4. Gabe

CHAPTER 4

GABE

The click of the door latching behind me is loud enough that it echoes over the erratic whooshing of blood in my ears.

This was never the plan, although when I consider every step that led me here, I can't help but notice how premeditated it would seem on the outside. From downloading that stupid hookup app, to accidentally manipulating access to this empty apartment, it's all too coincidental to be believably innocent. My subconscious must be a bigger pervert than I am. Still, I took advantage of the opportunity willingly enough. I'm here, no matter how many times I told myself to walk away.

It's like one of those moments when you've arrived at your destination, only to realize you have no recollection of how you got there. How many accidents could I have caused on my way here? Was I discreet enough? Elliot had called me, and I put it on speaker so it sounded like multiple people were in the hallway. A calculated deception to throw Ellis off, to buy myself time, because I couldn't decide if I should go in or not. To give him time to change his mind and realize that what he's doing is idiotic. Who meets a stranger from a hookup app in a dark room? How stupid is he ?

I want to be mad at him for following through when I suggested this idiotic plan. I barely hesitated when he said he wanted to meet in the dark. Because he wants to touch me.

No, not me. Johnny.

How stupid is it that I'm jealous of the alter ego I created?

I just wanted to watch out for him. I needed to know he's being safe. I didn't want anyone lying and manipulating him. Taking advantage of him. Doing exactly what I'm doing to him.

As soon as I sent the text, directing him to the empty apartment that I conveniently forgot to lock earlier when I dropped off a welcome basket for the RA, I was ready to backtrack. I left the conversation I'd been pretending to pay attention to abruptly and ran into the stairwell. If I prevented Ellis from getting to the apartment, there would be no harm, no foul.

Just a friend of my brother's.

Am I not more than that? He couldn't even say a friend of his ?

Ellis' hand bumps into my bicep. He hesitates for a moment, then tentatively rests his hand just below the hem of my shirt sleeve. I cover his hand with my own, pressing his skin into mine, clenching my teeth together like I've been branded.

"Hi," he whispers.

I'm afraid to speak, too worried he'll figure me out. Ellis and I have all but grown up together, and he's got the keen observational skills of an artist. There's too much risk he'll recognize my voice. Instead, I release his hand and trail my fingers up his arm, over his shoulder, and down his back, coming to rest on his hip, just below the curve of his small waist. Holding myself completely still is the only way I can quell the trembling in my limbs at his proximity. All I want to do is crowd him into a corner, lift him up, wrap him around my body, and consume him. To steal his breaths and his virginity all at once. To ma ke him mine, even though he could never know it was me claiming him. I can't do that to him. So I don't move at all.

I don't know what it is that draws me to Ellis. Maybe it's the soft, almost feminine, curve of his body. The delicate line of his neck, or the way his hair curls the longer it gets. Or maybe it's just who he is. How he watches the world around him without ever placing himself in the action. How he sees who people truly are because they don't realize they're being observed. The way he looks at me makes me feel exposed, like he's looking through me rather than at me. For the longest time, I let that attention unnerve me. And the older we got, the more his gaze burned, the more I tried to put him in a box. I tried to think of him in terms of my love for his brother, and it worked for a while. But one slip up changed everything and opened the floodgates to something that is far past anything that could be considered brotherly.

Elliot would kill me if he knew. Worse, he'd hate me.

Ellis hisses in a breath, and I relax the harsh grip I have on his hip. I wouldn't be surprised if my fingers left bruises, the way they were digging in. But rather than retreating, Ellis fits his hands over mine and presses my fingers back down as he steps in closer to my body.

I expected him to be shy, to wait for me—no, Johnny —to make the first move. But he's bold in the dark, just like he's been bold in our text conversations. The warmth of his body so close to mine makes the air feel thicker. His breath fans over my throat, the smell of cinnamon peaking my awareness. I watched that supermodel-looking guy from the swim team carefully when he made Ellis' drink, making sure there was no funny business. The drink wasn't strong, which is good, because I've never actually witnessed Ellis drink. His low tolerance would mean that he's probably more relaxed, and maybe lost some inhibitions, but he's still in control of his faculties. I'm suddenly worried that I'll do or say something to tip him off. This is so reckless. So stupid. But I just wanted a moment with him alone.

