8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Malcolm told himself it was that they were studying at Sammy’s.

That he was distracted, and in unusual-to-him circumstances.

That he was worried about what Elliott really thought of his essay, though it hadn’t seemed like the guy was holding back when he’d gushed about how improved it was. If Elliott had only given positive feedback, he’d probably have been even more suspicious but he’d even given some very reasonable options for improvement.

Malcolm should be feeling good. He was full of his favorite smoothie—strawberry pineapple—and half an Italian sub, and Elliott was mostly behaving.

But his focus had seemingly deserted him.

He felt unmoored from the regular concrete reality that he depended on.

Instead, his mind wandered. And it kept wandering right into Elliott Archer Jones’ pants.

Malcolm didn’t know if he could even blame Elliott for it, either. Sure, he was doing his normal flirtatious routine, with the little offhand comments and the long, soulful looks, but the truth was, none of that made Mal’s heart race the way it was racing now.

It was stupid things that shouldn’t matter. Like just now, how Mal’s brain had completely deserted its focus on this chapter on negotiation and was instead mesmerized by the way Elliott’s hair shone under the fluorescent lights.

The way it stood up, a little, curling at the ends, when he ran his hands through it.

It’d look even better if you ran your hands through it .

His brain had apparently completely gone on hiatus, because no matter how many times Mal tried to drag it back to the safe zone, it continued to sneak out. To betray him.

To say nothing of his body.

He still felt the way he’d pressed up against Elliott in the tight booth. How Elliott hadn’t tilted himself away, but had leaned in closer.

Come even closer still.

“You’re awfully fidgety today,” Elliott said, shooting him a knowing look.

They’d finished their statistics tutoring, and after Mal had nearly told him that he had to go. Where? He hadn’t had anywhere else to be. But somewhere else had to be better than sitting here and undergoing this minute-by-minute torture.

Maybe he’d thought Elliott was attractive before now. That he could be attracted to him.

Now, it felt like his whole body was attuned to his, vibrating on the same goddamn frequency, and he didn’t know how to get it to stop.

Yes, you do.

“I’m . . .” Mal didn’t know how to explain without confessing everything. “I’m just . . .uh . . .”

Elliott raised an eyebrow, his stare keen. Mal felt like it saw everything . Saw through all his walls. Saw deep down inside where he was a fucking mess.

Deep down inside where he wanted to throw a lifetime of caution to the wind, to ignore everything that had happened in high school, every piece of advice his father had ever given him.

But you won’t.

“Just tired,” Mal finally finished. “It was a long day. And I . . .uh . . .I should go. Get . . .uh . . .a good night’s sleep.”

He was so tired of being indecisive. So tired of fighting this. If temptation wasn’t currently sitting in front of him, he might be able to focus.

“If you want to, sure,” Elliott said, without judgment. But those eyes were still staring at him, like they could interpret every pause, every hesitation. Every stumbled, increasingly inane excuse.

“I . . .yes,” Mal said, making himself stick firmly to the last answer. “Yes.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Elliott said.

Mal was sure he was going to escape without Elliott’s presence pressing itself more indelibly into him, but then he stood just as Mal finished packing up his workbook, and then they were hugging again.

And this time, Mal hugged him back.

Elliott was only an inch or two shorter than him, though he was slighter, and they fit together even better than in those dreams he was still pretending he wasn’t having.

Elliott must’ve agreed, too, because he swayed even closer until they were pressed together and Mal’s fingers were cramping from the effort it was taking not to dig in to Elliott’s muscles and just take .

He was shaking when he pulled away. When he said goodbye.

When he turned away and didn’t let himself look back.

It was drizzling and cold outside, but Mal didn’t pull his hood up. Instead, hoped the damp chill might extinguish the heat boiling inside him, but it didn’t work.

He wanted, with a fierceness he wasn’t familiar with and didn’t know how to fight, to turn back and tell Elliott, let’s do this. I know you want me, and I . . .I want you too.

He’d only said that to one other person in his whole life, and it had been an unmitigated disaster. Not through any fault of Mal’s, but the ache of it lingered.

Ultimately that wasn’t what stopped him though.

It was who had helped bandage over that ache.

He pulled out his phone and dialed his father.

They didn’t talk often. Anthony McCoy wasn’t one for idle chatter or small talk.

