11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Brody didn’t know what to expect from the party.

He knew he’d surprised the hell out of Ramsey, who’d been all ready to drag him to it, forcibly if necessary, but then he’d just said simply that Dean had already invited him.

“Dean invited you and you just said yes, just like that?” Ramsey ripped the tape off his hands, shedding it like skin into the trash can in front of him.

“Yeah, I said yes, just like that,” Brody retorted.

They’d won by a goal today, squeaking by a very good Eastern Washington team one to zip, and while Brody thought he’d played decently enough, he knew his focus hadn’t been everything it could be.

There’d been more than once their sly, fast forward had slipped right past him, making a break for it, and he’d had to push hard, skating as fast and as nimbly as he was able to catch up with him. Ramsey had shot him a look or two, and Zach had leaned down, during one of his breaks, and asked him if he was alright.

He was—and he wasn’t.

What he was, was fucking hanging in there, by his fingernails. Trying to get used to living under this cloud of uncertainty.

Ramsey shot him a look. Not dissimilar to the looks Brody had gotten during the game. “If only it was always that easy with you,” he said.

After the conversation with Coach B, Brody had finally understood that nothing was going to go back to normal. This was the new normal, and the only way to deal with it was to go right through it.

’ Course that didn’t mean it was particularly enjoyable.

Brody sure as hell wasn’t having a good time.

Ironically, the only thing about his life that felt free and easy and relatively straightforward was Dean.

“I’m not some kind of dramatic, complicated guy,” Brody argued, but these days, he kinda was, wasn’t he? He felt like a garbage fire, in human form.

“So you say,” Ramsey said. He finished with the tape and began to shuck his equipment next.

Brody had already dumped his into the big bin for the equipment manager to clean and repair and get set for the next game.

He turned to head to the showers, but Ramsey’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“What I want to know,” Ramsey said, still casual, the opposite of his grip on Brody’s arm, “is what’s going on between you two.”

“Me and Dean?” Brody knew his voice went high and squeaky, like it always did when he was lying.

“You and Dean,” Ramsey repeated steadily.

“I . . .I told you, we’re friends,” Brody stuttered.

“Such good friends, all of a sudden, that you’re gonna go to a party just because he asks you. You , who’s being even cagier than usual?”

“I’m not being—”

“Yeah,” Ramsey cut off. “That’s bullshit. Don’t blow me off with bullshit. I let you get away with not talking about it before, but it’s gone further than that. Obviously .”

Brody took a deep breath. Ramsey was one of his best friends. “I like him. We’re . . .uh . . .hooking up.”

Ramsey raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Brody had imagined Ramsey reacting a bunch of different ways when he finally came out. Incredulity. Shock. He’d been sure that one of Ramsey’s immediate responses would’ve been something like, if you were gonna experiment with a guy, why not do it with me?

But none of those turned out to be right.

Instead, of course, Ramsey was going to take credit for the whole fucking thing.

“I mean, you’re welcome for calling him up and suggesting he move in with you.”

Brody rolled his eyes. He grabbed his bag, slid his feet into his slides, and headed towards the showers. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re the one hooking up with him.” Ramsey paused. “Is that all it is? A hookup?”

“Yeah of course. What else is it gonna be?” Brody challenged.

Ramsey shrugged. “You’re the one who isn’t sure he wants to play hockey anymore.”

“How do you know that?” Nobody knew that. Just Coach B, Zach, and Dean. And Brody never would’ve thought any of those guys would’ve blabbed about it.

“It’s not that hard to tell,” Ramsey said bluntly. “You’re all up your own ass lately, more broody than usual.”

Brody wanted to tell Ramsey his assessment was not only totally unfair, but totally fucking wrong, but well . . .it wasn’t really either of those things, was it?

“Do you think everybody knows?” Brody asked in a soft voice as he flipped the shower on. Ramsey took the one next to him and shook his head.

“Everyone else is all up their own ass, trying to impress Coach B. Elliott’s trying to lone wolf it out. Finn’s a mess, one goal away from breaking down. Mal’s trying to keep it all together. Ivan’s just trying to stay out of it.”

“And you?”

Ramsey’s pale blue eyes were intent on Brody. “You know I don’t miss a thing, Faulkner.”

He knew it.

Ramsey patted him on the arm. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“No admonitions that I’m going to eventually pick the right thing, AKA hockey?”

But Ramsey didn’t say anything. Just stared at him.

It was frustratingly both a non-answer and an answer, at the same time.

“Yeah, thanks,” Brody muttered and shoved his head under the spray.

