clean.
"Did I do that before?" I rasp.
"Nope. I never went in before."
Something about it makes my throat feel too tight, but I nod like it's no big deal.
"That was hot as fuck, dude,” Mills says.
"It felt good as fuck, too. Better than fuck," I laugh.
"Right? It's so good."
"So...are we both bottoms?"
"I don't know,” Miller says, looking thoughtful. “You topped me last time. But we didn't do it much. You feel like you wanna be the bottom now? Cause I can top you. I think I'm vers."
"Good, because I liked your idea," I whisper. My throat is tight, so the words sound hoarse.
Miller gives me a huge grin. "God. I'm already gonna cum myself from what you just did here." He reaches down and cups his boner. "How soon can we go at it? Let's get in the shower. You can sit down if you're spent from that big O, and I'll scrub-n-bubbles you. Then we can play with each other and watch TV. And when you're hard again, I'll fill you up with that fake purple pipe."
Mills gives me this posed smile with one hand under his chin. "So what do you think? It's a plan?"
"Yeah, except you got one part wrong." I move the towel off me, showing him my hard-on.
"Fuck. That's fast, man."
"Yeah, because I'm looking at you,” I say. “You’re an aphrodisiac."
Miller snickers into his hand. Then he leans back down and licks my shaft, which makes me shiver cause I just came.
"Fuck. My head's gonna explode tonight,” I whisper.
"Both of them." He’s grinning as he helps me up. On the short walk into the bathroom, he swings his dick against mine, and we're sword fighting, and my knees feel weak from how much I want him. Again.
I turn on the water for us, getting in first to get the temp just right. He steps in behind me, rubbing his cock against my flank.
"Who was the instigator last time?” I ask over my shoulder. “You said me, right? But in a twisted, asshole way?"
He prods my crack with his dick. "Such asshole."
I turn around. "Don't make jokes, Miller. I was an asshole? Did I like...force you?" My voice goes hoarse on those words. After what I went through—
"Nah. You didn't force me. You were a little rough sometimes. You were good with your hands though, Ez. Everything you did felt good."
"Yeah, but did it make you feel bad?"
He gives me sort of an eye roll. "It was just games. I knew I could make you come around, and look how well I did, yeah? Got myself marked on your arm. Tattooed on your chest." He somehow manages to affect this arrogant look, with one dark curl hanging over his forehead and his blue eyes boring right into mine. His hand comes to my chest, folding over my pec. "We're gravy, angel. But my dick’s aching thinking about stuffing that plug into your hole. Thinking of you sore at practice." He tips his head back, squeezing his dick, and I can't resist biting his throat.
The shower is short-lived, and then the two of us are diving into bed naked. Someone down the hall shouts, and there's laughter.
"Shit, it's like a hotel in here,” Mills says.
"Pretty much. With more sweat."
"How does this place not smell like a locker room?"
I give Josh a no-shit look, popping one eyebrow up. "Because I bathe. And wear deodorant."
"I guess your room in Fairplay was always pretty neat and stuff,” he muses.
"Was it? What was it like?"
Mills pulls up some pictures. I turn on my side to face him better, running a fingertip under his eye. "I like the room," I tell him. "Did you pick the stuff out for me?"
He laughs.
"What?" I ask.
"Just you saying you like it. Are you sure you're not a clone imposter or something?"
"I didn't like it before?” My stomach clenches. “Did I actually say that?"
"Uh, yeah. You gave me shit about a lot of stuff in the room."
"I did?" Fuck. I know I was pretty fucked up, but I remain disappointed that I was such a dick to Miller. Every day, it's more and more clear he's the nicest guy in the world.
I look at the picture again. "I like the art over the bed. And what about that football pillow?" I ask, as my heart starts to pound.
"Yes, that’s a crocheted football pillow. Which I made. I tried to pass it off as my mom's, and it's true it was her idea. But she got busy, and I finished it for you. You thought that was pretty funny. Ragged me over it."
