Chapter Eight

The nerves in Noah's stomach intensify with every street they turn, a steady rise of anxiety blooming in his chest and crawling its way to his fingertips. By the time they arrive at Ellery’s apartment, a tall, rust-bricked building looming in the night, his entire body feels wired—like static is racing through his veins, leaving him both numb and tingling all at once. His heart thuds heavily as he pulls into a spot in the parking lot, the sound of the truck’s engine slowly fading into the quiet of the night.

The hurried, almost frantic energy that gripped them both when they left Megan’s, hand-in-hand and breathless, has settled into something more subdued, more uncertain—at least for Noah. Ellery, on the other hand, still radiates the same warm, easy energy. He hasn’t said much on the ride back, but his good mood is palpable, even in the silence. When Noah finally cuts the engine, letting the truck die down to its battery, Dolly’s voice croons softly over the speakers, a little too loud for comfort. As if sensing this, Ellery reaches over and turns the volume down without a word.

“You ready?” Ellery asks, unbuckling his seatbelt and resting his hands casually on his thighs, his posture relaxed. He waits—patient, open—but not pushing.

Noah stares out at the other cars parked around them, half-expecting to spot someone he knows, though the likelihood of that is slim. His social circle isn’t exactly expansive. His teammates are about the only people whose cars he could recognize. He lets out a long breath, forcing a laugh that feels heavy with self-doubt. “Do a lot of students live here?”

Ellery hesitates for a moment before answering, his voice quieter now. “A few, yeah.”

“Right.” Noah swallows hard, his mind racing. “You think anyone’s gonna see me?”

Ellery looks over at him, understanding clear in his gaze. “You worried about being seen with a guy?”

“No,” Noah answers too quickly, shaking his head. “I’m just in my uniform, that’s all.” His laugh comes out strained, the kind that’s supposed to be self-deprecating but lands awkwardly. He doesn’t mean it to sound like an excuse, but it’s hard not to feel like one. He braces himself for a response, something judgmental or dismissive. But that isn’t Ellery. It never is.

“You want to borrow my hoodie?” Ellery is already halfway through unzipping the baggy green sweatshirt he’s wearing, offering it up with a small smile.

Noah waves it off, motioning to the backpack on the floor beneath the teddy bear. “Nah, I’ve got one in here. I don’t wanna stink up your clothes—I need a shower real bad.”

Ellery chuckles, clearly biting back a joke that would probably turn Noah’s face red. Instead, he hands over the bag, and Noah fishes out his hoodie, slipping it on awkwardly in the tight space of the truck. At one point, his elbow knocks into the horn, which blares for half a second, startling them both. Ellery bursts into laughter, clutching his sides while Noah mutters an apology under his breath, his cheeks heating.

Once the hoodie is on, Noah gently places the teddy bear back into the backpack and zips it up. “Can’t do anything about my shorts, though,” he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his basketball uniform.

Ellery shakes his head, smiling softly. “It’s okay. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m tutoring you or something. But no one’s gonna ask.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Noah lets out a breath, trying to convince himself of that as much as he’s agreeing with Ellery. He throws his hood up and yanks the keys from the ignition, the sound of them jangling in his hand feeling like the final note of the night—until he stops, his gaze drifting back to Ellery. There’s something comforting in the way Ellery sits there, so calm and unbothered, so confident in a way that Noah wishes he could mirror. The tension coiled tight in his chest loosens just a fraction.

Reaching over, Noah gently squeezes Ellery’s hand, their fingers brushing before intertwining fully. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, even if his nerves are still making him second-guess every movement. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, shaking his head at himself, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ellery’s thumb slides across the back of Noah’s hand in a slow, soothing motion. “It’s okay, Noah.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, no judgment, no pressure—just understanding. “Can we hang back for a sec?”

Noah lets himself sink back into the seat, grateful for the suggestion. The cabin light overhead is off, casting the interior of the truck in shadows. Outside, the faint glow of streetlights illuminates the lot, but inside, it’s just them—just the two of them and the quiet that settles between them like a heavy, shared breath.

For a long time, Ellery doesn’t speak. He just stares down at their hands resting together in his lap, the silence stretching between them. Noah feels like he should say something, but the words stick in his throat, his heart still pounding too fast in his chest.

Finally, Ellery breaks the stillness, his voice soft but deliberate. “I know you’re nervous. It’s okay, Noah. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know?” He speaks slowly, carefully, like he’s giving Noah an out, a way to pull back if he needs to.

Noah squeezes his hand a little tighter, his chest tight but not in the way that makes him feel like running. This is different. He’s still scared, still uncertain, but he’s here. With Ellery. And that makes all the difference.

They’ve only just arrived and already the disrobed ravishing Ellery in Noah’s head—laying back in his bed with I want you eyes, pliable, his musculature no longer restricted to Noah’s wet dreams and dry spell, pierced dick pulsing with need for him—that image fades. Just a fraction, it slips into sepia, but the falter of it stammers Noah.

“I—but I do want,” he insists, grabbing at smoke. Ellery smiles once more and gathers Noah’s hand with both of his own, as if it’s a baby bird. Frail.

“That’s okay, too. I just meant you can relax.”

“Right.”

