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“My God, Turner.” I started to lift off the couch, but he leaned down and kissed me, his hand finding mine on my cock, the other finding my other hand. I tossed the condoms away and replaced them with the lube.

“Yeah.” He smiled into my mouth. “I was definitely a little preoccupied, thinking about this guy who keeps showing up every winter break and rocking my world.” We smiled stupidly at each other, but I stopped him from climbing on my lap, grasping his hips and turning him around to face the window. He gasped.

“You let me know if any whales come by,” I said as my hands gripped his cheeks and pulled them apart. He gasped again when I bent down and licked his hole. He leaned forward, granting me better access, his own hands finding his thighs. He opened his stance, and I got to work, licking from his balls to his hole. Pulling off when he gasped a third time.

“You love it when I lick you.”

“Love all of it,” he said. I continued to toy with his hole, kissing it and licking it and blowing hot air on it.

Just when I had decided Turner must be too uncomfortable in that position, he said, “Fuck it.” He pulled away but only to drag the ottoman from his reading chair near the window. He placed it in front of me and dropped down onto it, offering me his ass once again.

“Yes.” I got on my knees and played a little more, my tongue finding its way inside, tasting him there, loving the flavor of him, the scent of him, the noises he was making. When I lifted up, I found him with his forehead on his arms, looking down.

“You’re missing the view, baby,” I said, and his eyes snapped up to the window. “That’s better.”

I found the lube resting on the couch. My own cock was no longer a passive participant. I was rock hard, with it pointing straight up, every pulse bordering on painful. I wanted to grab it, but there was something I wanted more. Sitting back on the couch, I quickly lubed it up, then did my best to ignore it as I easily slipped one lubed finger inside Turner.

“Yes,” he hissed, and I was thinking the same thing, imagining all that warmth and heat and tension wrapped around me. As quickly as I dared, though not as quickly as Turner tried to demand, one and then two other fingers joined the first one. I searched for that spot that I knew existed but hadn’t had much experience with until Turner was arching, grunting, and chasing my fingers.

“Now!” he said, right when I was thinking the same fucking thing.

I pulled out and pulled Turner onto my lap, guiding my tip to his hole. “Okay?” I asked, and he nodded.

We were silent, him looking out that window, me watching as my cock slowly disappeared inside him. When his legs met mine, and he was sitting fully on my lap, my hands grasping his sides, I couldn’t help it, a few tears escaped me. I took a deep breath, waiting. Waiting like I had been all those years, for Turner to be ready.

We sat and breathed in tandem, and I don’t know which came first or if they happened at the same time, but I squeezed his hips, and he began oh so slowly to rise and fall on my cock. Once he settled into a rhythm I joined him, lifting to meet him, our movements fluid, keeping time with the gentle crash of the waves below.

I could have stayed like that all night, slowly rocking up and down with Turner on my cock. My hand found the back of his neck. I dragged my fingers down his back and began to adjust my motions, seeking that pleasure point. Turner hissed again, and I moaned in response as he began to move more quickly. I had found my mark, and Turner made sure I hit it over and over again, his grunts joining the beat we were keeping, his walls clenching and driving me wild. I was getting close, and my memory of his sounds told me he was too. I had missed those sounds.

I reached around and slipped my hand down his stomach until it met his cock.

“Fuck,” I pulled my hand away, looking for the lube, and could hear Turner’s grunts change. But then, with a frustrated yell, he pulled off and stood. I stopped, the lube bottle tipped over one hand as Turner spun toward me, flushed and beautiful in the moonlight, his dark-brown eyes practically black, his curls sweaty and perfect, his bowed lip tucked under his teeth.

“Need to see you,” he said, then without hesitation, he grabbed my cock and took what he needed from me, sinking himself back down while I watched with my hands outstretched, one holding lube, the other the lube bottle.

My shock wore off before the waves of pleasure did, and I grasped one of his hips again, holding tight, almost hoping to leave a mark. Mine.

My other hand found his cock, and when I wrapped my slick hand around it, the word escaped me in a single, unguarded breath: “Mine.”

“Yes,” he said, first in agreement, but soon, with our rocking and stroking, my bare cock hitting that spot, his hot breath so close to my face, our eyes locked, he began saying it over and over and over again as his cock pulsed in my hand, I swear in time to mine pulsing inside him. My world went blank except for those affirmations and the warmth of his breath as he said them. Except for the feel of him leaking over my hand, and holy fuck, except for the feel of me, my unsheathed cock exploding inside of him.

My world went blank except that I was practically shouting as I said, “Holy fuck, can you feel that? Can you feel me? Turner, I …”

The world crashed back to reality before I could scare Turner away by finishing that sentence. We faced each other, wide-eyed, until Turner rescued me with a kiss. We came down the way we’d started, forehead to forehead, focused on the rise and fall of our chests. Eventually, my cock started to slip. Turner looked at me and nodded. I nodded back as he rose.

He held his hand out, and he dragged me behind him to the bathroom. He started the shower before rummaging around in the narrow linen closet in the room.

He held out a toothbrush for me. “It’s yours, from last year. I can get you a fresh one tomorrow.”

It felt like my smile lit up the whole room, reaching beyond the walls to the horizon outside Turner’s window. I would need a fresh toothbrush because I would be spending more time at Turner’s.

There was no more heavy talk that night. I asked Turner to tell me about opening the bookstore, and he dove into the story. Only later, toward the end as we were snuggled together and falling asleep, did he say, “I love the store so much. It’s a lot of work, but it’s mine, you know, all mine. My idea, my plans, my budget. And I love that every time I cross through that door, I’m looking directly at the spot where you kissed me.” His breathing may have gone deep right after that, but the comment woke me right the fuck up, and I stayed, nuzzled into Turner, listening to him breathe and watching him sleep for hours before my dream of a reality faded away to actual dreams.

I was surprised to wake up alone, possibly having dreamt about how we had woken each other up the year before. It wasn’t the first time I woke up from that dream, so it took me a minute to realize that I wasn’t in my college apartment or my childhood bed or on some research vessel. I was in fact in Turner’s bed. Alone in Turner’s bed.

I found my way to the little kitchen area and found a note on the counter. I’m guessing you won’t remember our conversation, but you let me know you’d just fallen asleep when my alarm went off. You can find me in one of the stores. Feel free to raid my closet. You know where the cereal is.

You’d think he’d written me a fucking sonnet, the way my heart was beating. It was midmorning; I really had slept in. I had my bowl of cereal by myself, then made my way down to the toy store, in my jeans from the night before and a T-shirt from Turner’s dresser. The back door was unlocked, and I slipped in, first visiting the stockroom, where I grabbed one of the employee polos in my size.