I was so taken aback that it didn’t hit me at first. Then it did: I’d made Keaton cum. He’d shot all over our dicks, all over my hand. And with that thought, I was right behind him, swearing and panting for breath as I stroked both of us through the best of the high.
I came down slow, my brain buzzing with the best orgasm I’d ever had.
Fuck.
I hadn’t known what I had been missing.
“Wow,” Keaton said. He was catching his breath, still sitting astride me. He was resting back on my legs. It was only then that I realized I was still loosely holding us both like I had no intention of ever letting go. I released my hand and he hissed a breath at the brush of my fingers.
“Yeah,” I said.
Keaton cleared his throat. “We should get cleaned up,” he said.
I wanted to just sit there with him for a little longer. “Sure,” I said instead.
Keaton moved gracefully off me and got down to the floor, tucking himself away. My hand and my bare chest were sticky with the mixture of us. I stared at it in fascination.
“I’ll get a cloth,” Keaton said. He adjusted himself slightly, a motion that only drew my attention and made me hungry for him again. Then he was gone, opening and closing the door so swiftly there was no chance anyone could have seen inside.
I glanced around. I couldn’t just sit like this. I grabbed my discarded shirt from the bed and used it to wipe off my hand and my chest, then my softening dick. I tucked myself away and threw the shirt in my laundry bag – an old duffel I kept at the end of the bed. I cast around, realizing that was the shirt I had been wearing. It wasn’t cold in the room. It wasn’t like I needed anything else.
Keaton opened the door and paused, closing it behind him with a surprised look. He had a wet washcloth in his hand. “Oh,” he said.
“I just used my shirt,” I said with a quick gesture toward the duffel.
“Right.” Keaton looked down at the cloth in his hand, hesitated, and then spun around. He quickly wiped himself up with his back to me and then turned back. “You don’t need, um. Anything?”
I shrugged. “I’m clean enough until I shower.”
Keaton nodded. “Right, right.”
There was a moment of silence in the room.
I cleared my throat.
“Uh, you want to watch another movie?” Keaton asked.
A flare of hope leaped inside me. Anything would be better than the awkward silence, but a movie would be great. A movie was better than great. A movie was normal.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. I smiled. “Horror. Not slushy romcom.”
“Yeah, well, no action movies either,” Keaton said, rewarding me with a grin. He made an awkward movement with the washcloth before I pointed at my duffel. He dropped it in with a grateful look and grabbed his laptop.
I was surprised when he climbed onto my bed again instead of inviting me over to his own.
The movie played but I barely watched it. All I could think of was his leg against mine. His arm next to me. How cute he looked with his messy, post-jerk-off hair over his glasses. How I wanted to grab him and kiss him again.
“I’m sleepy,” he yawned. “And my back hurts from this wall. I wish we had comfortable places to sit in this dorm.”
“It’s more comfortable if you lay back,” I said. My throat was dry. “On the pillow.”
Keaton yawned again and shuffled over. He laid his head down on my pillow, propping himself up a little so he could look at the screen still. I lay next to him and held my breath that he wouldn’t change his mind and move.
I held my breath for so long that I fell asleep, the movie playing to itself over my head, with Keaton lined up all the way along the length of me.
Keaton
I kept the video camera pointed at the field – pointed down at Olly. This was it. The triumphant ending to my documentary. It had to be.