“I know it’s scary.”

“You’re not scary,” reiterates Noah with a testy glare— don’t make me go over this again .

“That’s not what I said.” Craning down to look up at the sparsely-lit windows of the apartments, Ellery hums. “Fine. Even if it’s not scary, it is new to you, and that’s normal. I just…” Noah watches Ellery’s tongue swathe over his lower lip in thought. “I don’t want you to push yourself. No matter what I texted you the other night.”

What he’d texted? Noah files through everything they’d sent one another since exchanging numbers, most of it memorized through obsession alone, and he doesn’t recall…

Wait.

If I’m gonna be yours, you’ve gotta treat me like I’m yours.

Shit. Noah hadn’t even thought about that.

Ellery must have been expecting things to go that way though, because who invites the person they’re into back to their place not to get down and dirty with them? Fuck, Noah had been excited about it as recently as twenty minutes ago—he’d been so thrilled with the idea of just being with Ellery that he hadn’t considered knowing the ropes.

Of knowing how to be with another guy in general.

A fresh wave of dread surges through Noah, seizing his limbs and locking him in place, exactly the opposite of what Ellery had hoped to ease with his words. Ellery doesn’t seem to notice, though. Noah’s silence must come across as wordless agreement, because Ellery simply lifts Noah’s hand to his lips, plants a quick kiss there, and then hops out of the truck, leaving Noah behind in the sudden quiet.

Noah has no choice but to follow, though his body feels heavier with each step. The night air is sharp and cold, the wind biting at his skin as they make their way toward the building. Noah only registers the details that land directly in his line of sight, his mind too distracted by the growing weight in his chest to focus on much else. The lobby’s carpet is a spotty, dull puce, worn down and stained from years of foot traffic. A coffee spill on the elevator’s tile floor has dried into a sticky blotch, adding to the grimy feel of the space. In the hallway, the old diamond-patterned wallpaper seems to stretch endlessly, each shape blending into the next as Noah’s bag brushes against his hip, the weight of it keeping pace with each of his steps.

It’s only when Ellery pulls his keys from his pocket, the sound of them jingling in the narrow corridor, that Noah is pulled back to the present.

“Here we are,” Ellery says, his voice cheerful and soft as he unlocks the door and flicks on the light.

Noah ducks his head and steps through the doorway, careful not to bump into anything. He stops just inside, taking in the space where Ellery lives, where he sleeps every night. It feels strangely intimate, almost too personal to witness, and yet Noah’s eyes wander slowly across the room, absorbing everything.

It’s exactly what he imagined.

A modest studio apartment, not much bigger than the dorms on campus but somehow infinitely cozier. The kitchenette to Noah’s left is stocked with all the essential appliances, their surfaces gleaming, wiped clean of fingerprints and smudges. To his right, there’s a plain door—probably the bathroom. But straight ahead, the focal point of the room, is the bed. A queen-sized mattress, far larger than the cramped twin bed Noah’s used to, dressed in soft maroon and cream blankets that look inviting and well-worn. Poofy pillows are stacked neatly against the wall, just under a low window that looks out over the glowing city of Raleigh.

In the windowsill, there’s a collection of trinkets, each one telling a little more about the person Ellery is. A tiny replica of the General Lee sits beside a leather-bound journal with a pen resting on top, and to its right, a harmonica—of all things—lies suspiciously close by. Noah can’t help but wonder if Ellery actually plays it. There's also a BB-8 figurine from Star Wars , its little orange-and-white head tilted as if watching over the room, and a few candles, their wicks blackened from use.

Opposite the bed, there’s a light wooden desk and a laundry hamper, both tucked neatly against the wall. That’s it—just the essentials, clean, simple, and organized.

But what catches Noah’s attention the most are the walls.

They’re covered, absolutely plastered, with posters. Some are old, their edges frayed and curling, while others are newer, glossy, and sharp. Noah steps further into the room, turning in slow circles to take them all in. There’s a Pulp Fiction poster on one wall, the iconic image of Uma Thurman with her cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. Nearby, a vintage advertisement for a long-gone band, their faces ghostly black-and-white against the worn paper. He spots a Led Zeppelin poster, a Doctor Who print, and even a framed movie poster for The Empire Strikes Back .

Ellery shuts the door behind them, locking the deadbolt with a quiet click, and Noah can feel his presence close by as he continues to scan the room. Each poster adds another layer of who Ellery is—his tastes, his passions, his quirks. Noah feels like he’s learning more about him in these few moments than he has in weeks of knowing him.

Ellery steps up beside him, following his gaze to the posters. “I, uh… kind of collect ‘em,” he says with a small, almost shy laugh. “Been doing it since high school.”

Noah turns to look at him, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah? It’s... it’s cool. I like it.”

“I wanted to paint the walls, but that’s against the terms of my lease,” Ellery says with a shrug, moving toward the bed and plopping down with a comfortable ease. He leans forward on his knees, resting his elbows on them, fingers tented as he watches Noah take in the room with quiet admiration.

