“But—” Cam whimpered pathetically. He was so horny. Couldn’t ever remember wanting anyone the way he wanted Dawson.
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing this my way,” Dawson said and took him by the wrist, pulling him along the hallway, tugging Cam into what had to be his bedroom.
“What’s your way?” Cam asked, as he fell onto the edge of the bed. If his knees had been wobbly before, they were jellified now. And he hadn’t even come yet.
Dawson didn’t answer. Just leaned over Cam and began to strip him out of his clothes.
Shoes first. Then socks. His jacket. His shirt. His pants. His briefs.
Then he was totally naked, staring up at Dawson, who was the opposite.
“Oh yeah,” Dawson said, a tongue flicking out to lick his reddened bottom lip. “Shit, you’re fucking gorgeous.”
Cam leaned back on the bed and believed him.
“See,” Dawson continued, even though it sort of felt like he was talking to himself now, “if we’re gonna do this, I wanna enjoy it. Take my time with you.”
“I—” He didn’t need it. He wanted to tell Dawson that. But that thought—really, all the thoughts left in his brain—got swallowed up in Dawson’s mouth as he leaned over the bed and kissed him.
Hot and lush and leisurely, like they had all the time in the world.
For a long minute, it felt like all Dawson was going to do was kiss him. Cam might have been really alright with that situation. He was a great kisser, and the electricity that sparked between them made it one of the hottest makeout sessions he’d ever had.
But the thrum of arousal was insistent in his veins, and when Dawson’s mouth finally slid lower, to his neck, then lower still, teeth nibbling at his collarbone, he groaned out his approval.
“God,” Dawson murmured into his skin, humming as he went. “Wanna mark you up. Make sure everyone knows.”
He didn’t say what he wanted everyone to know. That he was fucking Cam? That Cam was fucking him? That maybe, incredibly, Cam washis?
But no, if that was true, then Dawson wouldn’t have gone out of his way to clarify ahead of time that this was just a fun hookup, an exceptional way to release some steam.
If Cam really wanted to be his, he wouldn’t have gone along with it so readily.
But he had, and so far it was both: funandexceptional. There hadn’t been any releasing yet, but Cam was already panting for it, because he knew it wasn’t going to be a disappointment.
“Can I?” Dawson asked, lifting his head.
“Can you make me come?Please,” Cam half-begged.
Dawson just chuckled. “I mean, can I mark you up?”
The guys in the locker room might notice and give him shit for it, but who cared? Cam wasn’t worried about that. He nodded.
“Good.”
Cam saw a flash of a smug smile before Dawson ducked his head back down and began to suck a mark into his collarbone. Then around his nipple, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing its surface, making Cam cry out at the unexpected pleasure shooting through him.
“So good,” Dawson muttered, like that was the worst realization he could have come to. And that filled Cam with a buoyant happiness; they weren’t going to do this only once.
His tongue was wet against his abs, then, like he was tracing the lines of them, the muscles contracting under its exploration.
Then finally, Dawson sank to his knees, and the first brush of his palm against the head of Cam’s cock made him yelp embarrassingly loud.
He bit his bottom lip and tried to stifle his noises.
“No,” Dawson ordered. “I wanna hear you. Let me hear you, rook.”
Then he tucked Cam’s cock into the wet heat of his mouth, one hand an insistent pressure against his thigh and the other reaching up, cupping his balls.