Still, he answered on the third ring.

“Malcolm?”

“Hey, Dad,” he said, stopping under a tree, shielding himself from the worst of the drizzle.

“Everything okay?”

His father’s concern was not surprising considering that Malcolm didn’t call much, especially in the middle of the week, or at night.

“I’m having a problem,” Mal said.

“A hockey problem? An injury? Or a school issue? Your grades not up to snuff?”

Like his grades had ever been anything but perfect. Mal had done everything he possibly could to ensure they were.

“No. Nothing like that. An . . .interpersonal issue,” Mal said.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Answering him without saying a word.

Why had he called his dad for advice on Elliott? His dad would tell him to just keep white-knuckling it out, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t .

“I . . .uh . . .I just can’t figure out why someone’s acting a certain way towards me.” It was not really true. Deep down, Mal knew why. What he didn’t understand was why him ? Why wouldn’t Elliott just give up and move on? There was nothing special about Malcolm—or at least, there was nothing special about him that he believed Elliott might actually value.

“Have you asked them?”

Mal nearly laughed. Muffled it just in time. Began to pace back and forth under the tree. “That’s a thought.”

“If you want to know something, Malcolm, you know you need to ask. To use your words to communicate.”

What if I used something else to communicate?

“I know.” He paced some more. “But—”

“There are no buts . No exceptions. Man up and talk to them.”

But Mal didn’t want to. He didn’t want to address it. He didn’t want to shine a spotlight on the elephant in the room. Because if he did, Elliott would invariably want them to do something about it, and God , Malcolm didn’t know how they could.

Correction. How he could.

If he’d called Jane, she’d have told him to man the fuck up, tell Elliott, and let themselves get carried away.

Ironically, even though his father had no idea he was a virgin, his advice was similar.

“Malcolm,” his father added sternly, “you don’t usually have an issue with shirking away from what needs to be done. Remember you’re the man I raised.”

Oh, he remembered alright. He couldn’t fucking forget, ever.

If he’d ever had a pipe dream of being different, he didn’t know how .

“So just . . .just go and ask him.”

“Malcolm,” his father chided, “that’s what I just said. If he’s not willing to answer, then he’s not worth your time or your energy.”

Something in his tone reminded Mal too much of that night.

The night he’d discovered that the guy he’d crushed on so fucking hard, that he’d thought might return his feelings, had only been leading him on for a joke.

His father had let him cry for five minutes. No more and no less. And then had set him down and reminded him of the difference between men and boys.

Reminded him of what he was working so hard for. Hockey. A career. Building something he could be proud of.

“People like that aren’t anything to be proud of,” Anthony had finished dismissively. And maybe he hadn’t said men who like other men aren’t anything to be proud of , but the thought had resonated in Mal’s brain anyway.

By the time he’d broken down that assumption, the walls he’d erected were too hard, too impenetrable. And nobody tried.

Nobody until Elliott.

“I can do that,” Mal said, even though he didn’t know if he could. Not when he wasn’t sure what Elliott might say. He might just brush it off, claim that this was just what he did with everyone.

That Mal wasn’t special at all.

That the whole thing was one big cosmic joke, yet again.

Oh whoops, didn’t mean to lead you on. It’s like this with half a dozen guys.

“There you go,” his father said. Like they’d solved the whole thing.

After thanking him and saying goodbye, Mal hung up a moment later. Not feeling better about anything. Feeling an inescapable pit of dread. He didn’t want to talk about this—and definitely not with Elliott.

But who else could he discuss it with? There was nobody else.

Mal texted him. You still at Sammy’s?

Elliott responded almost instantly. No. Why would I stay there without you?

Mal felt a surge of . . .well, he didn’t know what it was. Frustration? Anger? Unresolved, boiling hot lust?

Where did you go?

Back at my place. Lewis 468.

Mal was about to put the phone back in his pocket, and despite his anxiety, head right over to Lewis, when a second text from Elliott came through. You okay ?

Was he okay? He was not fucking okay.

He wanted answers .

You want more than answers.

But he tromped over to Lewis anyway, giving himself a pep talk the whole time. At first it had sounded exactly like his father talking to him, but that felt worse, somehow, so he shifted to something like, He’s not going to humiliate you. He’s not going to laugh at you. You’re going to clear up this misunderstanding and he’ll keep his distance from now on, and this . . .weird burning need will eventually fade.