“Yeah, it’s a good compromise. I really like it.” Noah's voice is genuine, but what he doesn’t say—what he can't say—is how much of that fondness is tied to Ellery himself. The entire space is infused with his presence, and it smells like him, too: a soft mix of shampoo and faint cologne, warm and familiar. It pulls at something deep inside Noah, making him want to bury his face in Ellery’s sheets, just to be surrounded by that scent. But if the bed is anything like the rest of Ellery’s place, it’s probably too clean, probably just smells like detergent, not the raw scent of him that Noah craves.

“Thanks,” Ellery says, his voice casual. He gestures toward the floor. “You can put your stuff down wherever you want.”

“You sure? I won’t upset the feng shui?” Noah quips, a grin tugging at his lips, trying to lighten the growing tension in his chest.

Ellery laughs, leaning back on his palms, his posture relaxed in a way that makes Noah jealous. “You might. But I’m willing to take that risk.”

Noah chuckles, letting his pack slip from his shoulder, then lowering it carefully to the carpet. His hands rest on his hips as he continues to gaze around, soaking in the details of the room. Every poster feels like a new piece of Ellery to discover, and Noah knows he could spend hours just scanning them all, finding something different every time.

“Wanna sit down?” Ellery’s voice breaks through Noah’s reverie. There’s a subtle hesitation in his tone, like he’s trying not to sound too eager. He gestures toward the bed beside him, then to the desk chair off to the side, offering options.

“Oh—yeah! My bad.” Noah moves toward the bed, pretending for half a second like he’s considering the chair, but who is he kidding? He wasn’t going to sit anywhere but right next to Ellery. The moment he’s beside him, close enough for their legs to almost touch, Noah feels the weight of expectation settle over him like a thick blanket.

They’re here. This is it. They’ve arrived at Ellery’s apartment, just the two of them, with the unspoken promise of what that might mean. Ellery’s earlier invitation had carried that unmistakable undertone, sweet and slow, and now it hangs in the air between them, waiting for Noah to decide how to handle it.

For a fleeting second, Noah wonders if he’d accepted too quickly. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this—this quiet, this closeness, this choice that now sits squarely on his shoulders.

Ellery sighs, long and content, breaking the silence. “You must be exhausted,” he says, turning his head slightly to look at Noah.

Noah blinks, caught off guard. “Why?”

Ellery gives him a small, confused smile. “The… the game?”

“Oh. Right.” Noah shakes his head, almost embarrassed he’d forgotten the entire reason for tonight. “I’m… I’m fine.”

Ellery’s eyebrows raise, but he nods, accepting the answer. “Oh. Good.”

“Yeah.”

And just like that, the conversation falls flat, sinking into a long, awkward pause.

This is agonizing .

Noah’s hands fidget inside the sleeves of his hoodie, wringing the fabric nervously. His mind races with all the things he should be doing—reaching out for Ellery’s hand again, leaning in to kiss his cheek, something . It wouldn’t take much to start something here, to let things progress naturally. All it would take is one small gesture—a touch, a peck on the lips—and the tension between them would break. He knows it, feels it humming in the air, just waiting for him to act. But that’s the problem. Noah’s the one who has to initiate. He’s the one with the power here, and the responsibility that comes with it feels like too much. He can’t help but think back to what Ellery had said earlier, about not having to do anything he didn’t want to. Ellery had given him the reins, letting Noah set the pace, and that should be comforting. But instead, it feels like pressure.

How had he even managed to kiss Ellery in the first place? At that party, when everything had been chaotic and loud, when the alcohol had dulled his nerves and the energy of the crowd had carried him through it—it had all felt so easy then. But now, here, in the quiet intimacy of Ellery’s apartment, Noah feels like he’s completely out of his depth.

Noah glances sideways at Ellery again, who’s still sitting beside him, patient as ever. His expression remains calm, but Noah can feel the subtle weight of expectation beneath that calm exterior. Ellery isn’t pushing—he never does—but he’s waiting. And that waiting, that patience, only seems to make Noah’s nerves worse. His thoughts are spiraling, heart racing as he battles the urge to lean over, to close the gap between them and kiss Ellery like he wants to. But the wanting and the doing are worlds apart, and Noah feels stuck in the space between.

“Noah.”

The soft sound of his name pulls him out of his own head. He turns his head slightly, just enough to side-eye Ellery. The blond is still so calm, so composed—there’s concern in his eyes, sure, but no impatience. No frustration. Ellery’s always like this, always steady, always willing to let Noah set the pace.

“It’s okay. We can just watch something, if you want.”

Noah's mind reels. No. That’s not what he wants. He’s here, in Ellery’s apartment, in this soft, dimly lit space that smells like him, that feels like an invitation. He doesn’t want to watch TV and pretend the tension doesn’t exist. But at the same time, his body refuses to move, locked in place by the sheer weight of his own nerves.

“I’m—give me a minute. I’ll be okay. Sorry.”

Ellery shakes his head, still so understanding it makes Noah feel worse. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. You wanna lay down together? Cuddle?”

Cuddling leads to… other stuff, Noah thinks. The very thought sends another spike of anxiety through him, mingling with something far more electric. He wants that closeness, wants to be in Ellery’s arms, but the thought of where it might lead, the pressure of what comes next, is almost paralyzing. “Maybe,” he mumbles, unsure of his own voice.

