I should be studying. Probably. Instead, I’m up against a wall, a cup is in my hand, and a guy’s hand is down my pants. His hand ghosts over the head every so often, but he mostly sticks to playing with the part that’s moveable skin. I mean, it feels nice, but he can’t kiss for shit. Is he really expecting to top me when the best he can do is flap his lips like he’s trying to fly away? The bathroom would be a better place to do this. But it was full. I have to pee. I really, really have to pee. This wall is nice, for a hallway. I feel lucky that we haven’t knocked any of the pictures down.
He kisses me again, this time with teeth, and I’m getting more into it. I do so like a boy who knows what he wants. The only problem with it now is that I’m picturing someone else doing this to me, not… well… a stranger at a party. Hey, now wait. I’m mostly drunk. I’m valid. It’s valid if I think of him. I can pretend. But… he wouldn’t… he would be a lot more passionate with his handjob. And his stubble would scratch my face in a way that hurt but was oh-so-satisfying. This guy… is not doing that.
Then, his tongue slides in my mouth, and that does it for me. I push him off, take a swig of my… beer? And adjust my pants. I hope everyone else is drunk enough to ignore my boner, ‘cause I sure as shit already forgot about it.
The room is hazy, maybe from weed, maybe from the moisture of sweat. Is there enough moisture in sweat to make the room hazy? Fuck if I know. People wriggle and pulse all around, shuffling on their feet and slithering into laps. The couch that I was sitting on earlier, the one the dude that I was just making out with kissed me first on, is now covered by a dude with two girls on top of him. They--all three of them--are kissing. Which mostly means their tongues are out in the air and touching. Gross. Tongues are so not it.
Instead of trying to sit back down and find someone ELSE to inhale, I walk over to the kitchen’s breakfast bar and pour something clear and smelly into my cup, on top of what’s already there. It’s probably vodka. God, do I hope it’s vodka. If it’s not vodka, that means it’s like, lighter fluid, right? I don’t know what lighter fluid smells like. I swirl my cup and take a sniff. Fuck. This very well could be lighter fluid. They wouldn’t put lighter fluid in a glass bottle, right? Probably best to not take a chance.
I shuffle across the room to the kitchen sink and pour my drink down, then pop open the fridge. I wrinkle my nose. It smells awful. I close it, and find a hot guy with a sharp jaw and dark eyes and the prettiest tanned-bronze skin that I think I’ve ever seen. At least at this very moment. Maybe. I suddenly can’t remember anyone I’ve ever seen but him.
He’s staring. I wink and reach my arm around his shoulder. It’s heavier than it should be. But it’s fine. You know? I’m buzzed. That's the point. I'm supposed to be lethargic, yeah? A nice layer of fuzz and buzz clouds my vision.
“Hey. You’re new. Wanna make out in the next room, bring me back to your dorm, fuck me till I can’t see, then ghost me the next day?” I ask him, and he looks at me, my arm slung around him, and frowns. We make it to the next room and sit down on the couch there. Football pictures with trophies or something cover the wall. I don’t have the care to focus on what they say. Not when this guy is so warm and soft to touch. Oops. Touching people’s biceps and pecs probably isn’t a cool thing to do without consent. But they’re so nice, and he isn’t saying no…
“Uh… my girlfriend… she’s here somewhere, I probably shouldn’t…” he mutters, lips touching my ear. I roll my head away, leaving my neck exposed, right below where his lips were. He takes the bait, and I smirk towards the window.
My neck’s gonna be black tomorrow, the way this guy bites. He acts like he’s never once been allowed to actually get passionate, and I’m sure as fuck not complaining about the way he’s going. The pinch and pull feel so… visceral and violent and hot, and I’m here for every inch of it. His biting switches with kissing every so often, as if he feels guilty for the violence, and then he takes another round of absolutely cannibalizing my neck, and I can’t help but gasp out the lightest of moans. Thank God Syd has concealer.
I turn back to face him now, and pull him closer by the back of his head. My fingers carve into his hair. He makes noise now, too, and I kiss him with teeth, matching his ferocity. Something’s stirring in my pants, I can’t remember where I left my drink, and my heart is pulsing across my body, riding the wave of buzz to the edge of me in every place.
He’s warm, and he’s soft, and he’s pretty hot, I think, and I like touching him. I rake my nails down his pecs and abs, and they hook on his pants. He breaks our kiss and looks around at the room, nervous, but I shove him down the rest of the way on the couch and straddle him.
