4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The cool night air helped to clear most of the fuzziness from his brain. Dean didn’t drink often, and when he did, he rarely touched hard liquor.

But the tequila had gone down so smooth, and it made his usual social awkwardness feel less present.

He’d actually managed to relax, at least when Brody was next to him.

Dean didn’t know if Brody was feeling the booze, but as they walked up the stairs to their apartment, Dean could sense he was just as relaxed.

When they walked in, though, Brody didn’t head to his bedroom. Instead he detoured to the kitchen and came back with two more beers. “Come on,” he said. “I’m too keyed up to sleep. Let’s watch something.”

Dean, who’d thought he was tired, decided that the evening had been fun enough and chill enough that he didn’t want it to end either. It turned out he actually liked hanging out with Brody.

He settled down on the couch with the beer as Brody scrolled endlessly through the options on Netflix.

“Just pick something, man,” Dean teased.

Brody shot him a hot look. It hit him hard, searing around the edges. Dean didn’t understand it, was afraid that he knew what it meant.

What the sparks that had lit him up meant, when Brody had come back from talking to his teammate and had wrapped his arms around him, tilting that pretty boy face up to meet his gaze.

“What do you want?” Brody asked, but instead of waiting for his answer, he tossed the remote onto the couch.

It was easy enough—but harder than he’d expected—to be honest. “I . . .I guess I don’t know,” Dean said.

Brody flopped back. His hair was mussed, his brown sugar eyes soft.

“Me either,” he said absently, but he didn’t seem particularly worried about it. For a moment, neither of them said anything, and anxiety rose inside him. What should he do? What should he say? He wasn’t used to just sitting in companionable silence with someone. He wasn’t used to sitting in silence period . He was always moving, always doing, usually forced to by his circumstances.

But it was a bye week. There was no game tomorrow. He didn’t have to get up early for work. He could sleep in. In fact, he could sit here now, and there was nothing pressing he needed to do but listen to Brody’s steady breathing.

“You ever thought about it?”

Brody’s question broke the silence.

“About what’s on Netflix?” Dean was confused.

“No. No.” Brody waved his hands around him. “Like, we were talking to Wes and Marcus and they’re so freaking happy. And I thought, well, maybe it’s not that I can’t find someone I like, that I really like, that maybe I’m . . .” He hesitated. Like he didn’t want to say it out loud, not until he had to. “Maybe I’m looking for the wrong kind of thing.”

Dean’s mouth went dry. “Like the wrong sex?”

He wished, almost the moment the word escaped him, that he’d said anything but the word itself.

Sex.

Brody swallowed hard. Dean could see it, watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with the forceful motion. “Yeah,” he said.

Because now the word, the idea , was hanging in the room, thickening up his lungs and God , Brody’s eyes were really so pretty. All of him was.

Maybe he wouldn’t have been even thinking it if he hadn’t drunk any tequila, but now he was, and he couldn’t shove that thought back in the box no matter how much he kinda wanted to.

“So, yeah,” Brody said wryly, a flush creeping up his cheekbones. “You ever thought about it?”

Dean realized he’d been silent for probably way too long. Maybe to Brody, he looked panicked, like he couldn’t wait to escape back into his room and away from this awkward conversation.

“Forget it,” Brody said, suddenly, pushing himself upright. In a second, he’d be off the couch and gone, and nothing would be right between them after this.

Or maybe it would go back to the way it was, just two guys who’d had a few drinks who were wondering.

But then it occurred to Dean that Brody was being honest. Not only that, but he was laying his insecurities and worries and thoughts bare. While Dean was still trying to figure out what his were.

Wes would tell him that if someone opened up to him, it was only the right thing to do to reciprocate. To at least make an effort.

“No,” Dean said and reached out, tugging Brody back down to the couch. He went easily, and Dean knew he should let go, but he didn’t.

He told himself it was so Brody wouldn’t try to escape again, but the deeper truth was that he liked touching him.

