He lay on his side up next to me, and I got my first solid look. His skin was pale, with collarbones sharp beneath it. A dark trail of hair led down his muscular abs. His tented briefs showed the outline of his hard dick.
I reached for him, greedily, and palmed him through the thin cotton. He moaned and bucked into my hand. I wanted to see all of him. I wanted him naked. I tugged at his underwear.
His cock flopped out, all at once, and my brain just—stopped. He was hard and flushed and leaking, heavier than I'd remembered from sucking him. The tip was a deep, angry pink.
I wanted to say something slick or joke about hockey sticks, but my mouth was too dry. All I could do was stare.
Evan kissed me again, harder this time, and lined our cocks up. He gripped them and rubbed skin on skin.
We moved against each other, finding a rhythm, the friction exquisite and filthy and completely perfect. He pulled me in by the back of my neck, our cheeks pressed together, sweat slicking our skin.
Each thrust of his hips sent a flash of pleasure up my spine, and I lost track of everything but the heat of us and how our bodies fit together like we'd been designed for one fucking purpose.
It got messy, fast. Sweat pooled between us, Evan's pre-cum smearing both our bellies. I wanted to see his face—needed that split-second look right before the goal horn goes off—so I grabbed his jaw and made him look at me while I jerked us both off, side by side.
His breath hitched, and I saw the moment he lost control. The muscles in his neck strained, and his mouth fell open.
I came first. It hit hard, like a concussion, white noise behind my eyes. The warm cum painted our bodies, hot and wet, and Evan came right after.
For a while, there was only breathing—heavy breathing and the weight of his body pinning me to the mattress in the best way. I stared up at the ceiling, counting the water stains, anchoring myself to the present so I didn't drift off somewhere lonely again.
Evan didn't move for a bit, only nuzzled into my shoulder. The room was hot and muggy, thick with sweat and the sour-spicy tang of sex.
When he finally rolled to the side, we stayed pressed together, skin sticking to skin.
I had no idea what to do next. No playbook for this. Usually, I got dressed and left, or at least pretended it was nobody's business but mine. This—sharing a pillow and listening to him catch his breath—was as raw as the sex itself.
Eventually, Evan fished a tissue from his nightstand drawer, swiped us both down with clinical efficiency, and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. He missed by a mile. I grinned, finally able to breathe, and pulled the blanket up to our chins. The bed was too warm, but I didn't care.
My mouth decided to work. "So, that was not a bad dream."
Evan snorted into my shoulder.
I traced a circle around his shoulder blade with my thumb. We were both going to smell like funky gym socks in the morning. My left arm was already falling asleep, but I'd have to let go if I moved it. I wasn't ready to let go.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Evan asked, voice muffled by my chest.
"Nah." The truth was, I couldn't remember the details of the nightmare anymore. "Can we just…" I let the words trail.
He understood. "Yeah. We can just."
We were a mess—sweat, cum, tangled sheets—and I was too loose-limbed to care. Evan's hand rested on my hip, thumb brushing lazy arcs against my skin.
He didn't say anything about me being in his bed. He didn't need to. I'd already taken it over once, and the fact that he'd made room this time without hesitation told me everything I needed to know.
"You're hogging the pillow," I murmured into his hair.
"Maybe you're just bad at sharing," he countered.
I grinned into the curve of his neck. The nightmare might as well have happened to someone else. I could barely remember the empty arena.
"You're not getting rid of me until morning," I said.
"Wasn't planning to."
His quiet certainty burrowed deep in my chest. Evan's bed. Evan's hand on mine. I could just let it all be.
His breathing evened out a few minutes later, the weight of his arm heavier against my ribs.
