I groaned. Fucking hell. I'd already rubbed one out in the shower, and yet here I stood at the door to his
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apartment, and my cock twitched again at the mere thought of him.
It wasn't bad enough it was him I'd imagined as I
pumped myself in the shower. It was his lips against mine I imagined as I stroked my dick. It was his lips I imagined around me, licking and sucking as I pulled and swiped my fist over the head of my cock. It was his creamy white ass I imagined sinking deep inside of as my orgasm barreled through me, spurting cum over the tiles. My head spun with images of him as the feeling in my legs returned and until the water ran cold.
I wondered how on earth I'd spend the next few
hours in the same room as him without getting a hard-on, when just the thought of him had my dick twitching. And then he opened the door.
I almost groaned.
There he stood, all British-pale skin and dark-
rimmed glasses. And he smiled. He was wearing tight black jeans, a white T-shirt and a gray golfer's vest. Not a look many could wear, but he looked… cute.
I swallowed thickly. "Hey." I held up a bag with our lunch in one hand and the three DVDs in the other.
He stood aside in a silent invitation, and I walked inside his apartment. The space was very nice, very modern and sleek, like it was fresh off the cover of
Single Gay
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Living
. It was all blacks and whites and grays, but it somehow still managed to be warm.
It was an open space with a black leather sofa and a dining table in front of a large window, next to a stylish kitchen. I headed in that general direction and put the DVDs on the counter along with lunch. "I, um, I didn't really know what to get for lunch, but there's this little shop near my place that does chicken souvlaki and a Greek salad…"
"Sounds great," he said quietly, adjusting his glasses. And strangely enough, it was him that seemed nervous.
I suggested we eat first, while the chicken was still warm, but when I looked to the dining table, I saw it was covered in papers. On closer inspection, I realized the entire table was covered in
my
papers. "Oh," I mumbled.
"Is that all mine?"
"I just finished putting them into categories for tax purposes," he told me.
I cringed and looked at him apologetically. "Sorry."
He smiled. "It's fine, really." He grabbed some plates and cutlery and suggested we eat in the living room, putting the plates on the coffee table. Then he took two cushions off the sofa and put them on the floor, one on either side of the coffee table, and I presumed one of them
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was now my seat.
Logan sat down on one cushion, easily folding his
long, lean legs underneath himself. He was quiet and graceful, whereas I sat down like a lug on the other cushion facing him. I had to sit cross-legged like I had in grade school. Actually, the last time I'd sat like that
was
grade school.
"Ugh," I groaned. "Jeez, haven't had to sit like this in a while."
"Oh," he said, alarmed. "We can sit on the sofa…"
Oh, shit. "No, no," I quickly amended. "It's fine.
Just my legs don't fold up around my ears as easy as yours." He ducked his head, and a pink hue tinted his cheeks as I replayed my words in my head. "Oh, um… I didn't mean… Oh, God," I mumbled. "See what I mean about flustered?"
He pushed his glasses up on his nose and smiled. "I think I'm beginning to, yes."
I let out an embarrassed laugh. "I can go into the next room and call your cell if you'd like to have a proper conversation with me."
He stared at his empty plate. "Why do I make you flustered?"
I shrugged, suddenly feeling a little awkward.
"Um… because you're smart, and I'm not." His head shot
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up. He looked at me with wide eyes, so I explained. "The more I try
not
to say something stupid, the stupider I sound."
He blinked, startled. Then he opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it again, obviously not sure how to reply. He pushed his glasses up on his nose again and started dishing up lunch. But then he said quietly, "I'm not that smart, and you're definitely not
not
-smart. You're obviously good at what you do. You're self-employed. That takes some know-how."
I shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Maybe."
He gave me a small smile as he put one plate in
front of me. "This looks good," he said, nodding toward his own plate. "Thanks."
Talking was easier as we ate our lunch. I told him about my housemate, Tim, how he's my best friend, how he came home drunk and obnoxious last night. I explained how he was still making
Dr. Who
jokes at me when I'd left this morning. "He teases me all the time," I said with a smile. "But that's just him. I know if it came down to it, he'd have my back."
Logan told me about his sister, Beth, how they'd
moved with their parents to the States about six years before, how they'd lived together until she married last year and now lived just a five-minute drive away. "She owns a
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bookstore down on West Third," he told me. "I help her out there on Sundays to give her a break."
I asked him if he reads much, to which he gave a
pointed nod to the far wall. I turned around to see a wall covered floor to ceiling in books. I snorted, amused at the city library in his living room. "I take it that's a yes."
Smiling, he stood up and took our empty plates into the kitchen. I packed up the empty containers and followed him, straightening out the kinks in my back and legs from sitting on the floor. We tidied up, and the conversation didn't stop. He asked me about work, which job site I was currently working on, and what the guys I work with were like.
"They're okay," I answered honestly. "We work in groups of four or five called crews, and they're not too bad.
Some don't like that I'm gay but don't say anything. The others don't care."
He looked at me thoughtfully. "How did they find out?"
"I told them," I answered. "Not gonna lie about it.
They were always talking about girls and getting laid or whatever, and they asked me about my weekend score, so I told them."
Logan stared at me, confused. "Score?"
"Oh." I smiled. "Latest conquest, you know…" I
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cringed. "Anyway, I told them I met some guy at a bar and took him home."