Mal didn’t know if he really believed it was true, but it helped to think it.

He took the stairs instead of the elevator, and when he came to a halt in front of 468, he knocked, feeling breathless.

Elliott opened the door.

He was not wearing a shirt, only the same pair of low-slung forest green sweatpants he’d been in earlier. Gesturing Mal in, Elliott swung the door closed and then leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest.

His muscles were . . . God, they were perfect. Slim but chiseled. Perfectly proportionate. He was perfect and gorgeous all over, and Mal swallowed hard.

Objectively, he’d known this was true. Known it was true for awhile.

Now, the truth felt anything but objective. It felt like a hard, hot, inescapable knot in the base of his stomach. Pushing him. Prodding him.

“What’s this about?” Elliott asked.

Mal laughed, unamused. “I need to know,” he said, dropping his bag on the floor. Shoving his hood back. “I need to know what the fuck you’re about.”

Elliott didn’t react. “What I’m about?” he asked slowly.

“Why you’re doing this? Why you’re . . .you’re in my space and in my mind and making it fucking impossible for me to focus. Why you’re . . .stuck in here and I can’t get you out? Why .”

Mal was pacing again, but he couldn’t help it.

Standing still was impossible.

“And,” he continued, because he couldn’t seem to stop his mouth from moving either, “couldn’t you put a goddamn shirt on to answer the door?”

Elliott didn’t answer. He just lowered his arms. Stood there, without an ounce of shame and let Mal look, and Mal goddamn looked .

“Is this bothering you, Mal?” he asked. It was practically a taunt.

“You know it is,” Malcolm growled.

“Why is that, do you think?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” Mal retorted.

Elliott rolled his eyes, but his expression was full of affection. “Mal, you’re really a trip.”

“I just want to know why. Tell me why. Then it’ll stop and we’ll just . . .” Mal trailed away, because it hit him just then, sudden and with a nauseating swirl of panic, that he didn’t want it to end. He hated feeling this way. But he knew, already, that he’d hate not feeling it more.

“Fuck,” Mal swore.

Elliott pushed himself off the door, took a step closer and then another. Mal moved back, trying to avoid Elliott invading his personal space again, but Elliott caught his arm, gently. Gently enough that Mal could’ve shaken him loose at any point, if he’d wanted to.

And he didn’t want that either, it turned out.

“How about this?” Elliott asked intently, his eyes never leaving Mal’s. “I’m going to try something and if you hate it, I won’t ever do it again, okay?”

Nerves surged inside Mal, and he licked his suddenly dry lips. Nodded.

Elliott tilted his head up and kissed him.

It had been a long time since Mal had kissed anyone. So long. Immediately, he knew, this is what you wanted.

This is what you came for.

It was impossible not to be greedy about it, and before Mal knew it, his hands were framing Elliott’s face and he was kissing him over and over again, in deep, desperate bites, like he could eat him up.

It didn’t matter if he was just a temporary amusement.

It didn’t matter if Elliott didn’t even mean it. Because Mal meant it.

Someone groaned and Mal thought it might’ve been him—but he wasn’t thinking at all. Not anymore. He’d wanted this so desperately, and now that he had it, he only needed more.

More, more, more .

They stumbled backwards, Elliott’s back thumping loudly against the door, and then Elliott’s leg was wrapping around his, and oh God , that was his cock, inescapably hard, against his thigh.

Elliott panted into his mouth, and a hand coasted down his back, the touch practically a caress, and then squeezed his ass, hard .

Panic streaked through him and Mal jumped back, breath and hands shaky.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, even though he knew. Even though he didn’t want Elliott to say it out loud.

If he did, Mal might lose himself in the desire for it, again.

“You don’t know?” Elliott asked slowly. He looked as blown apart as Mal felt. Lips red and wet, hair mussed from Mal’s hands, chest heaving.

He looked fucking delectable, and Mal wanted to eat him up.

Even if he didn’t know how.

Mal began to pace again. Fear insidiously worming its way through the need pulsing inside him. “I don’t do this, I don’t know how to do this,” he said, not even to Elliott, more to himself.

And then he froze. Realized what he’d said.

Looked up, only to see Elliott frozen, just the same as him.

Shit, shit, shit .

