16. Liam

It's silly how much I enjoy something as mundane as the feel of air against my skin, but after existing in this permanent state of sticky, sweaty heat, I don't want anything covering my arm. Even if it is only twenty degrees out. Besides, the walk across campus isn't that bad, and I deserve to enjoy being cast-free for the first time in over a month.

Fifteen minutes later, when I get back to the room and have trouble unzipping my coat, it's possible the bright red skin and numb fingers are trying to tell me I'm an idiot. But I'm too stubborn to concede and ask for help.

"What are you doing over there?" Cruz asks from his desk when I fail to hang my coat up after several minutes.

"Nothing."

"Then put your shit away and come in. You're making me nervous, hovering by the door."

"Why does this make you nervous?"

"Because I can't see what you're doing, and I know it's not nothing."

I finally get my fingers to work long enough to get my coat off, only to promptly drop my bag when I try to grab it with the hand that's still petrified. By the time I collect it with my right hand and step fully into the room, I see Cruz is barely restraining himself from jumping up to come to my rescue.

Ever the hero.

"All good." I wave my hand before remembering it's the wrong shade for someone who is supposed to be all good.

"Jesus, Liam. What happened?" He shoots out of his chair and grabs my arm, wincing at how cold my skin is before gently lifting it up for inspection. "No cast?"

"I just got it off."

"And what? Decided to test how long it would take for frostbite to set in?"

"I liked the way the air felt on my arm," I say petulantly.

Cruz bites back a smile. "Come here." He tugs me to his desk chair and sits down, trapping my frozen hand between his heated palms and rubbing vigorously.

The friction slowly starts to bring back feeling to my fingers, making them prickle, and my hand gets heavy as the blood rushes into it. But standing over a seated Cruz, who's so determinedly trying to bring my hand back to life, wakes up other parts of me, too.

We haven't touched, platonically or otherwise, since the day I got on my knees for him. We had a revealing talk afterward, one I thought might make us closer, then he left first thing the next morning for his game, and when he got back, we were both too busy with classes to talk about, much less continue, what happened that day.

I don't know if he wants to continue it, or if he even can, since we never really determined why it happened in the first place. I'm pretty sure sitting on his lap played a role though, and the second that thought enters my mind my feet carry me closer, until I'm straddling his legs and sinking on top of them.

He arches a curious brow but doesn't stop what he's doing. "You didn't tell me you were getting the cast off. I would've gone with you."

"Getting it off is easy. I didn't need a chaperone. Besides, it's even further from an emergency than getting it on."

Getting it off. I should've been more careful about my word choice while sitting on Cruz's lap.

"Always so stubborn," he mutters.

"Always playing hero," I retort, though without my usual sarcasm. I might be starting to appreciate the hero thing.

"Are you excited to be able to play lacrosse again?" Cruz holds my hand in one palm while the other rubs up my forearm, rubbing heat back into my skin.

"Right now, I'm just excited I can scratch my arm when it itches. I'll probably have to work up to just holding the stick."

Holding the stick. Jesus, I'm on a roll.

"What's so funny?"

Oh shit, did I snort out loud?

"What?"

"Now you're turning red." Cruz stops rubbing my arm and lets his hands fall to his lap, still holding mine. "What's going through that head of yours?"

He said head.

"I was thinking about sticks and…holding the stick and… Never mind. It probably won't make sense outside my head."

Cruz cocks his to the side and studies me a second before understanding dawns and he gives me a warm smile. "Average sex drive, my ass. I…" His mouth hangs open like there's something else he wants to say, then he abruptly snaps it shut and glances at the bathroom door. "I guess you can hold your own stick again."

Is it wishful thinking, or does he sound disappointed? I guess there's only one way to find out.

"I could." I let that linger for just a second. "Although, I sort of liked when you did it for me."

Cruz's eyes snap to mine, so blue, so intense, I can't look away. It's like an ocean with no shore. All I can do is tread water until he releases me.

"I think I liked that, too." His voice is so faint I wonder if I heard him correctly, so to be sure, I shift my weight on his lap, pushing my pelvis closer to his.

I hear a sharp intake of breath. A shuddering exhale. Then Cruz's eyes flutter, breaking our stare long enough that I catch his pink tongue wetting his lips. Mine does the same.

"Should I…?"

His eyes follow mine as I look to my lap, and he gives a firm nod.

Slowly, as if sudden movements might scare him, I pull my waistband away from my stomach and push it under my eager cock. Cruz stretches his finger out until it connects with my slit, and draws tiny circles around my tip, barely touching me, yet lighting me on fire all the same.

The groan that rumbles up my throat is flat out debauched, and I swear it makes his cock twitch behind his own waistband. But he makes no move to free himself, just adds another finger to his exploration, tracing the veins on my dick from root to tip, using such a delicate slowness that I'm damn near shaking with the urge to move.