The party was in full swing, people spilling out of the frat house not only onto the Gamma Sigma lawn but all of them, up and down frat row.

There’d been a home football game today, and the hockey game, and with both Evergreens teams winning, the students of Portland U were ready to celebrate.

“There’s Dean,” Ramsey said, gesturing to where Dean stood in the corner of the living room, in a T-shirt and worn jeans, fitting him like a fucking glove. “You gonna go jump in his arms?”

Brody smacked him in the chest. “Don’t be an ass.”

Ramsey just grinned. “But that’s my natural state.”

“Exactly.”

But it turned out that Dean walked over to him , ditching the guys he’d been talking to. They looked like football players, too, but then nobody looked the part as much as Dean Scott did.

Brody’s throat went a little dry as he tilted his head back, taking in Dean’s impressive body.

He knew what that body felt like. Maybe tonight, he’d discover what it tasted like.

“Hey,” Dean said. They didn’t touch or hug—and definitely they didn’t kiss—even though Brody wanted to. Instead he shoved his hands into his jean pockets to help him better resist the urge.

“Hey. Heard you guys won today.”

“By two touchdowns,” Dean said, nodding. “And you guys won, too.”

“Yeah,” Brody said. He wanted to say, though I’m not sure I had anything to do with that. But he didn’t. This was a party. He didn’t need to be a depressed sad sack, angsting, like Ramsey said, about all these things he couldn’t change.

“Come on, let’s get a beer,” Dean said, and even though he didn’t reach out and touch Brody, Brody swore he could feel his hand ghosting across the small of his back as they walked towards the back of the house.

Even though neither of them was publicly out—Brody didn’t even know what he’d label himself, honestly, only that he liked Dean—he wanted him to do it anyway, damn the consequences.

He didn’t know what that said about him, except that he was down bad to the man behind him.

Ramsey had already found his way behind the bar and was eyeing the two of them with interest. “You guys want shots?” he asked. “Or something else?”

“I’m just gonna grab us some beers,” Dean said, reaching into the cooler and pulling two out with only one of his big hands. He popped the tops off and handed one to Brody.

Dean didn’t say, I want to remember this night, every single technicolor moment of it , but maybe he didn’t need to. Because Brody was thinking it anyway.

“To winning,” Dean said, clinking his bottle with Brody’s. Brody nodded and they both took a sip.

“You do anything else freaking unreal and completely inhuman today?” Brody asked, because that was easier than talking about his own game, where it felt like he’d barely been hanging on.

Dean blushed. It was adorable. “Just the usual.”

Wes approached and draped an arm around Dean’s shoulders—not the easiest thing in the world, considering his height—and said, “If you call the usual two and a half sacks and like half a dozen pressures. The poor QB opposite me barely had time to set his feet the whole game.”

“I’m not sure why you know my stats,” Dean said.

“It’s ’cause he’s your friend,” Brody said. “You know his, don’t you?”

Dean glanced over at Wes. “What, three hundred some-odd yards, and three touchdowns, right?”

Wes smiled. “Exactly.”

“Yep, you two are definitely unreal,” Brody said.

“Like you’re not killing it too,” Wes scoffed.

But Dean didn’t say anything. Just met Brody’s eyes, and there was a hidden concern—a hidden question—in his gaze. Was it okay? You doing okay?

He nodded briefly, and Dean smiled, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

“I’m doing my part,” Brody said.

“Eastern has got this slippery asshole,” Ramsey chimed in. “We had our hands full today.”

“But we handled him.” If Ramsey hadn’t been there, Brody didn’t know if he’d have been able to, but Ramsey was playing the best hockey of his life and that was bailing Brody’s ass out.

It was a reminder—both good and bad—that even as Brody flailed, his future suddenly up in the air, some of his teammates were finding the new coaching direction a positive change.

“Yep,” Ramsey said with a firm nod. “You guys go out and have fun. Enjoy the party.”

Dean glanced in the direction of the living room. “Yeah? Should we?”

Brody didn’t want to go back to the crowded living room, full of people he didn’t know and didn’t give a shit about. He’d come to the party tonight because Dean had asked him.

Because Dean was going to be there.

“Let’s go sit outside. It’s quiet and there’s some back steps . . .”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a decisive nod, and like he was familiar with them too, he led the way out the back door.

Brody wasn’t surprised not many people were out here and the steps down the back porch were empty. He sat down on the top one, and Dean dropped down next to him.

“You want to talk about it?” Dean asked into the silence.

“Not particularly,” Brody said, sipping his beer. “It’s just depressing.”

“How so?”