Ellery twiddles his thumbs for a moment, then stands suddenly, the motion sending a jolt through Noah’s system. His pulse spikes, and for one irrational second, he’s certain Ellery’s going to ask him to leave, to escort him back down to the truck, because clearly Noah’s not ready for this.

“You want something to help you relax?” Ellery’s voice is casual, but when Noah looks up, he notices the absence of Ellery’s usual smile. There’s no cruelty in Ellery’s face, only an earnest eagerness to make things easier for Noah, but that only tightens the vice around Noah’s chest. Why is he so nice? Why is he so good about everything? It makes Noah feel worse, like he’s only going to let Ellery down once he realizes that Noah has no idea what he’s doing, no idea how to navigate this, and probably shouldn’t be in bed with a guy like Ellery at all.

Noah lowers his gaze to his hands, his throat dry, mind racing. “Ellery…” he starts, unsure of where he’s going with the thought, but needing to say something . He palms the back of his neck, trying to steady his breathing, but it’s unsteady, like the words lodged in his chest. “You don’t want me drunk for all of our time together, do ya? I don’t want that. I wanna be able to have you… sober. Y’know?”

Ellery lets out a laugh—a real, lighthearted laugh that cuts through the fog of Noah’s nerves, a tinkling sound that startles him out of his spiral. “I’m not talkin’ about beer, man,” Ellery says with a grin. “You ever smoke?”

“You mean weed?” Noah watches as Ellery crosses the room to the window, pushing it open to let in a rush of cool night air. The breeze flutters the edges of a few posters, the room filling with the crisp, clean scent of the outdoors.

“Yep,” Ellery confirms. “Ever get high?” Without waiting for an answer, he bends down and opens the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a small bong and a bag of pot. The action is casual, familiar, but Noah’s eyes linger a second too long on the curve of Ellery’s back as he reaches for the drawer, feeling a flush of heat that makes his anxiety twist into something else entirely.

“Not in a few years,” Noah admits, rubbing his neck again. He can feel the tension building there, and he’s sure the skin is going to be raw before the night is over.

Ellery pauses, half-sitting on the edge of his desk, glancing back at Noah with a thoughtful look. “Are you okay with it? We don’t have to. I don’t have any beer though.”

“It’s totally fine,” Noah says quickly, almost too quickly, eager to keep the momentum going before his nerves can choke him again. “It wasn’t really a choice to stop smoking. Just not my friends’ thing, y’know?”

Ellery snorts softly as he starts packing the bowl, his fingers working with the ease of practice. “See, that’s weird to me. Smoking is way easier on recovery than alcohol. I’d think athletes would prefer some coughing over hangovers a few times a week.”

Noah chuckles, grateful for the distraction. “You haven’t met my friends.”

“I met Ward,” Ellery says, glancing up with a snarky grin.

“Shit.” Noah winces, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Noah, I’m just teasing! Honestly, I was more mad that he cockblocked us.” Ellery, quick and efficient, preps his ride of choice, dusting off his hands with a flourish before heading to the kitchen. He fills the bong with water, even adding ice cubes to the long, tube-like part. Noah watches, intrigued; he’s never seen anyone do that before. “I was just about to get a kiss, goddammit! And now that teddy bear’s perfect wingman abilities have gone to waste. I was a shoo-in!”

Noah chuckles, letting Ellery’s playful demeanor wash over him, and he feels his tension start to fade. His muscles loosen as Ellery returns, carefully sitting down and producing a lighter from his palm. “Well, we ended up at your place anyway, didn’t we?”

Suddenly, Ellery stops, the hand holding the lighter dropping to his thigh in defeat. With soft eyes and a small, hopeful smile, he asks, “Noah, was the bear stupid?”

“What?!” The palpable sense of defeat in Ellery’s voice makes Noah burst into laughter. “No! It was… really sweet,” he finally decides, giving Ellery his best grin.

The way Ellery lights up, mirroring Noah’s smile while his gaze flickers down to Noah’s lips, is overwhelming. “Well good. I’m glad.” He extends the bong to Noah and nudges the lighter into his hand. “Start us off?”

“Sure.” It’s been a while, but Noah feels confident he remembers how to do this. He hikes one knee up onto the bed, flicks the lighter—and it goes out. He tries again, a few more times, getting flashbacks to their last attempt at this. Then he realizes it’s the breeze coming in through the window. “Can we close that?” he asks, pointing.

“No, sorry. Can’t have it stinking up in here.” Ellery purses his lips and leans over, mumbling, “Here,” as he shields the lighter from the wind with his hands. His cocoon is close to Noah’s fingers, and it’s such a small, intimate gesture that Noah can’t help but blush.

“Thanks.” Finally, on his sixth attempt, the flame catches, and Ellery’s hands hover protectively over it as Noah brings the lighter to the weed. The chamber fills with smoke, and Noah takes a hit, expecting a harsh burn and a coughing fit—but the ice cubes make all the difference, and he stares at the bong in awe. Ellery giggles, and Noah crawls over to the window, puffing his smoke outside.

“Nice, right?” Ellery grins.

“That’s amazing! It didn’t burn at all.”

