He’s quiet when he plays. But as he gets tired in the second set, a grunt comes out when he serves. The sound sends a tingle deep into my stomach, makes me self-consciously adjust my shorts.
His eyes are on me as he walks off the court triumphant. It makes me go to jelly.
“You’re up, Harris,” he says in my ear. That’s not helping.
I take a deep breath before I step out onto the court. I’m playing Harvard’s best player, though I think now Coach has seen what a machine Elias can be, he’ll probably be sending him out against the best next time.
Right now though, it’s down to me to bring another point home for the team.
Clearing my mind, I get into position and toss the ball, remember the technique I’ve been perfecting since I was a kid. My serve arm moves automatically, remembering the action on autopilot. It’s muscle memory at this point. I hit the ball right in the racket’s sweet spot and send it exactly where I want it.
My opponent barely has time to flinch.
Ace.
The rest of the match goes smoothly. I win 6-2, 6-1 and celebrate courtside with my teammates. Elias’ eyes are glowing as he watches me with a big smile on his face.
He heads into the showers before I’ve even got my tennis shoes off—as usual. I hang back, not sure I’d be able to compose myself if I saw him naked and under the spray.
There’s a message waiting for me when I look at my phone:
Meet me at my dorm later. Time to celebrate for real.
20
ELIAS
All focus should be on Indian Wells this weekend. And what am I sitting in bed researching? ‘Delayed gratification’ and ‘cockwarming.’
When Ben came over after the Harvard match, we did much of the same, and it was clearly not a one-time thing—all that ‘stay inside me and don’t move until I beg you to.’ I haven’t figured out if it’s a delayed gratification thing, the sensation of me being still, him being full, or all of the above.
I’ve never been with someone who liked this stuff before, and I’m surprised by how into it I am. Every other guy I’ve slept with has wanted it fast and a little rough. Definitely no delayed gratification.
There’s something so intimate about just being inside someone, watching them lose it under you, and being completely still. I get it. But I’m not an expert, and the competitive bastard in me wants to be the champion of delayed gratification/cockwarming.
My research on cockwarming is a little confusing and contradictory. I only do a surface search. It’s not exactlysomething I want to go too deep into the rabbit hole with on the shared Wi-Fi. In a nutshell, it’s possible that Ben is into that, though I don’t think I have enough primary evidence just yet to make any solid conclusions.
I would ask Ben what it is about me being still inside him that he likes, but I don’t want to push him back into shyness. He opens up more easily when we’re doing the thing and then he gets bossy. So I should just let him tell me in his own time.
The delayed gratification thing makes a lot of sense. When we do it as a prelude to fucking, that’s what we’re doing, we’re delaying a promised moment of gratification.
I get hard just thinking about it. Who would have thought Ben Harris would push me to learn new things?
One thing I know without having to Google it is that I cannot get enough of hooking up with him.
I can’t wait for him to come over again so I can practice some of the things I’ve learned, but my heart drops into my stomach when he tells me he has a paper due.
Can you write it over here?
Desperate, I know.
Those little dots appear to tell me he’s typing something … then disappear. Watching flashing dots appear and disappear will be known to future generations as what thumb screws and the rack were to the medieval people.
I don’t think I’d get much done.
I hold back a groan before typing:
I promise I will make sure you finish your paper.