“No, you haven’t?” Brody didn’t frown. But his expression went blank.

“No, we’re not forgetting it,” Dean clarified. Then paused. Tried not to stutter. “As for your question, uh, no, well, um, maybe.”

He’d never been good with words, but plain and fucking simple, he’d never been worse than he was right now. Tongue-tied and mind racing with a hundred things he could say, but nothing seemed to come out.

“So you haven’t. With a guy,” Brody said. His gaze had taken on a speculative tint.

Dean shook his head. That much he could do.

“Me either,” Brody said.

He had a feeling what Brody was going to say, and before he could, he managed to get out, “But we could always try it.”

“Now?” Brody looked shocked, and Dean had a sudden, terribly heart-stopping worry that maybe he hadn’t been about to suggest that.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, if you don’t want to, with uh . . . me . . .nevermind. I shouldn’t have—”

Brody raised a hand to his face and touched him, five fingertips pressing into his cheek, and Dean stopped in his tracks, words scrambling in his mind then disappearing entirely. “Stop me, if you don’t want me to,” he said seriously, and like hell Dean was going to.

He was curious.

And something more, too.

Brody leaned in a fraction and then another fraction, like the closer he got, the more he expected every moment that Dean was going to stop him.

But Dean didn’t, and finally their mouths met.

It was a brief, quick kiss. One brush of their mouths together and then Brody was pulling back. Of course, that didn’t matter, because the single touch had been enough to yank Dean’s eyes wide open.

Not only had he not hated it, he’d liked it. Even the bristle of Brody’s scruff against his own hadn’t turned him off. His hands itched, because he wanted to reach out and touch. Wanted to tug Brody right back.

Brody’s eyes fluttered open, and it was clear he hadn’t hated it either.

But had he liked it?

It suddenly occurred to Dean, a horrible, swooping feeling in the base of his stomach, that maybe his lack of experience was a turn-off. Maybe he wasn’t a very good kisser. It wasn’t like he’d done it that many times. Or cared that much when he was doing it.

But he gave a shit now.

If that was the only chance he was gonna get, it should have been a good one, he should’ve—

All his uncooperative thoughts screeched to a halt when Brody murmured, “What did you think?”

“What did you think?” Don’t say I’m a bad kisser, that you didn’t mind that I was a guy, but that I sucked, that I could’ve done better. I can do better, I promise.

“I . . .I think I liked it,” Brody said softly.

“Me too.” Dean could hear the gravel in his voice. He hoped Brody wouldn’t hear the desperation—and he hoped he would, too.

“Do you think we should . . .uh . . .do it again? Just to make sure?”

Dean cleared his throat. “We could. You know, for science?”

“Exactly. Can’t do an experiment just once.”

“You’re the bio major, so I guess you’d know.”

“We gonna just keep talkin’ about it or do it?” Brody teased, eyes glinting with amusement.

Dean decided that was enough of an invitation, and this time, it was him who leaned in, pressing his mouth gently to Brody’s.

This kiss was a little longer than the first.

It was definitely nothing like kissing a girl; soft but not really so soft, at all. But that didn’t change the way Dean’s blood fired as he fit his mouth carefully and deliberately over Brody’s.

Brody tilted his head, to find a better angle, and their lips slid together, searching and retreating.

He tasted like beer, and something else, something unexpectedly sweet.

Dean’s blood was pounding now, and he curled his fingers into himself, so he wouldn’t reach out and touch Brody the way they kept wanting to. Then Brody reached over and hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once, briefly.

Arousal flared inside him. He wanted that touch everywhere, sliding lower down across his chest, his stomach, then lower still. He wanted to feel Brody’s hand around his cock.

Dean sprang back, suddenly, and then regretted it. Only because he wasn’t kissing Brody any longer. But he’d stopped because that thought had fucked him up. He didn’t want Brody to touch him like that. Or did he?

Oh, he did.

“Well, that . . .uh . . .” Brody stumbled over his words, and it made Dean feel a little better. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling unmoored by the direction this evening had taken.