Both to distract him from exploring too much, and because the effort of holding myself so still is excruciating, I tilt my head down until our mouths are exchanging breath.

That was probably a mistake, if the saliva pooling in my mouth is any indicator that I don't have as much control as I'd like to think I have. Jesus, every part of me, even the moisture in my body, wants to touch him. I'm sweating, practically drooling. And if he steps even an inch closer, he'll be able to feel how desperately I want him, and I'll be lucky if I can keep myself from coming on the spot.

Like magnets, my lips are drawn to his, and we come together softly. His lips ghost over mine, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. I groan, opening my mouth to take more. Ellis gives it to me without hesitation, and without thinking, I pull him against me and deepen the kiss. The moment our tongues brush together there's an explosion in my brain, and I start to unravel.

Ellis' breath forces itself between my lips as I gather him against me, pressing his soft body against my hard erection. He feels so small, so fragile, in my arms.

"Holy shit," he gasps against my lips, but he doesn't recoil in fear.

He throws his arms around my shoulders, pulling me to him with the same urgency that I'm pulling him to me. In a split second, the kiss turns from soft and exploring to feral. Ellis all but climbs me like a tree, and I reach down to grip his ass, guiding him to wrap his legs around me as I take two steps forward, setting him on the edge of the bathroom counter. Greedy lips devour, hands touching, gripping, exploring. His fingernails rake against my abs as my palms push their way into the back of his pants, roughly kneading his ass as my pelvis ruts against his like an animal. With only a tenuous grasp on my self-control, I force myself to pull back and breathe, but my hands have a mind of their own. They pull out of the back of his pants, fingers tracing around the waistband to the front. My fingers are too big and fumbling to release his fly.

"Open," I rasp, my voice disguised by the chokehold my tenuous control has on my throat.

Breathing heavily, Ellis pulls his hands out of my shirt, and I hear the rustle and zip of his fly being released. My hands return to their mission, roughly yanking Ellis' jeans down his thighs. He makes a surprised sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. It cuts through the fog of arousal, and my hand grips the fabric tight to stop myself from moving further. I stoop to take his mouth again before trailing kisses along his jaw and neck. He leans into my touch, holding my head against him so I have to rub my rough stubble against his soft skin. A shiver runs down the length of my spine as I imagine his pale skin lighting up red wherever I've rubbed against him. I swallow to regain control and slow myself down.

"Can I touch you?" I ask against his ear, keeping that heavy rasp in my voice.

"Please," he whimpers, barely getting the word out before my hand finds the inside of his thigh. The softness of his skin there is almost too much to handle, and I release my grip on his pants to keep caressing his thigh while my other hand claims its prize.

His cock, hard and leaking, twitches when my large hand wraps around it. The size of my hand is enough to cover him from root to swollen tip. His skin is so soft I want to die right now, knowing I'll never touch anything more beautiful. I wish I could see him, watch the facial expressions that match the sounds he's making.

Drops of pre-cum drip onto the top of my hand, and when I swipe my thumb over the wet tip of his cockhead, Ellis' breath hitches and his hips jerk. I swirl the slick fluid around and spread it down his shaft, experiment ing with each slow stroke and movement of my hand. I've never touched a cock other than my own before, never had the desire to until I saw the picture of his messy cock after coming all over himself, until I felt him against me. Every caress and movement of my hand is an experiment until Ellis' quiet moans get louder, telling me just how he likes to be touched. He's breathing heavily, mouth open against mine, feeding me his pants and moans.