“What do you mean by you don’t know how to do this ?” Elliott asked carefully. Mal could hear the complete lack of judgment in his tone, like he’d gone out of his way to filter it out.

“I . . .” Mal didn’t think he could say it out loud. If he said it, all that interest and arousal in Elliott would fade, instantly.

He’d sort of intended to not tell him, if he was going to do this at all. Muddle through, he supposed. Surely he knew enough to get by.

“Malcolm, you need to tell me.”

“I don’t do this . . .very often.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

Elliott frowned. “Not very often or not at all?”

Trust Elliott to cut right through to the right question.

He looked away at the last second. “Not at all,” he said quietly. Sure, now, that this whole thing would end before it even started.

There’d been a part of him that thought they could stop at a kiss and that would sate the beast inside him, the beast that Elliott had seemingly woken up, but Malcolm already knew that had been an easy lie he’d told himself to paper over a difficult conundrum.

You’re done lying to yourself.

He still couldn’t look at Elliott, even as he walked up to him. Put a hand on his chest. Right where his heart was beating too fast. “You’re a virgin,” Elliott said.

Mal laughed, bitterly. “I’m trying not to say it out loud. Make it worse.”

“Worse?” Elliott’s hand slid up, and he was holding Mal’s chin now, turning it so he couldn’t avoid looking him in the eyes anymore. “Why is that worse?”

“It’s . . .” God, it was so many things. Embarrassing. Difficult. Too much a part of who he was now to dream about changing it.

“Admittedly I’m trying to figure out how the hell you ended up a virgin at twenty-two, when you look like this , when you kiss like that , but it’s not worse, Mal. It’s not a problem.”

“It’s not?”

“It actually answers some questions I didn’t understand that I needed to ask.” Elliott chuckled wryly. “Though it does open up a few others, too.”

“If this is about your ego again,” Mal warned.

“It’s not not about my ego?” Elliott joked, shooting him one of those smirking smiles that shouldn’t have turned him on, but did, anyway.

Malcolm was beginning to figure out why he’d kept his distance from the guy from day one. Had he really been worried about this? Had he, deep down, been afraid that this might happen if he let Elliott get too close?

“What I mean,” Elliott continued, “is that yes , it makes my ego feel better to think all your rejections were because of this. But it also makes my ego feel better to think you came to me .”

“I don’t know if I came to you,” Mal said, trying for bluster.

He didn’t know if he was too caught up to do it properly, or if finding out his secret had been the last piece Elliott needed to put together.

Elliott just laughed again and then called his bluff. “Sure then, that kiss meant nothing.”

Mal cleared his throat. “Okay, no, it didn’t mean nothing.”

“So I guess the question is . . .do you want to be a virgin? If you do—”

“I don’t,” Mal said, the words coming out of his mouth before he could consider the implications.

Elliott let out a breath. “Okay. Okay. So we should . . .uh . . .” Suddenly, he looked as nervous as Mal felt.

Of course Elliott didn’t have much experience with virgins. He was Elliott .

“We don’t have to do this,” Malcolm said and leaned down and picked up his bag. “I just . . .I wanted to know why. And I guess I’ve not been struggling on my own. It helps to know that—”

Elliott leaned in and kissed him again. Kissed the words right out of his mouth. His lips were lush and determined on his, and any lust that had been extinguished by the humiliation of admitting the truth to Elliott returned tenfold.

Mal dropped the bag and this time let his hands actually touch. Let his fingertips drift across all that bare, exposed skin. As soft as he’d imagined it looked. But tough too, and strong, and desire roared through him, out of control—if he’d ever wanted to control it to begin with.

Elliott broke the kiss, breathing hard again. “Jesus, if I’d known you could kiss like that . . .”

“What do I kiss like?” Malcolm wasn’t sure. It had been so long. Only once since Aubrey. When he’d needed to make sure, for himself, that Aubrey hadn’t been turned off or disgusted by the way they’d kissed.

But once that question had been answered, he’d been done.

Hadn’t been tempted, even a little, to do more with the guy.

“Like you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have,” Elliott said. Took a step back. “So are you gonna tell me why? I feel like before we do this, I should know.”