“What is it about science experiments? Don’t you need to repeat everything three times?” Dean could hear the plea in his voice. Didn’t even care anymore if Brody heard it, too.

“You’re a physical education major,” Brody whispered, but the corner of his mouth was quirking up. The mouth Dean had just been kissing.

The mouth Dean wanted to keep kissing.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He knew jack shit about science, only that he needed this experiment to not be over because it felt like it had barely begun.

Even when Dean had broken their kiss before, Brody still hadn’t let go of his shoulder. Now he curled his fingertips into his T-shirt, and Dean felt his touch through the worn cotton. Tugged him closer, with just that touch. And Dean went, because he couldn’t do anything else.

They met in the middle, and this time the kiss wasn’t hesitant and it wasn’t so gentle, either. It was sure, and then Brody’s other hand reached to pull him even closer. Dean went, and hesitantly touched Brody, too, fingers brushing his shoulder, then his sternum.

Brody’s T-shirt was newer, the fabric thicker, and Dean wanted more, wanted to feel the warmth of his skin, and so without even thinking, he tugged down the collar and God , he’d never mistake this for touching a girl and that didn’t even matter. Brody’s skin was soft and hot. The ripple of muscle beneath his fingers. Tough and vulnerable at the same time, an intoxicating combination that Dean hadn’t even known he craved until this moment.

Brody groaned, deepening the kiss, and Dean swore he felt his tongue, just for a split second, but enough of a touch that his blood lit up, his cock throbbing in his jeans now.

He wanted him. There was no point in shying away from it or pretending otherwise. And Dean was pretty sure Brody wanted him, too.

Abandoning his exploration of Brody’s exposed skin, he slid his hand down and curled it around his waist, and with barely any effort, shifted him backward, against the old, worn out pillows that flanked each side of the couch.

Brody froze for a second, and Dean worried he’d overstepped. They were being careful, still, mostly . Their kisses were still only PG-rated, even though the thoughts flying through his head were increasingly X-rated.

But he didn’t want to scare Brody away. He didn’t want to scare himself away.

Brody lifted his mouth and Dean was more than a little relieved to see he was panting, T-shirt rising and falling with his breath, all that brown sugar in his eyes nearly swallowed up by his big black pupils.

“This feels good,” Brody said.

Wrong.

You’re so wrong.

It feels fucking amazing.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“We could . . .uh . . .keep doing it.”

“I want to.” I want you. As crazy as it sounds. As crazy as it seems.

“You’re not—” Brody paused, chewing his bottom lip, red and wet from Dean’s mouth. Let me do that. I wanna do that, to you. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

Dean realized it had never occurred to him that any of this was happening because of the handful of shots and the two or three beers they’d drunk over the course of the party and then after returning to their apartment. He was more relaxed, sure, and less up his own ass. But that might also be because he genuinely didn’t have anywhere else he needed to be, and that was an intoxicatingly freeing feeling.

But maybe Brody was. Maybe that was why Brody had suggested it in the first place.

Shit.

“No,” Dean said. “Are you?”

“No, no,” Brody said hurriedly. “ No . I just . . .maybe I was a little tipsy when we got back here. Like calm. Relaxed. But not—not like that. That’s not why I said anything, I just wanted to make sure—”

“No, I’m not drunk,” Dean agreed.

God, he’d just been about to tuck Brody underneath him and really kiss him, to make out with him and touch him and he hadn’t even double-checked that he wasn’t too drunk to consent.

Of course, he hadn’t seemed drunk, but the possibility sobered Dean up anyway. Brought him up short.

“Oh good. God, sorry, the thought just occurred to me, but obviously, someone like you, someone your size . . .” Brody laughed, self-consciously, gesturing up and down Dean’s body. “A couple of tequila shots wouldn’t be enough.”

“No,” Dean said. “But I should’ve—”

“Stop. No ,” Brody interrupted, his voice firm and sure, before he could go down that road. “I want this.”

Good. Me too.