Brody took a deep breath. “Some days it feels like I’m gonna be stuck in this in-between purgatory forever. And it fucking sucks.”

“That’s not true.” Dean touched him on the knee, a fleeting touch that still lit him inside. “You’re gonna figure this shit out. You’re too smart not to.”

“You don’t gotta be nice and supportive. You can tell me pretty lies instead.”

Dean’s mouth quirked up. “Pretty lies for a pretty boy?”

“Why not? I’m already a sure thing.”

Dean leaned in. “Are you?”

Brody’s palms were sweating, slipping on the condensation dripping down the side of his beer bottle. “You know I am.”

“Maybe,” Dean conceded, not looking disappointed by this fact, “but you’re not just a sure thing in bed. You’re my friend too.”

Gah . Brody didn’t want to keep discovering what a goddamn good guy Dean was.

A goddamn great guy.

“But,” Dean added, fingers beginning to pick at the label of his beer, “we should talk about this.”

“I thought we already did.” Was Dean going to tell him nevermind? That he didn’t want to do this after all? Brody’s stomach sank right into the fucking ground.

“Not about uh . . .the particulars. All the particulars. Wes said—”

“You told Wes?” Brody didn’t think he was mad, necessarily. After all, he’d told Ramsey—or Ramsey had guessed—but he hadn’t really expected that Dean would tell anybody. That he’d want to keep his public straightness intact, even when it came to his friends. His queer friends, even.

“I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

Brody interrupted him again. Put a hand on his arm and squeezed. Tried not to get distracted by all that muscle under his fingertips. “It’s alright, I’m not mad. I told Ramsey. Well, Ramsey guessed .”

He didn’t move his hand, and Dean didn’t seem to mind as he curled his fingers around it, stroking the underside of his forearm, appreciating it like the work of art it was.

Even long after this was over, and they’d gone their separate ways, Brody would remember this.

“Yeah, so did Wes. Are we not very good at this?” Dean seemed like he genuinely wanted to know.

“Neither of us do this very often, so yeah, probably.”

Dean nodded. “That’s more what Wes meant, I think. We just need to . . .uh . . .keep communicating.”

“Can we ‘communicate’ later, when we get back to the apartment?” Brody asked, barely able to keep a straight face.

He hadn’t needed to. Dean started to laugh, and then Brody couldn’t help it either, chuckling as they leaned into each other, their shoulders bumping.

“I think he meant more if you want something, or I want something, we need to be honest about it,” Dean said, his gaze growing serious.

Serious and warm, skimming over the lines of Brody’s body.

He knew he was good-looking. He’d known it even before Dean had ever called him pretty boy, but he’d never felt it as viscerally as he did right now.

Like the strong bones of his face and his thick, wavy hair actually had a freaking purpose.

If it was to entice Dean, he was totally okay with that situation.

“What do you want, then?” Brody asked, because he was curious, and the more they talked about this, the hotter the anticipation rose in him.

He’d thought quenching that thirst was the sexiest thing in the world, but he’d been wrong. The sexiest thing in the world was drawing it out, teasing each other with it, until one of them couldn’t take a single moment more and caved.

“I don’t know if I want anything specifically ,” Dean said, and he was flushing now, and it turned out that was sexy too.

No wonder Brody felt obsessed by this feeling. No wonder everyone felt obsessed by this feeling. He’d always wondered why people lost their minds over sex, but no longer.

“No?” Brody could hear how low and rough his voice had gotten as he leaned in closer. They were practically intertwined now, his fingers still stroking Dean’s arm and his other arm tucked behind Brody’s back. He could feel the heat of it, the possession of it, even though it wasn’t technically touching him.

Dean’s eyes flicked down to his lips, and Brody knew exactly what he wanted.

Because he wanted the exact same goddamn thing.

Why had they agreed to go to this party?

They could be home, now, on the couch, or in one of their beds , finally naked together.

Fuck restraint. Fuck teasing.

Brody was just about to suggest they get out of here when a noise behind them made Dean move back a fraction and then Ramsey’s voice called out, “There you two are. We’re gonna have a big beer pong tournament, and you guys have to team up.”

Dean looked at him. “Do you want to play beer pong?” he asked.

Brody didn’t. Not really. He was shit at it, and what he actually wanted was to drag Dean back to the apartment, to do things he was probably also shit at, but craved all the same.

“Come on,” Ramsey entreated. “One game. Then y’all can go do what you want to do.” Ramsey was behind them, and Brody couldn’t see his face, but he knew the kind of knowing grin his friend was wearing.

“Fine,” Brody said, rising from the step, Dean following behind him.