“Well, you’re also used to smoking cigarettes, so that might have something to do with it.” It’s Ellery’s turn now, and as he strikes the lighter, Noah instinctively returns the favor. He doesn’t need to get as close to the flame, though, and Ellery smirks as he takes a hit. Exhaling toward the window, he nods at Noah’s hands. “Your hands are so big, dude.”

“I know.” Noah smiles, turning his hands around to inspect them. “Is that weird?”

“Here,” Ellery says, holding up one of his own. Noah’s familiar with this; it often happens when he meets fans with kids. He fits their palms together, and Ellery’s eyes widen as he realizes just how much Noah’s fingers dwarf his own. “Whoa.”

“Not too bad, right? Usually people make me feel like a freak.”

“No way,” Ellery snorts, busying himself with another hit as Noah starts to feel the buzz of the smoke settling in. He’s light, floating around internally, bouncing from poster to poster in his mind. “I love how big your hands are. S’hot,” Ellery hisses through the smoke, popping Noah’s bubble and grounding him.

“No.”

“Yep! Biceps too. All of you is just… really nice to look at, Noah.”

Noah feels a wave of pleasant warmth wash over him, and he presses his hand to his mouth, staring at Ellery, who sets the bong down on the desk and flashes a winning smile. If he isn’t careful, Noah knows he’ll get lost in those eyes and never find his way back. Not when he’s being flattered by someone so far out of his league.

“No,” he insists, muffled, and Ellery barks a laugh. “Stop, bro. It’s embarrassing.”

“I think you like being told you’re handsome, Noah.”

“Elleryyy.”

All Ellery does is beam sweetly at Noah, looking at him like he’s the center of his universe now that he’s stoned. The warmth of Ellery's gaze makes Noah feel both flattered and a little shy, and he starts to feel safe from the barrage of compliments—until Ellery suddenly ducks down and pulls something from his desk drawer, shaking it in a fist with a rhythmic click.

“Never thought I’d get to see you in my bed, that’s for damn sure,” Ellery quips, eyes sparkling.

“What do you got there?” Noah asks, desperate to redirect the conversation. He can feel his cheeks warming, and he knows he’ll melt if the compliments keep coming. In lieu of an answer, Ellery holds up a small, iridescent green bottle, and Noah squints at it. “Is that… nail polish?”

“Yeah! Do you mind?”

“Nah,” Noah shrugs, waving Ellery off and fluffing his hair, trying to act nonchalant. “Go nuts.”

“I meant on you, man,” Ellery prods, grinning wide, and Noah feels his jaw drop.

“No! That’s super girly.”

“No it ain’t. It’s just pigment. Color.” Settling back down beside Noah, Ellery showcases the polish. It’s pretty—a metallic, deep forest green that catches the light just right. “And if it is girly, that ain’t a bad thing either.”

“Do you use it?” Noah asks, curiosity piqued despite himself.

“Yeah. Sometimes. I haven’t been in the mood for a while, but it’s relaxing to do your nails while watching YouTube or whatever.” Ellery straightens his back, showcasing the seriousness of his proposal, determination shining in his eyes. Noah can’t help but feel both amused and a little flattered by the effort Ellery’s putting into this pitch. “Can I at least paint your toenails? It’ll come off fast, with you running around all the time. No one’ll see it. Except me, of course.”

Noah finds himself squinting at Ellery, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. The longer their gaze lingers, the more Ellery giggles, giving the polish intermittent rattles, eyebrows waggling in mischief. He’s such a goober, and Noah can’t help but smile.

“Fine,” he relents with an eye-roll, hoping to come across as more exasperated than he feels. A small “yay” squeaks out of Ellery as he slides down to the floor and starts untying Noah’s shoes, sitting cross-legged.

“I can do that!” Noah huffs in mock indignation, starting on the other shoe and toeing them off along with his socks. Once his toes are bared, he worries about the fact that he hasn’t showered since that morning—but if they smell, Ellery doesn’t let on. He only steadies Noah’s heel on his thigh and opens the bottle, getting to work without hesitation.

Ellery is delicate as he paints, and for the first two toes, Noah watches in quiet fascination. It’s almost like an art form; even a stray bit of paint wouldn’t ruin it. Ellery is so careful, and pleased with their setup, Noah finds himself relaxing, closing his eyes and leaning back against the bed. It’s been a long time since he was last high—maybe twelfth grade, or even freshman year? He decides it’s nice, really nice, and lets himself sink deeper into the moment.

Too soon, he feels Ellery’s breath—cool air blowing on his toes. “All done!” he announces, sounding pleased with himself.

“Oh, gosh.”

Ellery giggles, setting the bottle aside and taking one of Noah’s feet into both hands. “You ticklish, Schneider? Gonna be a problem if you can’t stay still, waitin’ for this to dry. Especially while I’m down here.”

Noah shifts his gaze from the Star Wars poster on the ceiling to Ellery’s face framed between his thighs and pulls a loopy wince. “Don’t call me by my last name, man.”

“Why not?” The question is daring and deep, and Ellery’s eyes practically sparkle. The touches on Noah’s feet grow intentional—not skittish, but… there. Possessive. They cradle the sides of his pronounced arch and a single finger slowly trails down his heel, testing the calloused skin. It’s a hell of a distraction for having been asked a question.