He could’ve said the words; probably should’ve said the words.

Instead he kissed Brody. No hesitancy. No holding back. Poured everything he didn’t know how to say into it.

Like dry kindling, Brody caught fire and kissed him back, fiercely, tongue slipping into his mouth. Then suddenly, they were making out, and Dean was losing himself to the push and pull of their mouths, to the feeling of Brody’s hands skimming over his body. His chest, his shoulders, his stomach, his thighs. Feeling nearly every inch of him.

Every inch but one.

Not that he was averse to just kissing, but his dick was so rock-hard in his jeans, he felt like he might spontaneously combust if Brody touched him—even by accident—or if he didn’t touch him.

But Brody kept studiously ignoring it, fingers skating around his cock so deliberately it had to be on purpose.

There weren’t many thoughts left in Dean’s brain—or much blood, honestly—but he reminded himself that they could just do this , mouths moving together, hot and easy. That was fine.

Hadn’t he just told Wes a few weeks ago that sex was kind of overrated?

Sex did not feel overrated now.

Sex felt like something he craved so badly he thought he might cry if he didn’t get it.

No. No. It’s fine. You’re just gonna enjoy this, exactly the way it is.

He trailed his hand down Brody’s back. It was strong and firm with muscle, and Dean wanted more. Without even thinking about it too hard—or thinking about it at all—he slipped his hand up Brody’s shirt, reveling in the feel of his skin, all those muscles shifting underneath his touch.

Finally, he’d mastered his self-control enough that he was okay—more than okay—with just touching Brody like this, and having him touch in return, fingers digging into his shoulders, when he stopped, suddenly. He pulled back an inch, practically panting in Dean’s mouth.

“You like this?” he asked.

It was probably going to expose him if he said the truth, but Dean felt flayed bare by the look in those molten caramel eyes.

He couldn’t have said he didn’t, even if he’d wanted to.

And he didn’t want to.

“Yes.” His voice was so low, so rough, he barely recognized it.

Brody’s fingertips skated down his cotton-covered chest. Dean wanted to feel it, skin to skin, wanted to revel in his touch in a way he couldn’t yet.

Yet.

“Me too.” Brody’s admission was soft, naked.

His touch stopped short of the fly of his jeans, where Dean’s cock was pulsing, as hard as he’d ever been.

So much for the belief he wasn’t attracted to guys. He didn’t think he’d ever been attracted to someone the way he was to Brody—and it had snuck up, the truth of it not revealed until they’d kissed for the first time.

“Do you want—” Brody stopped abruptly, swallowing hard. Dean couldn’t help it, anymore. He reached up and nipped at his Adam’s apple, sliding his mouth to his neck, not caring about the stubble there, almost liking it more because of the roughness. Definitely loving it because of the long, liquid moan Brody made as Dean’s teeth found the tendon in his neck and nibbled there.

Maybe he wasn’t as bad at this as he’d worried, because Brody sure seemed as into it as Dean was.

Then, finally, Brody’s hand moved lower, just barely brushing where Dean wanted him so badly. Dean’s cock twitched, unbearably eager for more of that pressure. “What about this?” he asked.

“Yeah. But only—”

Dean didn’t get the rest of the word out, because suddenly Brody’s whole hand was there, palming him through the thick material of his jeans—jeans he was seriously regretting right about now—and it felt like his whole body lit up with the touch, and if he’d had any words, they were gone now.

Lost—and they were never coming back.

He didn’t think, couldn’t think. Instead, he slipped his hand lower, right down the sleek, muscular curve of Brody’s ass, and pulled him in, and down, trapping his hand around his cock and finally feeling Brody’s own.

He was just as hard as Dean was, and that was a revelation all in itself. Dean had been pretty sure, but there was no pretty sure about the hard length pushing up against his own.

Surprise and pleasure bloomed in Brody’s eyes, and that was all Dean could take before he was reaching up and pulling him back down to his lips, their mouths meeting in the hottest kiss of his goddamn life.