But I don't.

I hold still, letting him pet my cock the way I did his nearly a week ago, as if it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

Whether he's trying to mimic what I did to him, or he really is that intrigued, I have no idea. But if he wants to trace every inch, the least I can do is sit still and let him.

I become a moaning, whimpering statue, his slight touch so powerful it lulls me into a blissful trance.

Back and forth, up and down, Cruz's fingertips skirt over my sensitive flesh like he's mapping me. Cataloging every ridge, every contour. Leaving no part of me untouched. And my cock is practically vibrating with the pleasure it ignites.

"God, that feels so good." My fingers clutch at his thighs, a silent plea to continue.

"I liked it. When you did it to me. It made me feel…appealing, I guess."

"Did you think you weren't appealing?"

He lifts a nonchalant shoulder without taking his eyes off what his fingers are doing, and I get the distinct impression that somehow his lack of attraction to others gave him the impression he wasn't attractive himself. I suppose I can follow his thought process, but I can't let it continue.

I put my hand over his, pausing his movements so he has to look up at me.

"It's okay to question your sexuality, but never question your appeal. I'm pretty sure there's not a person on this campus who wouldn't take my place right now if they could."

Cruz blinks at me, his mouth parted in an adorable little ‘o' that seems to want to stretch into a shy grin. Before it can, his gaze drifts downward, and he starts stroking me again.

Base to crown, his fingers glide along my length, circling my tip once, twice, before the friction disappears, and he sucks in a startled breath.

"What?" I gasp.

He ghosts his finger against me and pulls it away with an amused little, "Huh."

"What?" My chest rises and falls with a mixture of need and concern.

"It moves. Every time I stop touching it, it moves." Cruz reaches for me again, and we both watch as my dick twitches as he takes his hand away.

"They do that." I bite my lip to keep from laughing so he doesn't interpret it the wrong way.

"Mine doesn't." He keeps his gaze focused on my cock as he toys with it.

He's so fucking cute.

"It would if you didn't jump right into jerking it. You have to tease it a little."

"Yours has never done it." Fucker draws a line along my length and pulls his finger away again.

I take a few deep breaths to calm my pulse. "You've never played with it like this before."

"True. You're usually pretty desperate."

"Mmm," I grunt, neither confirming nor denying that.

"You like it slow like this?" He looks at me curiously.

"I'm pretty sure I like having my dick touched, period."

The words are barely out of my mouth when Cruz wraps a fist around me and gives a long, firm tug.

"Ohmyfuckinggod." My hips shoot up in a desperate bid to keep my cock buried in his hand.

"Huh," he mutters like he's conducting a fucking science experiment, and opens his fist, leaving just the tip of his finger in place, which he drags down to the base and back with exaggerated slowness.

For the next—who even knows how long—Cruz alternates between soft, gentle caresses and firm strokes, bringing me to the brink and denying me over and over again.

I'm a mewling mess of need, alternately writhing against his fist when he closes it around me and gritting my teeth to fight the urge to thrust when he loosens his grip. It's infuriating. And the hottest fucking thing I've ever experienced.

I don't think Cruz has any idea that he's edging me. He's just exploring, but when sweat starts to trickle down my back and my arms feel like they're going to buckle under the pressure of trying to hold myself upright, I lean forward and rest my head on his shoulder. The movement shifts me forward on his lap, right over his long, rigid length.

Holy shit!

In my euphoric daze, I wasn't paying attention to what this was doing to him, and now that I know…

"Take your dick out," I whisper. "Please."

Cruz tenses, and I pull my head back in time to his heavy eyelids blink once, twice. Then he shuffles beneath me, and when I glance down, I see his cock is standing tall and proud, just a few inches from mine.

"Do you want to feel me against you?"

Cruz licks his lips and nods timidly.

I shift forward, my exhausted thighs screaming in protest, until my dick is pressed to his. With that slight contact every bit of strain in my muscles evaporates instantly, replaced with the utter bliss of feeling Cruz's hard length next to mine. And the sight of us side-by-side… It's indescribable.

We're similar in length, not exact, but close. He's a bit thicker, but my tip flares slightly outward while his is perfectly round, and we both have a slight sheen of precum glistening in the harsh fluorescent light of our dorm room, seeping out our slits.

"Incredible, right?" I rock my hips just enough to create some slight friction between us.

He doesn't answer, just continues breathing heavily, eyes locked on our dicks sliding together.

"God, this is hot," I groan. "Hotter than I expected."

Cruz lifts his gaze, his wide, blue eyes unblinking. "You've never…"

"No." My hips sway back and forth just enough to feel my tip catch on the ridge of his crown. "Every other time I've been with someone it's been rushed. I always wanted to do this, though, to feel another man's cock rubbing against mine." My eyes flutter shut as I let myself get lost in the pleasure building between my legs.