"Oh." Logan blinked, clearly shocked, and cleared his throat. "What did they say?"
"Not much they could say. I just looked them in the eye and told them I was gay. No big deal."
Logan blinked again, and this time he seemed oddly impressed. "Wow." He grabbed two bottles of water and walked back into the living room, this time sitting on the sofa.
I looked at him, a little perplexed by his reaction.
Sitting down beside him, I asked, "What about you?"
"Oh," he said, the corner of his lips pulled downward. "I've never had to really
tell
anyone. Most people presume I'm gay." Then he pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at me. "I don't mind. It's just me. I'm soft spoken, well dressed, a little feminine…"
Feminine…
I frowned. "Don't know about
feminine
, but you're cute."
His mouth fell open, disbelievingly. He obviously
didn't get compliments very often.
I laughed. "Don't be so shocked. You are."
He stared at me with wide eyes and pink cheeks,
and his mouth snapped shut.
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I smiled at him and shook my head. When I reached
out to grab the
Dr. Who
DVDs, his hand on my arm stopped me. I looked from his long fingers on my forearm to his face. He must have seen the questioning look on my face.
"Why are you here?"
I blinked, surprised at his question. "What?"
He swallowed nervously. "Why are you here?" he repeated softly. "With me? I mean you don't seem the type to be interested in guys like me."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know the answer.
I'd never been interested in his type, in the quiet, geeky type, so what
was
I doing there? I looked at him, my eyes darting between his, and I shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know," I told him quietly, hoping he could see the honesty in my eyes. "There's something about you… I can't stop thinking about you."
He blinked again. This time the blush on his cheeks crept down his neck. "Oh," he whispered.
We stared at each other for a moment, and I found
myself leaning in toward him. I licked my lips, and my voice was just a murmur. "Can I kiss you?"
His breath caught. But he nodded.
So I did.
I leaned in and watched his eyes flutter closed as I
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pressed my lips to his. The kiss was soft and serene, contradicted by the erratic thumping of my heart.
I didn't move to deepen the kiss. I just pressed my lips to his again and again, pulling his bottom lip in between mine. His breath stuttered, and when his eyes slowly opened, they were a stormy gray.
But then I accidently bumped his glasses with my
nose, and I smiled. He still looked a little kiss-drunk, and when I pulled back from him just a little, his hand cupped my jaw.
Then it was my eyes that widened, and it was my
breath that caught as he leaned in and kissed me again, deeper, surer, harder. His mouth opened mine, and his tongue licked my bottom lip before softly sliding into my mouth.
It was the most sensual kiss. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, my eyes rolled back, and my skin felt warm all over.
He tilted our faces and somehow deepened the kiss
further. His gentle hands were on my face, holding me to him as his lips, mouth, as
he
consumed me. His tongue teased and twirled against mine. His taste was so enticing, his lips so soft, but so sure.
God, he made me moan.
Then he hummed the sweetest sound before slowing
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the kiss to a stop. When I opened my eyes, it took a moment for me to focus; his face was still close. He seemed as dazed as me.
"Holy shit, Logan," I whispered, breathing in raggedly. "Where did you learn to kiss like that?"
He blushed again and licked his lips. He didn't
answer my question; he just smiled.
We were still so close on his sofa, our sides pressed against each other, my face turned toward him. This time I slid my hand along his jaw and made him look at me, our lips almost touching. "Kiss me again," I murmured.
"Please."
So he pulled off his glasses and kissed me.
Fucking hell, did he kiss me.
For a quiet, book-loving guy, his strength surprised me. He sure as hell wasn't timid. Without breaking the kiss, he moved up onto his knees, and leaning one knee over my thighs, he straddled me.
My surprise only seemed to spur him on. He pushed
my head back onto the sofa with his mouth as he kissed me harder, deeper. He ground his hips onto my lap, making me moan again at the contact.
My cock was straining against my jeans, seeking
some kind of friction—any kind of friction. My hips were rising to meet him as he ground down on me, and his hands
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raked my hair.
I was so hard. I was so close to coming.
I gripped his hips and panted into his mouth,
"Logan… stop."
He kept his face against mine while he caught his
breath, but he kept his eyes closed. He wouldn't look at me.
"Hey," I said, still out of breath. I cupped his face, feeling his soft skin in my hands. I looked at his swollen lips, at his hurt, dark gray eyes. When he tried to pull away from me, I held him tighter. "Hey," I said again, forcing him to look at me. "We should slow down."
"Why?" he asked me quietly, searching my eyes.
"Because I'm not your
type
?"
"Ah, no," I told him honestly. "'Cause you're about to make me come."
"Oh," he said with a snort, and finally a smile.
I lifted my head off the back of the sofa and pecked his lips with mine. "So damn sexy," I murmured. "You have no idea how sexy you are."
"Yeah, right," he laughed, dismissing me.
Embarrassed, he swung his leg over, off me. "I got a bit carried away."
I kept his face near mine, our foreheads touching, and turned my body to face him better. "I'd reckon you did, yeah," I said with a smile. "Not that I'm complaining."
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He sighed and rested his head on my shoulder, and
after a little while, he asked, "Did you want to watch
Dr.
Who
now?"
No. What I wanted to do was to strip us both naked and bury myself inside him. But I answered politely.
"Sure."
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