Noah

When I come back to the room, prepared to fully ignore Ten, he’s sleeping in my bed. I spend longer than I should wondering how this came to be. What caused him to get into my bed? What made him fall asleep in my bed? 

I walked towards him to assess the situation. Something was wrong about this. About him. About his face. It wasn’t his usual peaceful sleeping face. It was distraught, eyes brimmed with red, tear stains on his cheeks. He’s holding my blanket tight—tighter than one should hold anything in their sleep.

I can’t help but be hypnotized by this devastating picture before me. My heart feels like it has shattered. And then I realize something ridiculous: I was not mad at him. 

Though, I should be. He said the thing that he knew would hurt me the most. And yet, I wasn’t mad. Hurt? Yes. But mad? How could I be mad? He knew me well enough to know that that’s what would hurt me. He knew me. No one has ever bothered to know me.

I sound pathetic, I know. But this isn't me letting him get away with saying anything because he looks sad...this was me realizing what a relationship is. It’s wholly imperfect and yet, right.

I look at him and whatever he is to me, is right. Correct. Just. Perfect. I don’t know, whatever you want to call it. 

Perfect. I used that word again.

It’s funny because I know Ten isn’t perfect.

I know our friendship or whatever we have isn’t perfect.

But when I think about what perfect could feel like, it’s him. And I know that sounds soppy and damaged, but it’s just how I feel and I don’t want to spend time trying to invalidate how I feel. No, I’ve spent my whole life doing that.

I stand watching him. 

And then I become increasingly aware of the frustration building within me.

Why do I never get what I want? Why can’t I have something good?

Why- and then, like some asteroid crashing into me, I realize something.

I’ve never tried just taking it. I’ve never tried just taking what I want.

I’ve always expected things to come to me but nothing ever has. Shouldn’t I have gotten the hint?

You know, Ten says I’m smart, but if he knew that I spent my whole life waiting for something to happen when I could have just taken it, he might change his mind. But I’m sick of it. I want to take something. For once, I want to have something. For once, I just want to let myself do what I want. 

So that’s what I do. I crawl into my bed and lie silently, listening to his soft breaths as my back faces him. His body heat radiates on to me.

But it isn’t enough. 

I turn to face him. He begins to stir awake. He opens his eyes, startled to see me but doesn’t move. Take what you want. With my face planted in my left hand, unable to look at him, I slowly reach my other hand across his chest, gently thumbing the skin and muscle beneath. 

He lets out a whimper that sounds like my name. And then, because I am truly fed up with the world, I push myself off of my elbows, hover over him, his eyes dark and dazed, and kiss him as hard as I can. To my surprise, he doesn’t hesitate to return the kiss. He deepens it, gripping the back of my head, pulling me forward. I reach my hand down to touch wherever I could. I want to feel his muscles under my hands- I want to feel his everything. 

My body feels electrified, tingling with all these feelings that I’m not sure are all purely physical. I keep kissing him, unsure if I’m even any good at it. I tried to not let myself feel insecure, but Ten wasn’t new to this kind of thing. And me, well, I was. But I did what felt right— I did what I wanted to do.

His muscles were better to touch than to look at. Which, I have to admit, is a difficult call to make. His skin is soft, surprisingly unscarred. I would think he would have a couple of scars. Though, he probably didn’t take a blow very often. I wonder what he thinks of my scars. He's never asked me about them. But truthfully, he probably doesn't really spend that much time looking at me shirtless. Not like I do with him...

I reach further, trying to undo his belt, but he grabs my hands and flips me over so that he’s now on top. Breathless and wide-eyed, he stares down at me. I rip my hands out of his grasp and reach my hands back to his belt but he raises his hips so I can’t reach him.

When I try to free myself from his grip he says, “what are you doing? I thought you weren’t into guys?” 

“When did I say that?”

“You said you weren’t into the picture of me- you weren’t into THAT.”

“Fuck, you can’t just show me a picture like that! I panicked!” I nix the attempt to take off his pants and wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him down so that our lips touched. He pulls up and I let out a frustrated, very impatient groan.

“And you said you’ve never had sex with a guy.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“So you’re bi?”

“No.” 

“But-“

“I’m a virgin.” I spoke fast because having a conversation was not at all what I wanted to be doing.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too fucking perfect. How could-“

“Because I didn’t want it yet. But fuck it, I want it- I want you.” 

