When Sam arrived, Clay stepped forward to kiss him. Clay hesitated at first, so Sam waited to see what he'd do, and then Clay seeming to let go of whatever reluctance, closed the gap between them and pressed a kiss on Sam's lips.

Clay smiled stiffly when he pulled back. “I guess it's gonna take a while to get used to kissing a...guy.”

Sam chuckled heartily. “I suppose so.”

“Of course you would,” Clay ushered him into the house and locked the door behind him. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”

Sam nodded in the affirmative. “My Mom fed me an army's ration of lasagna. It was great.”

“Lucky you,” Clay turned and led the way to the living room, his hips swaying lightly. “I was so caught up writing to meet up with my deadline tomorrow, I didn't even have lunch. I hate eating out.”

“Hey, your living room looks less chunky today.” Sam was impressed. “Nice. Would it be bad if we had our lessons here instead?”

“You wouldn't dare,” Clay glared. “I just had a great time cleaning it up only for you to wish to mess it up all over again? Na-uh. We're using the bedroom.”

Sam chuckled. “You look amusing when angry. I like it.”

“You surely wouldn't like me kicking you out the door, would you? I bet you hired someone to help clean your apartment every month.”

Sam shook his head. “Let's not talk about me now. I was only joking.”

Fewer books, well-spaced shelves, surfaces cleaned and furniture dusted... everywhere sparkled. Clay had outdone himself, Sam thought. What a dude.

“Don't stare like a stranger, get comfortable.” Clay pushed him onto the sofa. “Have a seat while I get us some drinks to cool off. What would you like; tea, coffee, beer or water?”

“Beer would do, thanks.” Sam brought his legs up too. “This is so soft... where did you buy your couch? Hortons?”

“I went around some second-hand shop in Brunswick while I was on a vacation there with Tina. We got a bargain with this one, but the delivery costed more. Why?”

“I'm amazed to sit on a sofa this soft, I mean there are many crappy, uncomfortable sofas around. I've never understood that. Surely the whole point of a sofa is that it should be nice to sit on, but some are fucking terrible,” Sam arranged his shoes beside the table and relaxed into a horizontal position. “I enjoyed sleeping here last Friday night. So comfy.”

Clay guffawed as he returned with a bottle of beer and juice on each hand. “If you want it so bad, maybe I'd sell. Just get ready four hundred thousand bucks and we're in business.” He placed Sam's beer on the table and sipped his.

“I'd simply go to Brunswick and purchase one instead.” Sam reached out for the beer and sipped too.

“They only had one left and I heard they're out of business now. So you're stuck with me.” Clay grinned.

“I'll pass.”

“Get your legs off. I want to sit.” Clay made to push Sam's legs off but the latter caught his hands. “Why don't you sit on me. I can guarantee there's enough room.”

Clay's cheeks burned, the hilarity of the last few seconds morphing to sexual tension.

Sam wasn't joking. That was why he was here, and they both knew it. So there was no point beating around the bush. They'd had a beer and were conversing, but Sam couldn't wait to get his hands all over Clay as soon as possible.

Clay let Sam pull him down, arranging himself perfectly between his thighs with one of Sam's legs bent up against the backrest and the other hanging off the side.

They indulged in deep, wet kisses with a slowly building hunger that made their groins harden where pressed together. They adjusted themselves amidst sloppy kisses and smiles, grinning as they got serious again.

Sam pulled away to grab his beer. He couldn't afford to rush things. They'd get boring and Clay wouldn't like that either so he figured they talk a while drinking. Clay picked up his glass of juice too, and they rearranged themselves to face each other. Sam shuffled back to sit against the arm of the sofa and Clay took the other, their legs entangled.

“Have you ever been in a serious relationship? One you truly liked and never intended to get out of?” Clay asked.

“If you put it that way, no,” Sam replied. “I've never had anything serious with anyone before. I gave a teacher who taught us woodwork at the vocational institute a few blowjobs for a year, then he got transferred and that was it. He insisted we kept it casual and a secret but my Mom found out. She wasn't pleased so when he pleaded for me to always come over to his place to keep blowing him, I declined.” He grinned. “That ended things for the both of us. He moved away from Massachusetts a few weeks ago. I saw him at the airport.” He took a gulp of his beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hands.

“You both didn't date?”

“No. I refused to do so because he was just...not my specification. And I hated being topped so there was no push for a relationship. I messed a bit after that, experimenting with another lad and a few twinks I picked up in clubs, but that was it.” Sam thought back to those encounters. None satisfied him whatsoever because he was seeking a connection. “After him, I met Frank — a close acquaintance — but that didn't last too,” He avoided telling Clay the real reason why he broke things off with Frank because he felt guilty that Frank had been hurt when he didn't return his feelings. “Life was fun for a while back then. Now, I prefer being friends with whoever I'm sleeping with.” He grinned at Clay.

“We're not sleeping together yet,” Clay pointed out. “And I can imagine why those encounters never satisfied you. Being friends is good. I can't have sex with a stranger; I've got zero appeal for that.”

“So what do you say; friends with benefits?” Sam raised his bottle.

“Yup.” Clay raised his too in return and they both continued drinking.

They chatted for a while longer and when their drinks got finished, they stared at each other in silence. Clay had leaned closer now, so he had his left hand on Sam's ankle, patting it silently as they talked, his fingers running up occasionally to touch bare skin and rub the hair there.

“Care for another beer?” Clay asked.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “I want you on my body.”

Clay laughed so hard, tears streamed out his eyes in torrents. “I love it when you get so blunt,” He spluttered. “Let's go to the bedroom then.”

“Right.”

They didn't waste time stripping off their clothes. Clay ripped his clothes as freely as Sam did his tonight, and they paused to help each other out amidst enthusiastic kisses. Finally naked, they tumbled onto the bed in a heap, laughing like drunk children. Clay lay sprawled on his back with Sam on top of him, sucking the life out of his lips as he ground down aggressively. Their cocks were pressed together and Clay was a moaning mess when Sam rocked his hips and let them slide against each other in skin and wetness.

“Fuck! This feels so good,” Sam exclaimed, pushing against Clay in a long, slow thrust, their cocks moving in sync.

“Yeah.” Clay panted, bucking his hips up, encouraging Sam to move again.

Sam led his hands to slide up to grip Clay's wrists, pinning them over his head into the mattress. He watched, transfixed by the flame that flared in Clay's eyes and the catch in his breath. Sam moved his hips faster now, dipping his head to nuzzle the patch of dark hair in Clay's armpit. His cock throbbed as he inhaled the sweet scent of man and musk.