“You good at this?” he asked, dipping his head low so he could murmur in Brody’s ear. He shivered at the feeling of Dean’s warm breath against his neck.

But before Brody could answer, Dean’s hand was latching onto his, and he was tugging him away. “One second,” he called out to Ramsey. “We’ll be there in one sec.”

Then Dean was practically dragging him around the frat house, to a dark corner by the trash cans. Not exactly the most atmospheric conditions, but Brody didn’t even have a moment to comment on it, before Dean was crowding him up against the house.

“I had to do this first,” Dean admitted and then, after framing his face with his hands, kissed him.

It was like a shot of pure adrenaline to his system.

Brody understood now why people got addicted to this give and take. Why they’d do anything to get another hit. Because he’d do the same. His fingers dug into Dean’s shoulders and he hung on for the ride, and it was a ride .

Dean’s mouth was hot and eager on his, tongue brushing against his own, and for a second everything disappeared. The frat house. Ramsey and his friends waiting. The beer pong tournament.

Even the uncertainty that had dogged Brody these last few weeks.

Brody almost sank into it, lost himself to that feeling, but before he could, Dean pulled away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sounding a little embarrassed, face shadowed. “I’d been wanting to do that since you showed up and I couldn’t , and I sure as fuck couldn’t wait to do it through a whole beer pong tournament.”

Brody smacked him lightly on the side. “Don’t apologize. I liked it. I liked it enough that I wish we could do it again.”

“We could always escape, tell Ramsey and his beer pong to fuck off?”

They could. There was a part—currently pressing into Dean’s thigh, hot and hard and throbbing—that really wanted to do exactly what Dean suggested.

But if they couldn’t keep their hands off each other for even a few hours, what did that mean?

Brody wasn’t sure he wanted to look too closely at the answer.

So, better to just hold on. Hook up at the end of the night, as he’d expected they would.

That was what friends with benefits did, right?

That was his assumption, anyway.

“We should go play,” Brody said, making sure it was clear just how regretful he was about it.

“Alright.” Dean pushed back from the house and Brody immediately felt the loss of him. “We can do that. You any good?”

“No,” Brody said, chuckling. “Maybe I should be apologizing in advance for that.”

“Well, I’m okay, so we’ll probably even out.”

Except that it turned out that Dean wasn’t just okay . Unsurprisingly, he was fucking brilliant, and even with Brody pulling down his skill level considerably, they spent the next hour and a half laughing and playing, and to Brody’s surprise, he actually had a pretty good time.

Dean seemed to, as well, and even though they didn’t do more than casually touch, in celebration and in commiseration a handful of times, it didn’t matter, because underneath, Brody’s blood was simmering.

Waiting.

More than once, he looked over and Dean’s gaze met his own, and he knew Dean was thinking the same thing.

This is fun. And we’re gonna have fun later, too.

After beating Finn and Elliott, then Ramsey and Ivan, and then finally Marcus and Wes, they made it to the semi-final, and with Brody up to play next, he knew they’d probably lose. He didn’t know if he was sad or happy about it.

This had been an unexpectedly pleasant evening, and if Brody had to chalk it up to anyone, it was going to be because of Dean.

Not just because of the kiss earlier—or their promises of more, later—but because he just genuinely enjoyed spending time with the guy.

He was quietly supportive, openly proud, and an easy person to be around.

Brody was setting up for his final shot when Dean leaned in. His fingertips brushed the small of his back and Brody wanted to moan and lean into that touch, but he didn’t.

“Hey, you got this,” Dean murmured.

Brody glanced back, and their eyes met.

“Or,” Dean added, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “if you wanted to miss, I wouldn’t be too torn up about it.”

“You’re telling me to throw this game?” Brody teased.

Dean shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Hey, stop flirting and start playing,” Ramsey called out.

“You’re one to talk,” Ivan retorted.

“Yeah, seriously,” Elliott complained. “Every time I go to take a shot you say something about Mal very loudly.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re so worked up about him,” Ramsey teased.

Elliott crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not worked up about him. He pisses me off. He was supposed to come tonight, and the fucker bailed.”

“Exactly,” Ramsey said. “You’re worked up about him.”

Elliott didn’t say a word, just walked off, probably in the direction of the kitchen, to find something else to drink.

“You gonna take the shot or not?” Ramsey challenged.

Brody rolled his eyes but he straightened and tossed the ball.

He hadn’t known until right as it was leaving his hand what he’d decided.

The ball glanced right off the lip of the cup and for a split second, Brody was sure it was gonna go in, but then it bounced off, onto the table and then onto the floor.