“I’ve wanted you since I saw you in the crowd during orientation.” It was something I didn’t expect him to say. Me? Why would he want me of all people? 

But now wasn’t a time to be insecure so I just say “same.” 

I remember my thoughts when I saw him walk up the stage. Fuck me, is basically all that was going through my mind. I had to look down while he spoke. Even his voice was hot. It was all too much. Especially on that day. I was not emotionally stable, though, I rarely am. I was angry at the situation. I was so furious and- 

“Wait. You were into me this entire time?” He has a weird smile on his face. Maybe it seemed odd because it wasn’t a full smile. There was something mournful in his expression.

“Yes.” And I have more to say but I don’t in favor of kissing him again. Gods, he was a good kisser. I didn’t even have much to compare to, but I knew this had to be considered good. 

“But you didn’t ever show any signs that— I mean, I literally always flirt with you.”

“You do?”

He sits up, startled, “Are you kidding me? I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“To be fair, how could I think that someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me?”

“I don’t understand you,” and though his thought is incomplete, he doesn’t continue. Instead, he leans forward. 

He doesn’t just kiss my lips, he trails his mouth down my neck, nipping it, licking it. I let out embarrassing moans and when he sees that I’m trying to stop myself from making noise, he nibbles on my ear and says, “don’t. I want to hear you.”

So, as always, I listen to him and let the soft cries and moans escape my tingling lips.

He eventually lowers himself so that his full weight is on top of me. He sits up for a moment to pull off my shirt, stopping halfway to kiss my collar bones, my tattoo.

“Hmm, sad boy,” he groans and I don’t know what it really means but I’m too aroused to really care.

When my shirt is off, he presses against me again, and the lovely skin to skin contact makes something inside of me ache. More, I think it means. More. 

“Take off the rest,” I breathe out between kisses, gesturing towards his too-clothed body.

“Patience.”

“Fuck that, take the pants off now.”

He chuckles deeply, and sits up, thighs straddling my thighs. And he takes off the pants, just not the ones on him. He slips them off my legs effortlessly, leaving me in just my boxers.

“Can I take these off too?” He asks as he plays with the elastic hem.

I nod quickly and urgently, and so he pulls them off, eyeing my cock hungrily.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say as I can’t help but glance away.

“Like what?”

“Like I matter.”

And for a moment, he is so taken aback that he can’t say anything.

That is until he leans into me, wraps his hand loosely around my throat, smiles, and says, “don’t tell me what to do.” 

And then he kisses me harder than he has been, hand still grasping my throat. It’s not a violent hold, rather, a gentle sign of dominance—possessiveness. I don’t complain because I rather like it. I liked feeling submissive...especially to him. 

“Will you fuck me?” I blush as I say it. It was the first time I had ever said that to someone. It was the first time I actually felt the need to. 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets go of my neck and grips my dick in his hand, stroking it gently. I try not to squirm but it feels overwhelmingly good and I can’t help but thrust my hips up to synchronize with his motions. He doesn’t show any signs that he’s going to take off his pants so I try again. I reach for the buckle but he removes his hand off of my dick and using both hands, grabs my wrists, and places them above my head. He doesn’t let go while he kisses me and then drags his tongue down to my stomach, back up to my nipples. He sucks at them gently, and then, probably encouraged by my moaning, sucks harder, flicking the now hardened buds with his tongue. I feel like I’m losing my mind.

“Please, just-“

He cuts off my begging with his mouth, and I can’t help but return the kiss. His tongue is hot against mine. Is this okay? I don’t know. It feels like I’m doing this right but I really don’t know. I would ask but that would probably ruin the mood.

“I’m not going to have sex with you.” He says it against my mouth, in between kisses.

“What? Why not?” I don’t mean for it to come out like it but I definitely sound insulted. Maybe I was good enough to kiss, just not to fuck. That actually sounds about right. Maybe I need to prove my worthiness? But how do I do that if I don’t think I’m worthy? I-

He lets go of one of my wrists and grabs my face, holding me still. “Stop thinking about what I meant.”

He returns to kissing me, his free hand returning to my dick, not bothering to tell me what he meant. If he wanted me to stop thinking about it, he should just fucking tell me. Why doesn’t he get that?

