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The moment Oz began to reach for his own cock, Barrett got serious about chasing his own pleasure, that rush of stars exploding behind his eyes and heat through his body and the distinct feeling of contentment after really good sex. There was nothing else quite like it. Drugs, alcohol, none of it could match. He bore down on Oz, throwing his weight forward more and delighting in the surprised moan he got in response.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Oz murmured, right arm flexing as he worked his cock. Gods he was a beautiful sight, all sweat-shined skin where long, black hair began to stick and curl; tattoos dark against grey flannel sheets. He was letting Barrettunleasha little, groans andfuck yous spurring him on, driving him higher while he sank deeper.
“Close,” Barrett managed to say.
Oz swatted limply at him. “You’re wrapped, just go.”
Barrett came seconds later with a stifled groan, feeling as though he were one raw, pulsing nerve. He wasn’t made of individual bones and sinews and old scars and bruises. He was solid, whole. Everything flared and flashed with pleasure, the kind he knew would leave him sated and asleep soon after. He fumbled near Oz’s hip, wanting to bring him off.
“′s good.Ah god fuck.” And then Oz went rigid under him and Barrett heard a whisper-soft gasp. “Fuck.”
After several long seconds, Barrett very carefully peeled himself off Oz and pulled out. He collapsed on the bed with a sigh. “Goddamn.”
“Yeah.” Oz flopped onto his back, face red and sweaty, eyes screwed shut and his left arm flung over his head. “Shit.”
Barrett had to laugh. He was exhausted but some part of him was elated, rolling around in the afterglow. “Verdict?”
The bed shifted and then Oz was pulling him into a slick kiss, his tongue clever and quick against Barrett’s. “I’d be good to do it again.”
“Same.”
“Then it’s that easy.”
Barrett sighed and nodded, letting his eyes fall shut. “Glad to hear it.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the bathroom before patting the spot beside him. “Shower’s there if you need it. Or if you wanna stay…”
“I gotta get going. But maybe next time.”
The bed shifted again and then bounced and when Barrett opened his eyes, Oz was on his feet, swiping at his body with a handful of tissues from the box on the nightstand. Barrett knew it was a hookup, a way to fill a very human need for physical intimacy and release. No shame in it, no concerns outside safety and consent. As long as everyone was fulfilled and all in, what did it matter if his bed partner didn’t stay to cuddle through the afterglow?
It was sex. It wasn’t a relationship. Shit, they barely knew each other.
He forced a smile on his face, ignoring the way his chest tightened. “So colleagues first, fuck buddies second? You cool with that?”
Oz yanked his shirt down, eyes narrowed in calculation. “Are you?”
“Yeah. Just no late night booty calls, I’m too old for that.”
Oz laughed and just like that, the tension in the air lifted. “Yeah I got you. No worries.” He finished zipping his pants before coming around to Barrett and leaning down to kiss him. “We figure out who the asshole is doing this shit around the parks, maybe I’ll blow you as part of the celebration.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe.” Oz winked. “I’m very good with my mouth.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Another laugh. “See you around, Barrett.”
“Yeah. See ya.”
And then Oz was gone and Dandi was snuffling at the rug in the hallway and Barrett was alone in a cold room, his bed smelling like sex and sweat.
Two weeks later
Ambrose was strangely nervous for this week’s dinner with Barrett. As long as they were both available and feeling up for it, the routine was nice. Another stabilizing force in the wake of disruptions and aggravations. It also meant Ambrose was socializing, and doing so with Barrett was far less stressful than doing things like going to parties and standing in the corner all night. But tonight felt off somehow. Barrett hadn’t been around much these last two weeks and when Ambrose did see him, Barrett sometimes would jog over, Dandi at his side, for a few minutes of catch-up. A few more times, he just waved and smiled. He never felt ignored, per se. But something feltoff. Ambrose was aware enough to know when someone was putting distance between him and them.
He allowed himself one moment to reflect on the rumpled, sweaty man who had emerged yesterday afternoon from Barrett’s, as Ambrose was fixing a pot of tea and listening to a podcast about forgotten history. While the water boiled, he began texting Barrett a link to the show, thinking as a reader, his friend might enjoy it. And then he saw the man jog to his truck. Hair messy and tangled, gait a little off. Cheeks flushed.
Looking for all accounts like a man who’d just come back from a hard run. Or a good fuck.