“Ah, sucks,” Dean said, sounding not very disappointed at all. “That was a good shot, though.”

“Nearly brilliant,” Ramsey said, and he was laughing. Probably because he was laboring under the assumption that Brody had missed on purpose.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Brody said and leaned over, shaking their opponents’ hands. Dean seemed to know them, and he’d said Rand and Ty played on the football team with him. “Great game, guys. Go out and destroy Ramsey for me, okay?”

Rand grinned. “You got it, boss. And Dean, good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Ty added. “Not just on the field, for once.”

Dean flushed and brushed it off, giving them both a handshake that of course, evolved into one of those complicated hugs.

“See you at practice Tuesday,” he said. “We’re taking off.”

Brody didn’t know how he felt about being part of a we .

No. That wasn’t true at all. He knew exactly how it felt. Intoxicating, more so even than the beer they’d drunk as part of the tournament.

“You good?” Dean asked as they walked out of the house.

He didn’t need to be specific about his question for Brody to understand what he was asking. You sober? You sober enough to hook up, still?

“Yeah,” Brody said. “But the walk home will do me good.”

And not just because of the beer. His stomach was still fluttering over the we Dean had used—even though Brody knew there hadn’t exactly been another pronoun he could have used.

“Same,” Dean agreed.

They walked for another minute before Dean broke the silence. “That was a pretty decent shot there, at the end.”

Brody grinned. “You asking me if I missed on purpose?”

“You wouldn’t ever throw a game on purpose. That would be poor sportsmanship,” Dean said firmly.

“You suggested it,” Brody reminded him. “Maybe I wouldn’t have considered doing it if you hadn’t.”

“Maybe I wanted to properly motivate you.”

“To win or to lose?” Brody teased in a low voice. He stopped just outside a pool of light from one of the streetlights. There were still a few pockets of students wandering around, but it was getting late and they were far between. He felt comfortable enough reaching over and tucking a hand into the belt loop of Dean’s jeans, tugging him a little closer.

“I’m still tryin’ to figure that out,” Dean said wryly. “That’s why I asked.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I told you I was crap, and I am. I wanted to make it—and I didn’t want to make it. We’ll never know what the truth really is. I think I tried but maybe not all that hard.”

Dean grinned. “I like it.”

“Do you?”

Say it. I like you.

“Yeah.”

Of course Dean didn’t, because that wasn’t what this was, even though this whole evening felt like that phrase, repeated over and over, echoing in his head so insistently that Brody couldn’t have dismissed it even if he’d wanted to.

He didn’t.

Even if it was a mess, even if it was hard. Impossible, really.

We’re friends. And more, too. That’s what we said. You’re not thinking anything different than he is.

But it felt different than Brody had heard people talk about when they described friends with benefits.

“Well come on, we don’t want to waste this chance my missed shot gave us,” Brody said, tugging on Dean’s belt loop and they started walking again.

Their apartment was only another block, and a minute later, Dean was unlocking the door, tossing his keys onto the coffee table as Brody closed the door behind him.

They were alone.

Only once had he felt awkward tonight, and that had been when he’d first seen Dean. When he’d wanted more things than he was allowed to take.

And it was awkward now, as they stared at each other.

Awkward and tense, but not an ugly kind of tension, but the best kind. Full of promise and anticipation.

“Come ’ere,” Dean said gruffly, and that was all the invitation Brody needed to fall into him, tilting his face up as their mouths met.

The kiss earlier tonight had been undeniably hot, but this one burned him up from the inside out.

“I didn’t know,” Brody gasped as Dean broke the kiss, tugging his T-shirt over his head and tossing it onto the couch.

They weren’t even going to make it to the couch .

“Didn’t know what,” Dean said, and maybe he hadn’t ever undressed a guy before, but his fingers were confident and sure on Brody’s jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. They sagged around his waist, and Brody felt the ghost of Dean’s touch against his lower abs, making his cock twitch with need.

Brody took a step back, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Didn’t know it would feel like this,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, and from the earnest look on his face as he took in Brody’s body, he wasn’t just giving him lip service either.

“We should . . .uh . . .” Brody motioned to his bedroom. “We could . . .here . . .but . . .”

“I like the way you think, pretty boy,” Dean said gruffly and then just fucking picked him up .

Brody squawked. First, because he’d never expected that and second, because he was heavy, right? He was not a light person. He was strong and muscular and six foot, and here Dean was picking him up like he weighed fucking nothing.

Except—Dean could probably bench press more than Brody weighed.

And that was insanely fucking hot.

“You good there?” Dean asked, barely breathing hard as he nudged open Brody’s door and deposited him on the edge of the bed.