Nothing had ever felt as good as this.

It was the easiest thing in the world to get carried away. To get lost in the way Brody’s mouth slanted, hot and ready and wanting over his, tongue brushing against his own, and their hips moving together, a rolling movement that was rough and delicious.

The pressure was almost enough, and Dean wanted more. He dug his fingertips into Brody’s ass and pushed him harder. Brody groaned in the back of his throat and a second later, he was trembling above him.

Oh my God.

Dean broke the kiss and watched Brody shudder to orgasm on top of him.

Gorgeous.

He’d needed just a little more pressure, a little more anything , to follow him, but Dean wasn’t even disappointed he hadn’t gotten it, because it was so hot watching Brody fall apart like this.

His eyes fluttered open finally, and they were hazy with pleasure. But before Dean could ask, oh God, what now , Brody was slipping down between his legs, down to the floor, fingers wrenching open Dean’s jeans and shoving them down unceremoniously.

He barely got a hand around Dean’s underwear-covered cock before he was coming too, shuddering as the waves of ecstasy hit him hard.

“God,” he groaned as it finally began to end.

“Yeah,” Brody agreed.

There was no question about it. He’d been so eager, only a moment before, but now he was looking down, at Dean’s bare legs and his come-soaked boxer briefs like he hadn’t thought any of this through—and he was doing it now.

“That was . . .” Dean trailed off. He’d never been great with his words, and this situation had eclipsed any capacity he’d ever had for them.

He’d never expected any of this.

Certainly, he’d never asked for it.

He’d just wanted a decent roommate who helped with the bills and was willing to exchange some friendly small talk every once in awhile when their paths actually crossed.

Well, his and Brody’s paths had just tangled up together.

Brody stood. He was looking anywhere but at Dean’s face. In fact, it seemed more like his gaze kept catching on Dean’s softening dick.

Like he couldn’t quite believe he’d touched it.

Or that he’d wanted to.

Dean didn’t know whether to pull his pants up, but finally, he decided, what the hell, and did it. Awkwardly. He was going to need to take a shower. Frankly, Brody was going to need to as well.

But before he could suggest it, Brody started talking—or more like, he started panic-rambling. “Well, that was a thing. That happened. Just now. I don’t know—I didn’t expect that to happen. We just . . .I just . . .” He snapped his mouth shut. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Right, uh, yeah.” Dean didn’t know what to say either. He was sitting there with his jeans up, but unzipped, hanging open, kind of like his stupid mouth. He should say, it’s okay , I didn’t expect that either—but really, I promise it’s okay.

But he didn’t. Probably because he didn’t know if he even believed it would be okay. He didn’t know if he even liked guys—sure, he’d liked that , but maybe it was just . . .the relaxation? Or the booze? Or the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d come with someone else touching his cock?

Yeah, you weren’t just relaxed. Or drunk. Or horny.

Of course, just because it was the truth, resonating inside him, didn’t mean it was any easier to say out loud.

So he didn’t.

“It was just . . .a thing. Don’t worry about it.” And don’t worry about it, if you wanna do it again.

But Brody didn’t look like he wanted to do it again. He looked like he wanted to panic and then throw up.

“Really?”

“It’s . . .yeah. Don’t worry about it,” Dean repeated. It didn’t sound any more convincing than it had the last time he’d said it. Stupid .

“Don’t . . .worry . . .about . . .it?” Brody’s voice was creeping upward. “We just . . . I just . . .”

“Yeah.” They couldn’t hand wave it away, not with come cooling in their underwear, and an undeniably red patch on Brody’s neck, no doubt a result of Dean’s scruff.

“It was just a science experiment, right? You were just testing a hypothesis.” Don’t say what the hypothesis was, don’t say it out loud, ’cause if you do, he’s gonna go to pieces, and you don’t want to be responsible for that. You don’t have the bandwidth for it, either. You know you don’t.

“Right, okay.” Brody was pacing now, up and down the tiny living room. “Yes. Just an experiment.”