“Why I haven’t had sex?” Malcolm hesitated. If confessing the truth had been embarrassing, this was even worse. “There was a guy in high school. I thought he liked me. He said he liked me. We kissed a few times.” He rubbed his neck, forcing himself to keep looking into Elliott’s green eyes, alive with interest and arousal. “We were going to do more. I agreed to meet him one night, and then I overheard him in the locker room. He was going to stand me up. It was all a big joke.”

“Was it?”

It had been almost impossible to confess this thing. The bedrock of so many of Malcolm’s best and worst habits. And here Ell was, questioning it.

“Of course it fucking was. He said it was,” Mal snapped.

Elliott smiled. “Or else he was just saying that to his friends. High school boys are idiots.”

“You’re barely not a high school boy,” Mal said.

“And I can be an idiot, but I’m not going to be an idiot about this. I promise.” Elliott reached out, took his hand, uncurled each finger, one at a time, until he released his book bag. It fell to the floor, and Elliott pulled him towards the bed in the corner.

The bed that Mal had known was there, of course, but had refused to acknowledge until this moment.

Elliott gently pushed him against it, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress, and he went down.

He didn’t know whether the heat was lust or embarrassment or anger. Or an intoxicating swirl of all three.

Elliott made him feel all of it. Every single thing, sometimes at the very same time.

“Don’t worry,” Elliott said. “We’ll go slow.”

He didn’t know what slow meant. He half expected Elliott to go to his knees and coax his pants off and then coax his cock into his mouth or his hand, and it would be over very, very quickly after that.

But instead, Elliott slotted himself between Mal’s legs and leaned in, kissing him again. His hands curled around Mal’s shoulders, digging into the thick cotton of his sweatshirt.

Mal didn’t have any of that in the way of touching Elliott. He could explore every inch of his shoulders, every muscle that bunched and then released under all that smooth skin. The way his breath caught when Malcolm’s hands curled around his waist, thumbs digging into his abs.

Mal knew he could lose himself in this. It felt so goddamn good to touch someone and let them touch him in return. But at the same time, he knew it wouldn’t have been this good with anyone else. Only someone he’d really, really wanted.

Only Elliott .

Elliott wouldn’t let him get carried away though. Their kisses were hot, insistent, but they weren’t wild like their first one.

He could feel Elliott’s cock, hard against him, so he definitely wanted him too, but he was exercising some kind of discipline to not let either of them spiral out of control.

Mal almost wanted to tear his mouth from Elliott’s slow, deliberate onslaught, and demand that he get on with it . He didn’t need romance or nice words or care. He just needed fucking relief.

But when he tried to lean back and pull Elliott with him, Elliott resisted. And he was strong enough to resist.

Another turn-on that Mal hadn’t expected.

“Just let me,” Elliott murmured into his mouth. “I’m gonna make it good for you.”

“Soon maybe?” Mal said, and Elliott chuckled.

“Just enjoy this, alright?”

It was hot to sit here and exchange one kiss after another, until their mouths were red and wet and Mal felt like he was drowning in the sensation of Elliott’s lips against his, firm and sure.

And increasingly needy.

Because Elliott was still nineteen, and Mal could begin to feel his control slipping. He pulled Mal’s sweatshirt off, then his T-shirt and then their skin was touching and Elliott groaned, deep in his throat. His hands digging deep into Mal’s hair, tilting his mouth as they devoured each other.

Mal decided enough was enough.

He was a virgin. Not clueless.

And while Elliott was strong, he was also strong. Stronger, if he had to guess.

Time to put that to the test.

He gripped Elliott and flipped them, tucking Elliott right underneath him.

Elliott’s mouth fell open and Mal was really tempted to just kiss him again.

But he was glad he didn’t.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Elliott said, his voice of full of rough awe. His fingers tangled in Mal’s hair again, and this time he tugged him down by it.

Mal lost his mind a little after that. His mind and what felt like a lifetime of control. Desperate for pressure and friction against his aching cock, he thrust experimentally against Elliott’s, and Elliott gasped into his mouth.

A second later, the kiss went wild and they were moving together like they’d been born to do it. Mal’s orgasm was like a freight train, out of control and bearing down. Then Elliott’s hands drifted down his back and dug right into his ass, ten specific pressure points pulling him in, and Mal lost it.

He shuddered over and over, his body lost to the pleasure surging through him.

A second later, he could hear Elliott following him. His cry was loud and sharp and disbelieving.