“Too formal,” Noah manages, head suddenly thick with runaway thoughts.

Maybe it’s his imagination, or the buzz, or the fact that he actually has relaxed enough to feel okay thinking like this, but the glint in Ellery’s eye whisks Noah straight back to their time on the porch together. Kisses trailing along Noah’s arm, at the time scandalous and horrifying—now a forbidden, fuzzy memory Noah relishes in and allows to course through his extremities. The attention had been pornographic, and revisiting that fragment in time just as Ellery gently lifts Noah’s foot and purposefully pushes his lips against Noah’s ankle is a sobering rush.

Noah squirms, hips grinding back into the bed under Ellery’s predatory gaze. The needle pinning him to a display board, on his back as a specimen to be observed and enjoyed. “Ellery,” he groans, halfhearted but with a thrumming beneath that tweaks Ellery’s cupid’s bow into a smirk.

“Every single part of you is so good, Noah. I hope you know it.”

Without thinking Noah pulls his hoodie down over his crotch, desperate to shield any tenting of his shorts from Ellery even if it’s totally warranted. It’s still embarrassing, after all, and Ellery’s not backing down a bit. “I wanna kiss every single muscle,” he drawls, lifting Noah’s other foot and giving it a matching smooch down toward his toes. “You’ve worked real hard to look like this. Someone should show you how tight your body is.”

Is this real? The dire wish that Noah weren’t high so that he could remember those words perfectly hits him hard, but this is how the night’s going, and he stretches his arms to either side and starfishes out to drag the plush blankets towards himself, ruining their folds and clutching them like life rafts to calm his rattle. “Fuck, Ellery. You best stop if you know what’s good for you.”

“Is that an ‘I actually want you to stop’,” Ellery hushes, and his palm runs up Noah’s thigh, erupting the blond’s sore legs in a stretching shiver, “or is that an ‘I have ways of shutting you up’ stop?”

Noah’s smiling at nothing, eyes slipping closed as the hand exploring his inner thigh slides across the mesh of his shorts. He feels Ellery sit up and crawl in close—hipbones slipping between Noah’s knees, that honeyed throat sweet-talking their bodies together—and Ellery’s so warm and inviting. Caring, taking his time, making sure Noah’s right where he is in this; and Noah is. With a happy hum, he reaches down and strokes Ellery’s forearm hovering over his pelvis.

“I’d never make you shut you up, doll.”

Such a simple word, for its impact: Ellery bites his lower lip and lets his lids fall low, sits up taut and finally makes contact with Noah’s cock through the fabric of his basketball shorts, rubbing a heavy pet that echoes the first time Ellery had ever touched him.

Noah goes to moan—but the sound hitches in his throat, and Ellery stops as quickly as he’d started.

Something’s wrong.

Something is horribly, horribly wrong.

“Uh.” Noah flexes his thighs, trying to wake his body back up—praying he’s in some kind of nightmare—but when he clocks Ellery again, the guy is simply staring at the hand he has on Noah’s clothed dick, shocked neutral. All hints of arousal gone from his eyes.

Noah can feel it acutely now, that despite how goddamn unfathomably sexy Ellery is in everything he says and does—that he’s handsome and enticing to the point that Noah’s entire identity had come crashing down around him—Noah’s most basic of instincts are failing him.

His cock isn’t hard. It’s not even half- hard.

Now? Right now, when Ellery’s straight out of Noah’s filthiest fantasies, here in the flesh, when Noah’s in Ellery’s fucking bed, about to take Noah into his hands like putty—now is when his dick fails for the first time in his life?!

“That’s—” Mortified, Noah props himself up onto his elbows, glancing down at the offending area. He should pinch himself. Maybe slap himself as hard as those “tight” muscles will allow, because this can’t be happening. In the name of all things holy—if this happens with Ellery...? Noah’s gotten out of a lot of stuff in the past through apology and shitty excuses, but shit, there’s a line drawn somewhere, right?! He might as well tie a fucking coroner’s tag around his dick if this is how this is gonna go.

Words clog behind his teeth, and where Ellery has never let Noah flounder in the past, he’s still wearing that expression of total blank. His hand’s still on it, and Jesus Christ, wake up!! Either from this nightmare, or if the limp dick could stop, that would be fine too!

“Ellery, I’m… I dunno,” Noah blurts airlessly, fumbling for words. “I’m into it! I am, I swear to God, I’m—I’m turned on up here!” He motions wildly to his upper half, and Ellery finally, blessedly reanimates. He offers a smile of condolences that reads false disappointment all over before raising from his knees and crawling to lay beside Noah.

“Calm down, Noah. It’s really okay. It happens sometimes.”

“I’m—you gotta believe me, please say you believe me?”

“I do,” Ellery nods, but the spark is gone from his movements. “It happens sometimes. Might be ‘cause I got you stoned,” he laughs half-heartedly, and that’s it then, isn’t it?

Noah has officially fucked this up beyond repair.

There aren’t enough apologies to cover for a faux pas like this, and so Noah resigns himself to staring at the ceiling. He zones out looking between posters and rehomes the blankets to pile on his chest, seeing Ellery check his phone in his periphery. But it must just be to get the time, because he clicks it off swiftly and clears his throat.