Don’t say it was a damn good one either.

“That’s all you gotta worry about.”

“Alright.” Brody flashed him a grateful smile. “I guess I’ll go take a shower.”

“You should. I . . .uh . . .I’ll get in after you.” Dean paused. Wondering if he should say something else. Worrying that he should say something else. Maybe something like, hey, it’s all good, you’re not really queer, ’cause nobody got naked and nobody touched a bare naked dick. But that was ridiculous, even in Dean’s head. “Uh, don’t steal all the hot water?”

It was the only thing he could think of to say, but clearly it hadn’t been the right thing, because Brody’s face shuttered closed after that.

“Yeah,” he said shortly and turned, walking towards the bathroom. Dean heard the door close and then the water turn on.

He still didn’t move though.

On the TV screen, Netflix asked him if he was still watching.

He clicked the power off and groaned, falling against the back of the couch.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t freaking out too. He kind of was. This was unexpected, but Dean had never been the kind of person to shy away from unpleasant truths. And was this really unpleasant? It sure hadn’t been only a few minutes before. It had felt like the most natural thing in the whole goddamn world.

So, he wasn’t as straight as he’d thought.

He could accept that.

He felt less comfortable about the fact that the person who’d awakened those feelings inside him was Brody.

His roommate.

His hockey playing roommate.

On the surface level, they had nothing in common whatsoever, and it wasn’t like Dean had time to dig down beneath and see if he could find something worth holding on to.

He’d told the truth. It had just been an experiment, and now it was over.

Brody ducked his head under the hot spray of the shower and tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

Sure, he’d been noticing Dean. And not just his body, which was a prime physical specimen. But he’d been noticing him .

And, his uncooperative brain added, it was your fucking idea to experiment in the first place.

It had been. He’d been certain, almost one hundred percent positive, that the first kiss would’ve told him everything he needed to know. That he wasn’t attracted to men. That he didn’t want to kiss them or touch them or have sex with them.

Well.

That ship had fucking sailed, right out of the fucking harbor, never to return.

Brody scrubbed a hand over his face.

He knew he’d freaked out after, that was undeniable, but then Dean had been so low-key about it, so chill, like he wasn’t into doing it again, that he wasn’t all that interested, as fun as it had been, so he didn’t know what to do now.

If Dean had looked regretful or particularly worried about Brody’s panic, then maybe he might have gotten out of the shower and knocked on his door and said, “Shower’s free, I saved you some hot water, and would you like to make out again sometime? Sometime soon , maybe?”

But he’d been casual about it, like it was no big deal, it didn’t really invite a second experiment.

Brody knew he was going to need to forget about it. Maybe not the truths the evening had uncovered, because once those were out of the bottle, there was probably no putting them back, but the idea that Dean was up for more.

That was disappointing, sure, because it had felt damn good, the kind of full-body release it felt like he was always chasing, always craved, but never seemed to get.

But he’d get over it.

He’d need to.

He finished scrubbing himself mechanically, ignoring the pulse of desire he felt when he cleaned his dick, making sure he got all the sticky residue. Dean had been so fucking solid underneath him, so strong and controlled, and yet his kisses had been wild, uninhibited, his body putty in Brody’s hands.

Shit.

Sure enough, he glanced down, and yeah, he was half-hard again.

“Don’t go there,” he told his uncooperative dick. “We’re not going there.”

He’d mostly forced his body to cooperate by the time he opened the door, towel wrapped around his waist.

Truthfully, Brody had been half-expecting—maybe half-hoping—that when he emerged from the bathroom, Dean would be there, hovering around the doorway, and he’d say something like, “Oh yeah, let’s do it again. Right now. Naked this time.”

But the hallway was dark, and there was a tiny light underneath the closed door that led to Dean’s room, but otherwise . . .there was no Dean, apologizing or propositioning him or anything else.

Brody told himself he wasn’t disappointed, but as he shut his own door and he collapsed onto the bed, alone , he kinda thought he might be.