Like he hadn’t expected that Mal’s orgasm would drag him over his own edge.

But it had.

Mal dropped his head to Elliott’s shoulder. Tried to catch his breath.

“That was great,” Elliott said, his voice full of sleepy satisfaction. “I think I needed that for about a year.”

Mal rolled his eyes and considered rolling onto his back. But he didn’t. It felt too good to be lying with Elliott this way. He liked touching him, one body stretched out across the other.

“I don’t want to think of how long I needed that,” Mal said. Then froze. “But—”

Elliott frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

“Not second thoughts. Just . . .” Ugh this was embarrassing too. But he’d just come in his sweatpants, so how could anything really be awkward after that? “Just, does that even count?”

Elliott’s laugh was long and lazy. Even a little sweet. He cupped Mal’s cheek. “Oh honey, it counts. Congrats, Malcolm McCoy, you’re no longer a virgin.”

“But I didn’t—but you didn’t—”

“Oh, we can arrange all of those things. Don’t you worry about that.”

Mal tried to breathe. Tried to ignore that his cock was already twitching again, valiantly trying to get ready to go again at just the thought of all those things . “You’d want to?”

Elliott laughed again. “I wanted to the first time I saw you . And that never stopped.”

“I know you . . .uh . . .well, I didn’t think it meant anything. And I was . . .”

“Twisted up? Yeah, I figured that out.” Elliott tapped on his back. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

Mal moved very reluctantly. Sat upright, while Elliott slid out of bed and dropped his sweatpants right there.

“Fuck,” Malcolm said, not even bothering to try to hide his reaction to Elliott’s sweet bare ass.

Elliott glanced behind him. “Oh, honey, I don’t think we’re going to get sick of each other anytime soon.”

“Don’t call me that—I’m not sweet—I’m not—”

“Oh, honey , you fucking are,” Elliott teased. He tossed his dirty sweatpants into the hamper in the corner and ducked into the attached bathroom, coming back with a damp washcloth. He’d cleaned himself first, semi-soft cock bobbing in a neatly trimmed nest of golden brown hair. Mal looked because Mal was completely incapable of not looking at this point.

And if the guy was going to walk around brazenly naked, then it was almost like he wanted Mal to look.

Instead of handing Mal the washcloth, though, Elliott sank to his knees, and oh .

He was all business though, tugging down Mal’s sweatpants and then his boxer briefs, cleaning him as best he could.

Then he sank back on his heels, totally naked, and gazed up at Mal.

And well, Mal had been horny and unsatisfied for a long, long time. Having the guy he really wanted on his knees, in front of him, was guaranteed to give him a brilliant recovery period.

Could it even be called a recovery period if it felt like he’d never really gotten soft?

He was definitely not soft right now.

“You want some more?” Elliott murmured and leaned in. His fingers were still damp, and so was the sensitive skin of Mal’s inner thighs. His touch skimmed up and down them, not minding the dark hair, or the way Mal swore as Elliott’s hand wrapped around his cock.

Mal groaned in response.

“You gotta use your words,” Elliott reminded him.

“Yes,” Mal ground out.

Elliott shot him one of those smirks again. “Good. ’Cause I think you’re going to really like this.”

The moment Elliott’s mouth closed around him, Mal nearly shouted, his fingertips digging hard into the mattress.

He’d tried hard not to fantasize about anyone in particular when he got himself off. But this vision in particular felt familiar. New and exhilarating and also exactly what he’d been wanting.

But his brain hadn’t been able to even remotely predict how fucking amazing Elliott’s mouth felt around his cock.

It was like he knew exactly how to touch him and suck him to maximize it, to make Mal want to scream with how good it was.

And just when it became too much, too intense, he’d tease just a little, backing off until Mal was begging him for more.

“Shit, God, I’m gonna come,” Mal cried out. He didn’t know what Elliott was even doing, exactly, and that would be a problem he’d deal with in a minute, but right now, it was all heat and pressure, and the pleasure surged through him in a blinding wave.

Elliott didn’t pull off, and a moment later, he was coming again, down Elliott’s throat, and God , that was even hotter.

Elliott kept going until he was almost too sensitive to stand it. Yet, he didn’t want to push him off, and he didn’t, not until he couldn’t take it a moment longer.

“You were right,” Mal said, stupidly.