“You wanna stay the night? It’s late. We can still cuddle.”

Noah turns it over in his head, numb from every angle and unable to see a reason to stay. Ellery hates him now. To him, surely it seems like all the promises of reciprocation were lies, and he’s only offering his bed out of some obligatory kindness.

“You don’t want that,” Noah whispers, and Ellery nudges him with his knee.

“Noah, I promise it’s okay! I mean, yeah, I’m fuckin’ worked up to the moon and back, but you think I’d forget how you normally want me just like that?” He snaps his fingers.

It’s… well. That’s a fair point. Noah had been ravenous for that nude of him. And on the porch. And dozens of times alone with his hand. Christ.

Carefully, Noah rolls onto his side and startles a bit to find himself nose-to-nose with Ellery. But he doesn’t correct the distance—just fixes his attention on the stubble on Ellery’s chin. “You really won’t mind if I stay?”

“You think I only want you for your dick, Noah?” Ellery asks sincerely, and subdued, Noah shakes his head barely.

“Nah.”

“Right. I’d love to cuddle with you. Please don’t beat yourself up about this. We’ll have more opportunities.” A hopeful smile tickles Ellery’s cheeks, and Noah heaves a sigh, admiring his eyelashes before creeping forward and kissing one of them.

“Thank you. I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“Weed. Performance anxiety. Exhaustion. Take your pick.”

Performance anxiety.

That’s even worse, ‘cause that’s definitely it, Noah realizes as soon as he hears it. And that can’t be fixed by eating chips or getting a good night’s sleep.

“Fuck.”

“We will,” Ellery teases, rubbing the length of Noah’s arm and eyeing his bicep. Right. He’s still revved up and ready to go, no doubt. Noah fiddles with his eyebrow bar, only thinking better of it when the risk of infection nags at him distantly.

God, he wants to evaporate, but he’ll have to settle for trying to apologize thoroughly enough until they fall asleep—even the thought of trying to get Ellery off without worrying about himself is unnerving. He’d do it wrong. He’d fuck up somehow.

“You need anything, before we hit the hay?” Ellery asks, sitting up and resetting the atmosphere.

Casting the blankets aside, Noah tries to seriously consider it and can only think of one thing. “Would you mind if I take a shower? Don’t wanna sleep in your bed all dirty from sweat.”

“You can’t tell me what I wouldn’t want,” jests Ellery, smirking. At least he’s still in good spirits.

“Trust me—there’s a difference between good body odor and bad body odor.” Hell, maybe it’s for the best Noah couldn’t “perform.” He likely reeks and Ellery is just being kind.

“Yeah, you can shower. Towels are under the sink. There’s an extra toothbrush in there too, in its packaging,” Ellery nods. “You need pajamas?”

“Uh… nah. I can—I have a change of clothes in my pack,” Noah stands and throws a thumb at the bag slumped against the wall. “If you don’t mind me… sleeping in my boxers?” The look Ellery gives him is sarcastic without words, and Noah bobs his head in chagrined truth. “Right. I’ll… I’ll go shower.”

A clean pair of underwear later in his listless fingers, Noah lets himself into the bathroom and shuts the door, slumping back against it. He’s still high, and that’s fine, but it’s making thinking difficult. Everything had gone from wonderful to circle of hell so fast that he isn’t sure it had even happened—only it definitely had, and now Ellery probably thinks he isn’t sexy, which in itself is the most laughable notion Noah’s ever kicked out of his own head.

What a fucking mess.

Stripping down and setting his clothes on the toilet, he turns on the shower as hot as the water will go and promises to make this fast in case Ellery pays utilities. A clean towel is retrieved and left out, and he steps into the stream of water so quickly that it scalds his skin red and steams his vision over.

Good. He doesn’t want to be able to see any part of himself in here, honestly. If his toe polish washes off, that’s… fine.

Careful not to upset the zen of Ellery’s shower, he picks and chooses things carefully—borrows a hanging loofah to scrub a tiny amount of body wash into the pits of his neck, arms, and groin. The water crashes hard over his scalp when he wets his hair and massages a bare minimum of shampoo into it. Why should he be allowed to use Ellery’s toiletries, anyway?

Noah stands in the stall and betrays his earlier promise of a short wash, closing his eyes and letting the wet cascade over his brow and rivulet down over his eyelids. The warmer he gets, the more fatigued he admits he is; his muscles unknot and unravel, his joints loosen, and breathing becomes easier and more natural.

He’d won a game today. It was supposed to be a good day.

Hopefully down the road when they’re inevitably not talking anymore, Ellery will remember the win and not the spectacular failure that had occurred after.

If Noah’s lucky, that’ll be the only part of him that Ellery will remember.

A noise nudges Noah from his fugue—a thudding click—and he steps from the water and rubs his reddened eyes open with care. The bathroom settling?

But then Ellery’s soft voice comes to him from the linoleum, imploring and timid.

“Noah…?”

Despite being soaked, Noah’s suddenly parched.

“S-Sorry—I’m done, let me just—”

“Wait.”

Noah stills his hand over the faucet’s knob, straining his ears to hear over the rush.