“I . . . no ,” Brody said with the strongest emphasis he could. “ No . You can’t do that shit. I’m gonna . . .I’m gonna blow my load right now if I think about how sexy that was.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah? You like me manhandling you around?”

“Yes. Yes . Put a pin in that though,” Brody said. Because he meant it. This was going to be over before it started if Dean kept going with that shit. “Take your clothes off.”

He leaned back, toed his shoes off and decided he was going to enjoy the show.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he lifted his T-shirt up, discarding it on the floor. “You don’t wanna take them off for me?”

“Someday, yeah. But right now? I’ve barely gotten to see you naked and I want to enjoy it .”

Dean flushed again, the color deepening down his chest, and Brody was curious just how far down it went.

“Don’t tell me I’m the first person to bring up that you’re seriously hot,” Brody added in a teasing voice, leaning back on his elbows.

There was only a slight dusting of dark hair on Dean’s pecs, and a trail leading down to his jeans.

Brody wanted to know how soft it felt, so he sat up and reached out, pressing a palm to his chest. Slid it lower. Felt Dean’s sharp intake of breath as he stroked his lower abs.

“No,” Dean said, voice low. “But I didn’t give a shit before.”

“You give a shit now,” Brody stated—didn’t question. Because the look in those light eyes of Dean’s made it clear that he did.

“You keep touchin’ me like that, yeah,” Dean said, swallowing hard.

“Like how?” Brody asked and pulled his hand away.

Dean made a noise full of disappointed disbelief.

Brody chuckled and waved his hand at the rest of Dean’s clothes. “Those need to go, still. Then I’ll show you.”

“You’d better.” Dean’s fingers were trembling as he unbuttoned his jeans and shucked them down. It was impossible to miss his cock, hard and straining against his dark green boxer briefs.

Yeah, Brody might not have been into cocks before this, but it was undeniable that he was into this cock, now.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be hands-off,” Brody teased.

Dean tucked his fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugged them down.

Brody’s pulse accelerated.

“Now, this is a view I like,” he said, trying for casual but unable to help the way his tone wavered at the heat in Dean’s gaze as the last piece of his clothing fell away.

“You like it?” Dean eroded much of Brody’s studied nonchalance as he wrapped his hand around his dick, stroking it himself. “Like how big and hard I am for you?”

“Come ’ere,” Brody said roughly, the last of his pretense disintegrating, leaving only hot, fierce desire surging through him.

“Not yet.” Dean even moved back half a step, right out of Brody’s reach.

Maybe it should have annoyed Brody that Dean had more self-control than he did, but he was too turned on to give a shit.

“Why not?” Brody was aware he was whining, even.

Dean grinned and made the same hand motion that Brody had. “It’s your turn to get undressed. Come on, get naked, pretty boy. I wanna see it all .”

Brody did not scramble. That would be undignified and a little too desperate. Definitely unsexy, especially right now.

But he wasted no time, sucking in his stomach as he braced himself on his forearm to slowly slide his pants down. He cupped his cotton-covered cock, hissing at the pressure of his hand. Dean’s eyes darkened, the pupils dilating even further.

“Don’t tell me nobody’s ever called you hot, pretty boy,” Dean said in an intoxicatingly low voice that pulled at Brody, right where all his arousal was building in the base of his stomach. Sparking him up.

“Didn’t give a shit before,” Brody said, tossing him his most confident, charming smile. Ramsey always said he could get anyone he wanted, if he ever chose to. The problem was he’d never really wanted just anyone . And now? There was only one person he wanted.

“Now you do,” Dean said, grinning too. “Come on, pretty boy, show me what you got.”

“So hard.” So hard for you . Brody groaned a little as he shifted, pulling his boxer briefs down, over his cock.

It bobbed out, probably as hard as he’d ever been in his whole goddamn life.

He tried to reach for it again, but Dean moved fast, so fucking fast, considering his size, and slapped his hand away.

“That’s mine,” Dean said, and then he covered Brody’s body—and his mouth—with his own.

Brody moaned into his mouth, the impact of their skin-to-skin connection rocking his world to its foundations.

Dean’s hands were everywhere, slow and steady, like they had all the time in the world. Between those sweet, tantalizingly sexy touches and the passionate press of Dean’s mouth against his, Brody was panting, desperate and needy, by the time Dean broke the kiss.

“Shit, this is so good.” Maybe Brody shouldn’t have been so blunt about it, but his easygoing, offhand veneer was gone, totally stripped away by the intense look in Dean’s eyes.