Elliott grinned. “Yeah?”

“I really liked that,” Mal said. He was not the kind of guy who used a lot of reallys in his speech, but he could add about a hundred more to that sentence and it still wouldn’t come close to illustrating just how much he’d enjoyed it.

“Congrats on losing your cherry, again,” Elliott said sweetly.

Mal’s gaze swept down, and he realized that Elliott had his own hard cock in his hand, stroking himself lightly.

“I want to do that,” Mal said. Swallowed hard. “I want to be the one to do that.”

“You sure?” Elliott’s voice was relaxed, despite the rough edge of desire. Mal knew what he was doing. He was making it easy on him, he could tell , but Mal didn’t want him to do that. Didn’t need him to do that.

“Yes,” Mal said firmly and reached out, tugging Elliott up.

Elliott straddled him, and Mal put his hand on the first dick of his life that didn’t belong to him.

Elliott was smooth and hard, twitching underneath his fingertips.

“You want me to tell you what I like?” Elliott asked, voice hushed. He didn’t sound so goddamn calm now, and Mal found that a whole lot more satisfying.

“No,” Mal said.

Maybe he’d never done this before. But he was beginning to learn who Elliott was. More than just the front of carefree, fun-loving playboy.

Elliott was a hedonist. He wanted to let the pleasure overwhelm him. Consume him. He threw himself into every single thing he did, sometimes without looking, and often annoying Mal in the process, but Mal couldn’t find a single shred of annoyance in himself now.

He moved his fist carefully, deliberately. Squeezing just the way he liked. Maximizing the pleasure the best ways he knew how.

Elliott gasped and leaned in, brushing his lips over Mal’s, barely touching at first.

Mal took his other hand and shoved it into Elliott’s hair, pulling his mouth to his.

Their kiss deepened, tongues stroking together, and Mal—that intense need momentarily assuaged, finally— could turn his legendary focus on making this as good as he could for Elliott.

Elliott gasped into his mouth, and Mal lengthened his strokes, slowed down just a fraction, dragging it out of him one heart-stopping moment at a time.

And Malcolm had wanted this. No question of that. He’d had this need stuck under his skin forever, like a splinter he couldn’t dig out, but he’d wanted this too. To touch someone, to feel their skin and their mouth and to let them close. To want them to be close.

He’d hoped it would feel like this, two people folding in together like they fit. Like Elliott had been waiting like this, just for him.

Of course that wasn’t even remotely true, and Mal didn’t believe in lying to himself, but for this moment, it felt that way and he couldn’t get enough.

Same as Elliott kept leaning into his touch, gasping as Mal drove him over the edge, come splashing up his chest.

“Fuck,” Elliott groaned. “That was so . . .” His eyes, sleepy and satisfied, fluttered open, and Mal realized there was also something to seeing him like this. Something he really liked.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you were a virgin?” Elliott teased.

“Very sure,” Mal said.

He was also very sure that Elliott would slide off his lap, and in that easy, friendly nature of his, ensure that Mal went on his way, no awkwardness whatsoever.

But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in and kissed him again.

Like he couldn’t get enough, either.

Mal wasn’t going to push him away. He’d done that enough and it hadn’t worked any of the times, and besides, he liked it.

Wrapping a clean hand around Elliott’s back, he tugged him in closer, and they kissed and kissed, like they hadn’t just gotten off twice each. Elliott’s fingers twisted in his hair, and it was easy and hushed and intimate. The kind of intimate Mal didn’t recognize, but enjoyed anyway.

Elliott was the one who finally broke the kiss, pulling back an inch.

But he still didn’t act like he wanted to move. A hand slid down to Mal’s shoulder. Squeezed. “So much makes sense, now,” he murmured.

“Don’t say I was uptight because I wasn’t getting any,” Mal said.

Elliott chuckled. “I wouldn’t, ever.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

Elliott’s smile widened. “I do have a question.”

Mal had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“Why didn’t you just let us do this last year?”

Mal wet his lips. There it was. Maybe after this conversation, Elliott kicking him out of the room would be pretty damn awkward after all. “I didn’t know you were serious. We didn’t even know each other. I thought . . .I thought you might be just like Aubrey.”

“His name was Aubrey?” Elliott rolled his eyes. “He even sounds like a pretentious dickwad.”

