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Miles tried to reply but found he couldn’t.
Beckett didn’t notice. His eyes were still closed. “Of course, in my most wild fantasies, we go further. I’d kiss him as we do it. I’d be careful with him. Restrain myself. He’d be so—” Beckett cut himself off.
“So what?” Miles’s voice was raspy.
Beckett opened his eyes. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“I do. Tell me.”
Beckett stared into Miles’s eyes, not breaking eye contact for a second. “So tight and warm. He’d feel so good around me. I’d have to be careful not to come the moment I enter him.”
Miles’s cheeks were hot. So was his chest. And lower body parts.
“How long have you fantasized about him?” he asked.
“Too long,” Beckett said.
“Do you touch yourself while thinking about him?”
Beckett’s eye contact didn’t waver. “All the time.”
Miles’s dick jumped in his pants. Abruptly, he lay down and pulled the sleeping bag tight over his body.
“What’s wrong?” Beckett asked.
“Nothing. Just cold.” Miles took a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself down. He definitely did not think about Beckett masturbating the way he did last night, with that tight expression and blur of a fist.
All the time.
“I can move closer, if you want me to warm you up,” Beckett suggested.
“That’s okay,” Miles responded quickly.
I’d crawl to him, hands and knees.
I’d beg.
He could feel his heartbeat in his cock. The clever thing to do now would be to change the subject, but Miles had momentarily lost all of his common sense. “Tell me more,” he breathed.
“What do you want to hear about?”
Miles rolled his tongue around in his mouth, wetting it because it’d gone dry. “You said you’d see him in the library?”
“Yes,” Beckett answered.
Miles didn’t want to spell it out. He glanced at Beckett, then fixed his eyes on the roof of the tent.
“There was one time when he was trying to reach a book. He’s already tall, but you know how high those shelves are.”
The shelves in the library were impractically high. Most students had to use step ladders, but whenever Miles had trouble getting textbooks from the highest shelf, he asked Beckett for help.
“I grabbed the book for him, and when I handed it to him, I saw that he was trapped between me and the bookshelf. And for one insane moment, I—”
“Yes?” Miles dug his fingers into the sleeping bag.
“I imagined fucking him right against those bookshelves. I could support his weight, so he could just wrap his legs around my waist, hold onto my shoulders, and I’d do all the work.”
“That’s hot,” Miles managed. “But think about all those poor books.”