"Johnny— ngyaaah !" Hearing him cry another name, even one I gave to myself, hurts something inside me, and I grip him harder. "Shit," he pants. "I'm gonna?—"

His cock starts to spurt before he can finish his warning, and I dive to take him in my mouth. Ever since I saw that picture of his hand and stomach dripping in cum, my mouth has watered for it. I'm not wasting a chance to taste him in case I never get one again.

"Oh, holy fuck," Ellis chokes, his hands flying to the back of my head. His touch is light, unsure of what to do other than let out a string of curses and then a low wail as I hollow out my cheeks and suck the cum out of him like a straw. "Jesus Christ," he pants as I slurp the last drops of his orgasm, rolling them around in my mouth. I've tasted myself before, but his cum tastes different, almost sweet. I smile to myself, because that checks.

Ellis grips my hair and pulls me off his lap before taking my face in both hands and pulling me on him again, except his knees aren't able to part enough to get close, and my cock is ready to blow, even just bumping against his knees. Ellis' tongue laps against mine, stealing the last of the flavor I was savoring and replacing it with the sweeter taste of cinnamon. His kiss is hungrier than before, and he's straining against me. He makes a frustrated noise.

"My jeans," he grumbles. "They're in the way. I can't reach you."

"It's okay," I breathe. "I'm good. "

"But I want to touch you, the way you touched me," he says, pushing me back until he can slip off the counter. My arms still caging him in, he pushes my athletic shorts and boxer briefs down around my ass and takes me into his hand. I groan into his hair, huffing his scent to hold myself back. "Fuck, you're huge," he croaks, and the slight panic in his tone makes me chuckle.

"Don't worry," I murmur against his hair. "I'm not trying to fuck you."

"What about my mouth?" He says, his small hand pumping my throbbing cock so good I almost forget to disguise my voice. His words send me careening over the edge.

"Fuck, Ellis," my choked rasp no longer fake. My balls are drawn up tight. "I can't. I'm going to?—"

Rutting wildly into his fist, my cock erupts in spectacular fashion. I grimace, knowing it's probably getting everywhere, it's always so much, but I can't stop.

I have Ellis pushed up against the counter, my body plastered to his with his hand fisting my cock between us. I'm thrusting into his hand, my balls rubbing against his lower stomach until my cock stops pulsing, and I can feel cum dripping down the front of his body. Even without being able to see, I know I've made a huge mess.

"Sorry," I whisper roughly.

"Why?" he asks, genuine confusion in his tone. "That was… the hottest thing I've ever experienced in my life. I'm almost hard again," he admits. I detect a small amount of embarrassment, so I feel for his chin and tip it upwards, dropping sweet, slow kisses on him until I'm in danger of getting worked up again, too.

"I feel like I just used you, and now I have to go." That post orgasm clarity is creeping up on me, and I know I need to walk away right now. It's killing me. Reality is certainly setting in that we could get caught, or that he coul d figure me out, but more than anything, I'm realizing that I don't want this to be over. And it needs to be.

"Leave the mess, I'll come back and clean up later," I say against his lips. "I'll leave my shirt on the door handle so you have something clean to wear, but we should both head home to avoid any questions. I'm sorry I?—"

"It's okay," he says, pressing his lips more firmly against mine. I know Ellis well enough to hear the slight sting of pain in his acceptance, but he kisses me until I step away. I pull my t-shirt over my head. It's not a team shirt with my name on it or anything, it's just something I picked up today at the fair. I can't let him walk out of here soaked in cum, as much as I enjoy the imagery.

"I'll message you," I rasp, before opening the door and slipping out.

I hesitate for a moment, then walk slowly backward, waiting for him to turn on the bathroom light. It stays off, even after I open the door and then close it loudly before silently slipping into a small closet. He doesn't turn the light on, but I hear what sounds like his body sliding down the wall and a light thud as I imagine his head falling back. My ears prick, heart breaking as I listen for what I expect to be sounds of sadness or distress, trying to come up with a plan to comfort him without him knowing it's me or getting him caught either. But what I hear instead is the soft sound of laughter.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he says, loudly enough that I can hear that his face is buried in his hands.

And he laughs.