Malcolm considered this. Did he even know what a pretentious dickwad was? He supposed that Aubrey would fit the description, based on what he remembered of the guy.

Then he realized that he didn’t even really remember the guy. Not details, anyway. Could barely dredge up a vision of him. Instead, his memory felt general, like a black hole of humiliation and rage and rejection. The aftermath—the things his dad had said that he’d taken to heart—those felt specific. Emblazoned on his memory.

Mal could only imagine what Anthony McCoy would say about this thing with Elliott. But he pushed that thought away.

“Yeah, he must have been,” Malcolm agreed.

“So you thought I was going to just lead you on? Fuck you and leave you?”

“I didn’t even think we’d make it to the fucking.”

Elliott’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“I was sure once you found out . . .you wouldn’t want to anymore.”

“Huh. Did I redeem myself in your head, finally?” Elliott was smirking now. It was a little bit I told you so , but Mal could tolerate that, especially after the two orgasms Elliott had given him.

Mal nodded.

“Good.” Elliott paused, and then to Mal’s surprise, that was when he slid off his lap, grabbing the washcloth and cleaning off again, before tossing it to Mal. “Then hopefully we won’t have to argue about this.”

“Argue about what?” Mal found the one clean corner left and used it to wipe the rest of Elliott’s come off him.

“About us doing this again.”

Mal swallowed hard. Figured this would be a very good time to start finding his clothes.

Pulled his boxer briefs up. Then his sweatpants.

Reached for his T-shirt, but suddenly Elliott was right there, fingers closing over his wrist. “I mean it,” Elliott said.

“You certainly seem to,” Mal agreed.

But will you next week when the next cute boy at the Gamma Sigma house propositions you?

Mal had known that if he took this road, it might mean less than he’d hoped it would. That it might only be scratching an itch. But the itch had intensified so much, he hadn’t cared.

Then, anyway.

He cared now.

No doubt Elliott would think that the caring was sweet and nice, but in the long run, it wouldn’t matter. Not when that cute boy batted his eyelashes.

“Wait a second,” Elliott said, frowning. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Malcolm said. Then sighed. “I don’t . . .” I don’t want to share.

“You think I’m going to keep fucking around, on the side.”

“It’s your right,” Malcolm said.

But before he could shuck Elliott’s grip and finish getting dressed—finish his escape from this awkwardness—Elliott’s mouth was hot and lush against his.

Kissing him hard.

When Elliott pulled back, his eyes were gleaming like hard emeralds, full of determination. “I know my history makes it hard to be convincing,” Elliott said, “but I swear, I promise . . .” He broke off, making a frustrated noise. “Here. I’ve even got proof.” He grabbed his phone from the table next to the bed and scrolled through it and finally turned it towards Mal.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a text. I sent it days ago. To the guy at Koffee Klatch.”

And sure enough, there was a message from Elliott to “Cute Coffee Guy” that was nice, undeniably, but blunt, too. Sorry, it read, but I’m involved with someone else right now and I gotta figure out if it’s going anywhere.

Cute Coffee Guy hadn’t replied.

“He left you on read?”

Elliott laughed. “You know what that is?”

“I’m twenty-two, not a hundred and two,” Mal said dryly. “And you forget, I’ve spent four years playing with Ramsey. I was bound to pick up some things by osmosis.”

“Fair. And yeah, he did. Can’t say I blame him for being annoyed, but it’s true.” Elliott tossed his phone to the bed. “I’m very into someone else right now.”

“Me?” Mal could barely get the single word out without stuttering.

Elliott rolled his eyes but he was laughing, too. “Welcome to the party, Malcolm. You were late, but you got here eventually.”

It felt too good to be true. But Elliott gave him another one of those lush, wet kisses right before he left, winding his arms around Mal’s neck and not letting him go until he’d taken his fill.

Mal nearly took his shoes off and pushed him back onto the bed.

But he didn’t.

“Uh, we should . . .uh . . .” Mal hesitated.

“Keep this between us? Yeah. Agreed.” Elliott shrugged. “I don’t think anyone would probably understand. And it’s not any of their business, anyway.”

Mal nodded once in agreement. And then realized he had no reasons left not to walk out the door.

Truthfully, he wanted to stay. But instead, he left and felt as he walked home that he was floating, feet barely touching the pavement.