Hot water blastsmy face as I stand under the shower. I just got back from a long bike ride, and my muscles ache. Tomorrow is my first day as an apprentice for Caesar, and even exercise hasn’t been able to clear the anxieties that are itching at me.
I crank the shower off and grab my towel. Just yesterday, the gallery reached out to me about arranging storage for all the illustrations that haven’t sold, which is all but two of them, since Alexander purchased a print and so did Matty and Stone.
I’m proud of my show, but the lack of sales just makes it more obvious that I need to figure something out. This apprenticeship seems more and more like my salvation. It’s not just good, respectable work, but it’s an art form that calls to me. The fact that Caesar is such a significant artist, a force in developing new school tattoo styles in the 90s, makes the whole thing an amazing opportunity.
An amazing opportunity that I might just fuck up. Everyone at that shop seems to have their shit together in a way that intimidates me.
I can’t even function without Alexander’s help.
Thinking of my best friend does alleviate my frustration, at least a little. He’ll be proud of me if I can pull this apprenticeship off, and I realize how much I want that, and for him to see that I can take care of myself.
I walk from the bathroom to my bedroom, then throw the towel off. It’s hot, and the last sun of the day streams through the windows, so I let my skin dry in the warm air.
Desire coils at my base. I’m thinking about Alexander, picturing him. He looked so cute at beach clean this morning. He’d worn his swimsuit, the short red one that rode up on his thighs. I don’t think he realizes how much it shows off his bubble butt, or else he’d probably be too shy to wear that pair, but it was damn distracting.
My cock rises to attention. I spit in my hand and play with myself, groping and pulling as I think about Alexander. He has this way of sucking cock that’s so soft, it’s like torture, and I feel my cock pulse in my fist when I think about how much I want it.
Fuck, my friend is hot. I start to pump myself, surprised at how hard my horniness hits me. I’m gripped by my desire, unable to think about anything other than Alexander.
A knock on the door breaks me from my grunting. I’m standing at the foot of my bed, squatting and gripping my erection, and I jerk my head backward with a gasp. Without waiting, Alexander walks right in.
“Fuck,” I grunt, covering myself and turning.
His eyes fly open in shock. “I’m so sorry! I thought you weren’t home yet!” He’s dressed for work, a purple vintage tie over his checkered gray shirt, and he spins so fast the tie flies out behind him. “I’m sorry!” he repeats, slamming the door.
I stand there, knees together and hands over my throbbing cock. First, I’m shocked; then I just start laughing.
“I’m sorry!” Alexander calls out again, his voice muffled through the wall. “I was getting my book!”
I glance over and see that his novel is sitting right there on the bed. There’s a drop of precum on my crown, and my brow is sweaty. I’m still horny and on the edge of an orgasm, but after grunting and gritting my teeth for a second, I force the need down.
“You’re fine!” I rasp. “I’ll be right out.”
I tug on a pair of boxers. I had intended to spend the night drawing. I know that soon I’ll have less time for the city illustration I’m working on. But now Alexander is home, and hanging with him is all I can really think about.
It’s about time we hooked up again. That must be why I found myself fantasizing about him. It’s not unusual to think about Alexander a lot. He’s woven into my thoughts all day, but quietly, not in this constant way he is now, actively consuming my thoughts.
Sex brain, maybe? It’s just so weird to have sex brain about my best friend.
When my erection goes down, I wander out to the living room in my boxers and T-shirt. Alexander is there, his tie now off. He holds Madame President in his arms and smiles awkwardly at me. “So sorry. I really just thought—”
“It’s okay,” I cut him off. “Honest mistake.”
I step closer, and he starts to lower Madame President, who jumps to the floor with an annoyed meow. Alexander closes the distance between us, and we meet for a quick kiss. It’s not a peck like usual. I open my mouth and close my lips over his, and he’s relaxed enough to gently kiss me back as we pull away.
Like finding my rhythm with a drawing, touching Alexander centers me, and my head finally clears.
“First day tomorrow,” he says brightly. “Can I help you prepare?”
I take his wrist. My thumb lands on his pulse, and I wonder if I’ve ever felt it before. “I just have to arrive at the shop, so no prep,” I say, then slide my hand down to his. “But maybe we could have a little fun tonight. What do you think?”
Alexander’s smile grows. He doesn’t just laugh and look away shyly this time. It’s nice to see him a little more confident, even though I miss the adorable expression when he squirms.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, and I see a flush on his cheeks. “I hoped we would.”
“Good.”
Fuck, he’s so hot. There’s stubble on his jaw after a day at the library, and his shirt is unbuttoned enough that I can see the white shirt underneath. I reach out and run my fingers along the side of his head, where his curly hair is cut short and tight.