Dean leaned further as Brody’s fingers scrabbled against his shoulders, his back, trying to pull him in.

“Yeah?” he asked. His hand dipped lower, Brody’s cock twitching at the promise of something more than just the pressure of Dean’s body.

“Yeah, yeah, more ,” he begged. He was past giving a shit about how desperate he sounded.

Then Dean casually licked up and down his fingers, wetting them, those eyes never leaving Brody’s. Brody’s mind just plain fucking whited out as he reached down and wrapped that spit-slick hand around his cock.

Brody dug into the comforter, bracing himself for more as the pleasure surged through him.

“Oh yeah, that’s even better,” Dean murmured, like he was talking to himself. He gave Brody a stroke and then another, and Jesus , it was almost too much to look at the big bulk of him, wide shoulders and all that fucking muscle, and then experience the careful, gentle way he was touching Brody.

But even though it wasn’t rough, it wasn’t hesitant, either.

Dean wanted this. Dean wanted to do this to him .

“Should’ve known you’d be so goddamn pretty like this,” Dean murmured, and wow , that had not been on Brody’s bingo card either. Dean, the man of few words, being so good at dirty talking that Brody was sure he was going to come way before he wanted to. Just from the rough-edged reverence in Dean’s voice.

“Should’ve known you’d be good at this.”

“You like it slower?” Dean’s movements slowed to a crawl as he made it last with long, gentle, even strokes that made Brody’s pulse spike. “Or a little harder?” He nearly sent him over the edge then, gripping his cock harder, letting Brody really feel those big calloused fingers as they worked him over.

“I like it any way you’re gonna give it to me,” Brody admitted. “But come ’ere. Kiss me.”

He heard a rumble of approval in the back of Dean’s throat and then he was leaning over him again, kissing him hard, and it only took a minute of losing himself in slick press of Dean’s tongue against his own and he was right on the edge, so close it almost hurt.

But Dean seemed to know that, seemed to want to draw it out, because every time he got so close to coming Brody could nearly taste it, he pulled back. Went even slower. Gave him just enough pressure to feel so good, but not to shove him over into ecstasy.

“You fucking tease,” Brody gasped out, pulling back from Dean’s mouth for a breath. Then two.

“You love it, pretty boy,” Dean murmured and leaned in to kiss him again. Then his mouth was slipping lower, tongue wet against his skin, every inch of it electrified.

He slid lower and then lower still, mouth moving over the sensitive ridges of Brody’s abs, and he knew there was sound coming out of his mouth. Prayerful grunts or gasps or moans—he’d long lost the ability to control or dignify the way Dean was wrenching this orgasm out of him.

Then Dean sucked a deep bruise nearly into the crease between Brody’s thigh and his stomach, the pain sharp and beautiful. His hand tightened right then, and Brody gave a shout of warning before he was experiencing the best orgasm of his whole life.

The aftershocks felt like they went on forever, Dean drawing them out with those easy, gentle strokes, Brody continuing to shudder on the bed.

“Oh yeah, pretty boy, you liked that just fine,” Dean said, grinning.

Like his own cock wasn’t bobbing in front of him, hard and red and wet at the tip, shining in the dim light of Brody’s bedroom.

“Now. Come here now ,” Brody said breathlessly and didn’t even wait for him to follow orders—because it wasn’t like he even expected Dean to do it—he just took what he wanted. Scrambled across the comforter, slid to the floor, and didn’t think.

Just put his mouth right over that big, hard cock and sucked.

Dean yelled, then a gentle hand—Brody hoped it was at least a little clean, but he was at the point where he didn’t give a fuck anymore—fell to his head, stroking him.

Brody didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but then Dean didn’t seem to mind. He licked, he sucked, he let his tongue trail up and down his length. Did whatever he thought might feel good, things he’d experienced before that he thought he could possibly replicate, all while the remnants of his own orgasm were buzzing inside him right alongside new sparks of arousal at the thought that he was doing this. He was sucking Dean Scott’s cock and he was loving every moment of it.

“Goddamn, pretty boy,” Dean groaned as he took him a little too deep and tried not to choke. How did people do this, easily? Brody wasn’t sure. Practice , he could imagine Ramsey saying in a knowing voice.

And yeah, he’d definitely be willing to put some practice hours in to sucking cock, if it was always this good, this overwhelming.

Brody let saliva pool in his mouth, easing his slide, and reached down, brushing Dean’s balls. Dean gave another shout, and then there was a hand tugging Brody off. It was over, nearly before it began, as he used his hand to jerk Dean through his orgasm.

