The worst part is that I already know exactly what I want, and exactly where to get it—I’m living in the same house as it—but I can’t figure out how to sayhey, so about two weeks ago, any chance we could do that again, like, now? Like, right now? No homo, though.
Yeah, I’m thinking about the best no-homo way to beg for cock. Sue me.
I should be studying.
I’m lying on the living room couch staring at the ceiling, my textbook open on my chest. The Idaho water stain, that I’ve been having feelings about for three weeks, now is kinda making me horny.
The front door opens.
Walker drops his bag. “Professor bailed. Fucking waste of time,” he mutters to the house before heading upstairs.
I look at the ceiling.
We’re the only ones home.
I don’t think about it for long.
I shift into a specific, inviting position on the cushions.
And then I go dead still.
4 Loads
Walker
Kit is always doing something.
Even when he’s just hanging out, his brain is usually three steps ahead of his face. But give him a chance to be lazy, and hewill.He’ll nap anytime, anywhere, like a big cat. So when I walk in and he’s dead still on the couch, I assume he’s out cold. It’s Wednesday, and I know he’s coming off a marathon lab session.
I swap my jeans for gym shorts—freeballing, because jeans and underwear are for the outside world—grab a beer, and head back to the living room.
Kit hasn’t moved an inch.
I sit atmyspot on the couch, lift his feet onto my lap because that’s what you do—you don’t wake the bro when he’s tired evenif he’s lying on your spot. Then I channel-surf until I find a UFC replay, and try to figure out where we are in the fight.
It’s a solid middleweight match, and both guys are technical as hell. I watch it. I drink my beer. I try to pay attention.
My eyes keep drifting to Kit.
The thing is—and I’m not proud of this, I’m just being honest—the thing is that the last two weeks have been weird for me.
Okay, “weird” is the wrong word here.
Distracting.
I’ll be at the gym, mid-set, and then suddenly I’ll be thinking about that night.
Like this morning, for example.
I was on the incline press, decent weight on the bar, second set going smooth. Then, out of nowhere, I’m back to holding Kit’s legs.
Specifically the weight of that meat.
Specifically that.
Specifically how it felt to hold him wide open for Finn and Miles to fuck him. Those legs were heavier than I expected because Kit’s got real muscle. I remember adjusting my grip and looking down at him all folded up, and thinking that that’s a good position to get fucked. It is a weird thing to think mid-situation, but I’m a kinesiology guy. Can’t turn it off.
I dropped the bar.
