“Hey, be grateful it was your shoe. It could have been your jock,” Bob said with a pointed look at our impish second-string tendie. “You feel down to go get some lunch? I’m buying.”
“I don’t know. I’m mentally and physically done.”
“We can bring some stuff to your place,” Chip said softly and, while I wasn’t really into being personable right now, the offer of friendship was too hard to pass up. Besides, Finn was in school and Harper was working, so I’d just be sitting around my place alone, being a sullen shit. Why not have the guys over?
“Sure, yeah,” I said. An hour later, we filled my living room, big burly guys spread out over the sectional sofa stuffing Chinese into their mouths. No beer allowed. Just water to wash it down. Someone had suggested tea. That was a hard no from me. I’d had enough tea during my session with the quack man.
“About the last game,” I flung out when a conversation about the latest episode of a fantasy show we all watched dipped off. “I really fucked up. I know I cost us the game with that late penalty.”
“Meh, shit happens. We all fuck up,” Bob said. He was just being nice because he was my defensive partner.
“Oui, you did fuck it up,” Arnaud agreed before slurping some lo mein noodles into his mouth. “But we all do that on occasion,” he tacked on after swallowing.
“Yeah, well, I’m letting my personal shit interfere with hockey. I can’t do that anymore if I ever want to get back to New York, but sometimes… ” I lowered my chopsticks back into the white takeout box of sweet and sour pork. “My childhood was pretty dismal. My dad was a shit. Abusive. I have some major anger issues. I’m totally screwed up.”
“I have emotional dysregulation,” Bob muttered into his container of beef and broccoli. “But yeah. Anger issues.”
“My best friend died, and I have these crippling anxiety attacks,” Taft shared over his wonton soup.
“I’m neurodivergent,” Chip whispered while tapping at the side of his box five times before picking up more noodles with his chopsticks. He did that before every bite. “I don’t understandsocial shit, then I get anxious.” He took another bite, chewed, then added, “About 80 percent of autistic adults experience clinically significant anxiety.”
I reached over to touch the side of his knee gently. Just enough to let him know we were there, and we kind of got it.
“I am always making a goof to make people happy, to laugh, but that is to cover up a bad childhood where I was made fun of for my teeth. They were quite bad. Now they are new and straight, but… ah, you know, children are cruel.” Arnaud sighed, then lifted more noodles to his mouth.
“Damn, we are fucked-up art guys,” I said a moment later, after my brain absorbed all the secrets that had spilled out. “Thanks for sharing, guys. It, uhm… it means a lot.”
“Yeah, well, no point in you feeling like the odd duck. We’re all quackers,” Bob tossed out, which led Arnaud into a tale about taking rotten duck eggs from an old nest as a child.
He’d planned to take them to school to toss out during an assembly, but they broke in his backpack on the school bus. The bus had to be evacuated. The kids thought it was hilarious, but the bus driver and Arnaud’s parents, not so much. We all laughed heartily, so maybe we were just boys at heart still? I wasn’t sure, but Iwassure that this small band of misfits was quickly becoming something very important to me. As was Finn. How I was going to leave them when I went back to Broadway, I had no clue…
“Hey, stop picking up,”I called to Finn that night as he puttered around my apartment gathering up empty white boxes and water bottles. “Come sit down here with me.” I patted the sofa. He glanced around the messy living room, his hands filledwith cartons. “Come. Sit. I need a few kisses. Let Harper clean that up when she gets home.”
“That is so sexist,” Finn gasped, but he placed the takeout containers back on the coffee table before sitting down on me as opposed to the couch. A move that I was very much agreeable with.
“It’s also funny because Harper is a bigger slob than I could ever hope to be,” I informed him as my hands came to rest on his sides. “We’ll bicker over who has to clean the place this weekend, then we’ll just make a fast push through and call it good.”
“As long as someone cleans,” he said as his fingers threaded into my hair. His sweet little ass rested on my thighs. If I moved him up just an inch or two, his groin would be tight to my belly.
“Someone will. Eventually.” I nestled him closer and captured his mouth. He opened quickly, eager for the kiss, his tongue curling around mine. My grip tightened, keeping him in place as our cocks began to thicken. “God, you feel good in my arms,” I panted when the kiss broke. He nipped at my lower lip and got wiggly. The rub of his dick against mine made me hiss in pleasure.
He wriggled around like a worm, sucking on my neck as he pulled at my shirt. I was fully into this bossy side of him, so I lifted my arms. Up and off my shirt went. The shy art teacher now looked down at my chest with a hunger that made him bold.
“You have a lot of hair,” he whispered as his thumbs flicked over my nipples, sending a jolt of 220-current to my balls. “I love that. Can I rub my face on you?”
“You can do whatever you want to me.” That got me a lusty smile. He began a slow slither to the floor, pausing to bury his nose into the dark curls on my chest. He sucked my nipples loudly, nibbled a path down to my joggers, and then lifted molten hazel eyes to me. “May I suck your cock?”
“Yeah, please.” What else did you say when the world’s sexiest man asked to gobble your prick? I might not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but I wasn’t stupid either. He freed my dick with a gentle tug of the strings holding my pants on my hips. He wet his lips when he saw it, the head slick with precum and dark purple. “Like what you see?”
“Gorgeous.” I may have blushed. Yeah, I had a nice dick. Not the biggest in the world but girthy enough to give anyone who sat on it a wild ride. He placed his tongue on the underside and licked down to the root before laving a sloppy path back to my slit. After that, he stretched his lips over the head. Goddamn, he looked good with my dick in his mouth. Stuff of dreams.
“Oh shit,” I moaned, head falling back to the sofa when he took me down his throat. The man knew how to fellate. I grabbed the throw pillows from the sofa. Two ugly yellow things that Harper had picked up at a thrift shop over by the Seneca Park Zoo last week and squeezed them instead of his head. I wasn’t a fan of people grabbing my head when I went down on them, so I liked to repay the favor. His tongue swirled around my cockhead, over and over, as his hands massaged my thighs. My balls were tight in no time. I really did not want to blow a nut so quickly, but it had been months since I’d gotten off with someone other than Patty Palm. “Finn… I’m so close… ”
He hummed around my dick, and that was all it took. My balls tightened, and my ass left the sofa cushion. His fingers bit into my thighs as he took every drop that pulsed out of me. My back arched while my feet tried to find purchase on the carpet. Winded as if I had done a bag skate with a hippo on my shoulders, I lay there spread out like a soggy noodle as he gave a few licks to clean the spunk from my dick. Somehow, I managed to get my head up enough to look down at him: brown-green eyes glowing, chin shiny with spittle, and his lips dark red.
He wiped those glossy lips with the back of his hand. “You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse from having my cock down his throat. At that, something clicked inside my head. A lock that opened up a creaky door to a dismal, dank closet packed full of terrible crap.
“Men aren’t beautiful. Why do you say such stupid shit?” It fell out of me with such speed it took us both aback. Finn, resting on his heels, stared at me in shock. Shit.Fuck. “Don’t say that kind of shit.” I tucked my cock away and got up, moving awkwardly to clear his head with my leg, then I fumbled to my feet, my legs weak from that workout this morning.