Dean was wavering above him and Brody rose, using his own weight to pull them back into the bed. Then he used Dean’s T-shirt to wipe his hand clean.

“Shit,” Dean said, flopping over and grinning. “Did you just use my shirt? Right after I used it? That shouldn’t be hot—”

“But it is?” Brody laughed. “Maybe we’re just both weird.”

“Maybe.” Dean didn’t seem fazed by this possibility, just turned over onto his back.

Brody decided that was an invitation and followed him.

He didn’t usually hook up, and he didn’t usually cuddle with his hookups, but this felt good. Right . Especially when Dean’s arm wound its way around him and tugged him close.

He rested his chin against Dean’s pec, feeling the slight abrasion of hair, and thought he’d genuinely never felt more like himself.

It didn’t make sense, because he’d never thought he’d wanted this before. He hadn’t been denying it to himself. But at the same time, this felt like the answer to a question he’d simply never asked before.

“Well,” Dean drawled into the quiet. “Guess that resolves a lot of things.”

“Yeah?”

Dean’s fingers tightened on him. “You’re the one who asked. I hadn’t really thought about it, and I guess I should’ve.”

Brody realized that Dean was referring to the first time they’d hooked up, on the couch, that Friday night weeks ago.

“I was a little drunk, that night.”

“But not drunk enough to not know what you wanted,” Dean said. “Me either.”

Brody nodded. “I wondered if it was just the franticness of it. Like the shock, the first time, and then the second time, just . . .I don’t know . . .maybe just being super horny.”

“Oh, you were super horny alright,” Dean said wryly.

Brody laughed. “I was. But it wasn’t just that. And tonight? Ugh. That was really, really good.” He didn’t want to specify which bits, though he was fairly certain Dean thought he was just talking about everything after they’d gotten naked and finally ended up in a bed together. But the truth was, he was talking about the whole thing. From the moment he’d spotted Dean in the frat house, to their talk on the steps, to the kiss, to the beer pong, to this , lying together in bed, just because they could.

“Yeah,” Dean said, and Brody noticed he hadn’t specified either. But surely, yes, the only thing Dean was agreeing to was the sex. Because it had been really, really good. No question.

“Next time, I’m gonna figure out how to do that better,” Brody said. They’d agreed to do this, and it had gone spectacularly well so surely there would be a repeat, but he wanted to make sure he locked down that it wasn’t just a possibility, it was happening , one hundred percent, for sure.

“You do that any better, my head’s gonna blow right off.”

“Well, that’s kinda the idea,” Brody teased. He turned and set his forearms on Dean’s firm chest, letting his gaze drift up and down and finally meet Dean’s eyes.

They were no less intent than normal, but also sweet and sleepy, glazed a bit from his orgasm. It was a good look. But then just about anything was a good look on Dean.

“You did good, pretty boy,” Dean said.

“Another thing that should not be hot, but is,” Brody pointed out in a dry tone.

“Me calling you pretty boy? Sure is,” Dean agreed. “What else do you think fits that category?”

“That we didn’t think would be hot, but is? I’m not sure. Like, blowing a guy? A guy taking off his clothes real slow? A guy giving me a hickey practically on my dick?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It was just a little nip, and it wasn’t on your dick. Plus, I don’t think you can bitch when it made you come like that.”

For a minute, Brody was quiet, thinking. Considering the things he could say, and all the things he wasn’t sure he was ready to say, yet.

“Honestly, I don’t know what else fits. I guess we’re gonna have to find out,” Brody said.

“I got something,” Dean said. Because of course he did. This man had never been afraid of honesty in his whole damn life.

Brody didn’t know whether to be envious or appreciative.

“Okay,” Brody said.

“Next time, I wanna lay you out, on your stomach. You got such a pretty back, pretty boy, and lick all the way up and down it, and then . . .lick you lower. Get you nice and wet for my fingers. Feel you come around them, just from them inside of you, and you humping against the bed because you can’t help it any longer.”

“Jesus,” Brody said, his throat suddenly tight and dry. Okay, he was definitely falling on the appreciative side of this, tonight.

“Just something I thought about,” Dean said modestly.

“That sounds like a pretty advanced maneuver,” Brody said, but his cock was already stirring against his thigh.

Dean just shrugged. “Might not be any good at it. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try it.”

“Alright, twist my arm,” Brody said.

“Next time,” Dean said.

“Actually—” Brody paused and then straightened up, hand straying downward and yep, Dean was getting hard again too. He wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it an experimental stroke as Dean hissed. “Actually, I think it’s gonna be the next next time.”

“I think you’re right, pretty boy,” Dean groaned.