"You really like this." It's not a question exactly, more a curious statement, and it makes my lips curl into a smile.

"Do you?"

The tendons in Cruz's neck ripple as he swallows. "Yeah."

"Think you can come like this? Or do you need more?"

"More, I think."

I take Cruz's hand and wrap it around our lengths, leaving mine atop his so we can work together even though I'll be little help. "You squeeze and I'll set the pace. Good?"

He licks his lips as his eyes fall to our dicks. "Yeah."

We start slowly at first, his hand traveling steadily from root to tip as he adjusts his grip to the pressure that has us both moaning aloud. Then we really move.

The muscles in Cruz's forearm surge with the effort of maintaining his firm grip while he pumps us according to the frantic pace I set. With each pass I let my thumb slide over our crowns, adding a tiny hint of friction to the intense pull on our shafts. Like a butterfly kiss sprinkled between a violent clash of tongues.

Whether it's the slight contrast between hard and soft or the slickness of our arousal being spread around I can't say, but the pleasure overload has my balls drawing tight almost instantly, and a constant stream of carnal grunts rumbling from my chest.

Being trapped between Cruz's cock and his fist is heaven. It's hot, hard, and as filthy as it is beautiful. Seeing our crowns morph from pink to red to purple, watching our precum mix together as it trickles from our slits… I'm afraid to breathe lest my heaving chest block the view.

"Holy fuck, Cruz. Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

When he merely grunts in response I bring my eyes to his face, and my heart sputters inside my chest.

Cruz's mouth is slightly parted, full pink lips slightly glossy from his tongue running over them. Sweat pools on his temples, and his cheeks are flushed with exertion. But it's his crystal blue eyes, hooded with a mixture of desire and awe, that are my undoing.

"Coming. Shit, I'm coming." My hips start to buck wildly as the telltale spark of an impending orgasm ignites inside me, growing from a tiny flicker to a full-blown inferno in a matter of seconds.

My cock spasms as cum spurts from my tip, coating both of us and dribbling down our lengths so that Cruz's fist slides even faster over our shafts. The increased pace pulls another wave of release from my body, causing my toes to curl and cramp inside the shoes I'm still wearing. And just when I think my spent cock is too sensitive to endure any more, Cruz's release joins mine, slicking down me and drawing a final, feeble spurt from my tip.

My head falls to his shoulder as I bask in the sensation of our dicks twitching in unison, reveling in the tiny miracle of his naked skin flush against mine. And the fact that he's still cradling us both in his palm has butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

It's nice, this lingering post-orgasm touching. I'm used to having to hurry and tuck myself away, like it"s a race once things are over. And I"m no stranger to the cold emptiness smothering the euphoric bliss before it could run its course. But now, here with Cruz, I can enjoy it to the fullest. I can exist in this sweet paradise until sleep claims me or my cramped limbs demand to move, whichever comes first.

Unless Cruz breaks the silence.

Which he does.

"You weren't grinding on me this time."

"I'm sorry?" I lift my head off his shoulder to look at him and find an almost thoughtful expression on his face.

"You weren't grinding on me. Something else made me hard."

"Something…" I prompt, following his gaze as it drifts to our dicks, which are now soft yet still resting together.

"I think touching you did it." A faint line spears across his forehead as he continues. "I can tell you like it, and I think maybe I like that you like it."

"Seeing me turned on turns you on?" I bite my lip to keep from grinning. He's processing, not flirting. Don't get ahead of yourself.

His now soft and vulnerable blue eyes find mine. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it makes sense. That's why people watch porn or read erotic books. It triggers their own arousal."

His eyes fall to our groins again. "Why do you think that's never happened before? I mean, I've seen other people make out and never felt anything. And I've tried it myself a few times, with girls, and nothing happened. Do you think that means I'm gay, too?"

Selfishly, I want that to be the answer. Not just because the guy is gorgeous, but because he's kind, genuine, and loyal. The kind of person I'd want as a boyfriend. But even if he does turn out to be gay, that doesn't mean he'd feel the same about me. I have to assume these encounters are just a way for him to explore who he is, not the start of something bigger.

"It could. Or it could just mean you're comfortable with me in a way you haven't been with other people. We do share a room."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Knowing Cruz can get anxious when he thinks too hard on how to define himself, I figure it's time for a subject change.

"Want to go out for a steak dinner to celebrate?"

"Celebrate what?" His lip gets this cute little wrinkle when he can't follow my train of thought, so I wiggle my fingers to help him out.

"I can finally cut a steak now. Come on, my treat." I scoot off his lap and go to the bathroom to clean up, tossing him the damp washcloth when I'm done. Then we head to dinner, where I spend the entire meal trying to remind myself this is just a friendly steak between roommates, not a date.