He lets go of my wrist and raises himself off of me, sliding off of the bed. He stands to the side, eyeing my naked body, gaze calculating. He then fucking scoops me up like I’m a child.

“What the fuck!?” I gasp fairly loudly but as he walks towards his bed, I realize he’s just switching beds. He practically throws me down and I yelp at the sudden drop. He laughs and then positions himself between my legs, so that his face is inches away from my cock. He licks his lips, eyeing it.

“Don’t.” I surprise myself by saying it. He looks up at me, concerned.

“You don’t want me to suck it?”

“No. I mean yes. I just want to do it first.”

“You can suck yourself? That’s impressive.”

“No you idiot, I mean I want to…I want to do it to you first.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I said no. Now, please be quiet so I can taste you,” and he bends down and trails his tongue along my cock, lingering at the tip, pressing harder at the slit. I don’t know how to react to this. I’ve never been given head before. I’ve given blow-jobs before, but no one has ever returned it. And now I was being given something I have never earned. It makes me uncomfortable but not enough to stop him from closing his mouth around the tip, sucking hard for a moment, before swallowing me whole. I let out some ungodly noise but he doesn’t stop and continues to suck and I fight the urge to thrust. 

He must realize this because he grips my hips and holds them down, disabling their ability to move. I watch with wild eyes as he takes me in his mouth, long and teasingly slow strokes. I want more. And as if he could read my mind, he picks up the pace, bobbing his head, shoving my cock deeper down his throat. 

“Fuck! Stop, you need to stop.”

He stops bobbing and slowly comes up from air but not before suckling the tip for a bit longer. “You don’t like it?”

“I do-“

And that's all he needs to hear to continue sucking.

But I can’t handle it. “I really can’t hold it!”

“Didn’t ask you to,” he says quickly before going back to work.

My hands form fists and my eyes squeeze shut, trying with all my power not to cum. And for some reason, that makes him angry. He replaces his mouth with his hand and says, “Noah, that’s not going to work.” 

His hand strokes me hard and rapidly, trying to get me to let go. But I don’t. I still hold back.

“Noah, look at me.”

I open my eyes and stare up at his face. It’s such a good face.

“I want you to cum.” He looks dead serious and it almost scares me.

I shake my head and say, “I don’t want to make a mess.” 

He positions himself so that he can suck my cock again and says, “Oh, don’t worry, I plan on cleaning it up.”

And he sucks me so hard that I can’t hold it anymore and I frantically try to move him out of the way but he reaches his hands to hold me down. I release into his mouth but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he drips my cum back out, coating my cock with it, and continues sucking until I squirm violently from the overstimulation. He swallows, wipes his mouth, and sits on top of me. 

“Now, I need to say something,” and he speaks so casually as if he didn’t just do that. “I’m sorry for what I said. It was- it wasn’t fair. I was angry because you were judging me.”

I can barely make out my thoughts, still high off of the orgasm. But he remains on top of me and eventually, I say, “I wasn’t judging you, I mean I was. But that’s because I was jealous.” The fact that we are having this conversation after what just happened makes my head spin. 

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, jealous that another person gets to be with you in that way.”

He shakes his head and says, “I really thought you were straight.”

“No, I’m very much into,” and I eye his naked torso, “men.”

“Are you closeted?”

“Well, not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve just never had anyone to come out to.” Fuck, I sound depressing.

“So come out to me.”

“I think I just did.”

“Say it.”

“I don’t see why-“

“Pretend you’re coming out. How would you do it?”

I think for a moment. It wasn’t something I ever thought about. “Ten, I have something to tell you and I hope you don’t see me differently because its who I’ve been all along. I’m gay. Though, I’m sure you already know as you are sitting on top of my naked body.” I smile at him and for a minute, and he just stares down at me.

“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that? Not just physically. I mean, shit, couldn’t have designed you better myself. But you are a spectacularly breath-taking human being.”

“Bet you say that to all your boys.”

He frowns, and I realize how that came out. “No, I didn’t mean it to sound like I had before-“

And then surprisingly he smiles and says, “You’re my boy?

“That is not what I meant.”

“Well, you could be.”

And I look at him like he’s crazy because he truly is.

“No, I mean it.” 

“I am not going to be your boy.”

“Why not?” He has the same expression as when he realized I was trying not to cum.

“I don’t know, ask yourself. You’re the one who wouldn’t fuck me.”