He pulls at my shirt, and I grind down against his cock. It’s definitely hard. Gosh, I almost feel bad. He must be missing his girlfriend right now, huh? That’s why he’s clawing at my shirt, and why his arms wrap around my neck and pull me closer and why he unbuttons my jeans and why he shoves his hands under my underwear to feel at my ass. That’s why he aches with want, and why he lifts me up, my jeans nearly falling off of me, and carries me to a bedroom.
Don’t even know whose it is. Don’t even think I give a shit. He throws me on the bed and looms over me. His lips are soft. His skin is soft. He’s soft. Without a shirt, he looks like a picture out of a movie. He kisses my lips again and again, that soft, toothless bite, until I join in and kiss him back, pulling his head in like he’s a pillow I’m trying to smother myself with. I do bite. He moans. He likes being bitten. Good. Call me a motherfucking vampire.
I tug at his pants, and grab his underwear. His cock springs free. I lick my lips and we switch sides so I’m on top now. I kiss down his skin, savoring the flavor of sweat and him, whatever he tastes like. I think he tastes like warmth and vodka, or something poetic like that, I’m just not capable of anything coherent right now.
His cock, now in my hand, isn’t nearly as big as I was expecting. It’s nice and veiny, thick in the way that’ll give me a workout later, but it isn’t… very long. And it’s a bit hairier than I’d usually go for, but fuck, the way those abs look… I place a kiss on the head and look up at him, blinking my eyes in the way all the porn stars do. The way he’s leaning up to look at me--just using his neck--saps about eighty-seven per cent of his attractiveness, and that sobers me up a tad bit. Still, his cock is salty in the best way, and I open my mouth, tongue out and ready to lick like it’s a motherfucking popsicle.
“Wait,” he says, sitting up and drawing the cock away from my face. I frown and climb back up on the bed. I rest my head on his bare thigh. When did I take his pants off? Are my pants even still on? Yeah, they are, they’re just sliding loose. Maybe I lost weight. In the last thirty minutes. Right. Of course. Good thing the absolute fucking boner in my underwear is keeping that on.
“What?” I ask, still palming at his dick. My fingertips ghost over the head. His heart’s beating, I know it. Oh, ha, wait, hearts are always supposed to beat. I should go get another drink.
“I… I don’t even know your name,” he chokes out. “Don’t you think we should… I don’t know. I’ve never been with a guy before. I mean, not like this. I’ve kissed, but… and my girlfriend…”
“Isn’t here. And you’re not getting my name, babe, just my lips wrapped around your cock. Sound good?” He frowns at me, but gives an affectionate scratch on my shoulder that turns into a caress. I shudder into it.
“I thought I was gonna get to fuck your ass.” I roll my eyes.
“I’ve at least got to get you worked up first. And, you know… take a minute to clean up.”
He makes a face at me. His lip is curls up and his brow is furrowed. Something clicks behind his eyes. Before I process much, his pants and shirt are back on. His cock is still a tent in his pants.
“You’re fucking disgusting. I’m trying to get my dick wet, not think about the shit in your ass.” He slams the door behind him, leaving me alone in the room.
Sorry for having fucking basic human anatomy, I guess?
Whatever. The room isn’t quite spinning, but this bed is comfortable enough for me to stay here. My buzz was kinda just killed anyway.
My eyes flutter shut, and I feel sleep pulling close, so I shove myself to my feet, my pants bunched up in my hand so they don’t fall. I lumber downstairs, past couples of every gender eating each other’s throats and licking each other’s tongues, and try to make it to the front door. The only issue with that is that the front door could literally be in any direction. I’ve never been here before. And I’m not going to get back into my car and drive back home. Not like this. The night ride might answer if I call, but I don’t have pants that fit on me… That’s probably not a good choice right now, either. An Uber, then? Or…
Ah, fuck it. I can find my shoes somewhere and walk the way home. It’s not that cold, and it’s not that far. I can get home, jerk off in the bathroom, stare at Noah for an hour and a half, and wake up tomorrow and convince myself that the three straight guys I tried to hook up with tonight were just actually straight and that’s why I didn’t get anything in me.
I find my first shoe underneath the kitchen table, and it’s when I bend over to pick it up and get my ass slapped by some passing loser that the blood rushes to my head and I feel painfully sober. There’s no sock in it, but I have at least six of those back at my room, so who the fuck needs a sock? The only person who’ll smell it if it’s bad is Noah. And me, I guess, but I think they smell fine.
Time to find the other one with a sober mind and a buzzed vision. The best combination.
I’m leaning over, shambling like a zombie across the room when I run, forcefully, into Noah. I look and feel the blood rush out of my face. My head feels light. He’s so fucking tall. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to not drop to my knees and cling onto his leg like a child with relief.
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