“Can I join you…?”

Noah eases to his full height, eyeline over the showerhead, and he turns to examine Ellery’s shadow on the curtain. “...Yeah.”

The plastic separating them rustles to the side, and Noah’s heart skips a beat when Ellery’s lithe, undressed form steps his way into the shower lightly and pulls the curtain to. There’s too much vapor to see him clearly, but the space he takes up is so much more than Noah would have assumed—Ellery’s never been as small as the people in Noah’s history. In that moment where he turns and looks up at Noah with soft cerulean eyes, Noah is humbled by his presence.

Why should Ellery praise Noah’s muscles when his own are so perfect? The angles of his sharp shoulders and slope of his chest are perfect, the dip of his collarbones are perfect, his angelic face is perfect, his stomach that beads water and trails down towards his cock—unpierced from this angle and not as neglected-looking as Noah has feared—is perfect, perfect, perfect.

Looking at Ellery’s nudity in earnest, Noah knows he wants to change. In a big way; he wants to steer the path of his life in a way he hasn’t before, even if it’s terrifying, even if he doesn’t know where he’ll end up—so long as Ellery is part of the destination. He’s the only thing that makes sense in Noah’s muddled mind.

Ellery’s holding his gaze, surreal as anything Noah’s never been able to explain. With attention to their limbs—careful not to let their bodies touch—Ellery steadies his arm on the wall and stretches onto his tiptoes to kiss Noah.

It’s gentle at first, testing the heat of the shower and malleability of his partner, yet when Noah reveals himself with a breathy whine, Ellery breaks instantly. He licks his way into Noah’s mouth with a desperation belying the state of his cock. The kiss is wet—irresistible in a brand exactly specific to this careful experiment, just like the rest of Ellery—and Noah subjects himself to it with open arms.

Stubble scratching his cheeks. Ellery tastes like weed and something sweet that Noah wants to have on his tongue for weeks to come. Prying his eyes open just enough to see Ellery’s focus trained on Noah’s blushing cheeks, he rumbles and reaches for him just in time for Ellery to pull away, stunned.

“I—Noah,” he starts, placing a careful hand on Noah’s chest to keep him at bay. Noah swelters over him, and Ellery swallows hard, struggling to get words out. Pupils blown wide. “I’m sorry. I… I went about it wrong, earlier. I told you that I was going to let you make the first move, and I didn’t. You need to be prepared for it and initiate it yourself, not have it sprung on you. You should be in control, and you should want it, and—”

Noah’s heard enough.

He wraps an arm around Ellery’s waist and brings them together, the same way he had when he’d kissed him in front of everyone, free hand slipping down to Ellery’s slick, ready cock, and giving him a hard stroke. Ellery’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open in a silent, wrecked moan, blushing—and it’s the single most gorgeous thing Noah’s seen in his life.

The balls of Ellery’s piercings roll under Noah’s fingertips, railing him with want and filthy impulses too fickle to fulfill in a shower, and—careful not to catch any of Ellery’s metal—Noah doubles down with a grunt. He leans back against the shower tile, pulling Ellery to stand between his spread thighs and pumping body wash into his hand in a clumsy hurry.

Ellery swells and buries his face in Noah’s neck as impossibly large hands find his cock again, now soaped and gliding over the length of his shaft in long, pulling tugs. Each round reckons Ellery further into Noah’s chest and it doesn’t take long before he’s openly moaning, trying to muffle the noises into flesh and—thank God—failing beautifully.

Such a small, grabbable waist, and Ellery feels right in Noah’s palm, arrested against him under the onslaught. He’s trying to brace himself on the wall at Noah’s back, but each time he gathers a shred of his bearings, Noah reclaims it to the steam around them: kisses him roughly, pants into Ellery’s ear, slips an exploratory finger towards Ellery’s ass—not with purpose, just… curious. He isn’t totally sure of what feels good for him.

But Ellery unravels easily, overwhelmed until he’s lost in Noah’s care, a mess against Noah’s stomach and chest, helpless to stop what’s happening to him, belonging entirely to the taller one’s eager embrace.

It would be useless for Noah to try and hide how intoxicating this is.

He can feel himself smirking, eating up every fleeting needy breath and tattered moan that blooms from Ellery’s lips with a burning intensity. Funny how something that isn’t even explicit by Noah’s standards is exactly the most forbidden thing he’s ever seen—something that will pop back into mind clear as the present every time he gets off for the rest of his life.

He’s shaking as well, he knows, on a breaking loop between kissing Ellery and plunging down to suckle at his neck and collarbone.

“N-Noah,” Ellery keens, shifting to drag his body over Noah’s aching cock, “Fuck, make me come… please?”

“No where else to go but my hand, babydoll,” Noah promises, tightening the arm around Ellery’s waist and kissing him, sucking his wet lips, locking him into place and stroking for all his worth.

Ellery shatters into rolling gasps and bucks his hips—rutting uselessly against Noah’s abs, mindless with it but desperate for some sense of control over his own release—and Noah goes white-hot all over when Ellery tenses against him. Fingers dig into his shoulders, scrambling to wrap arms around Noah’s neck, and the gasps shift loud and high into a cry as Ellery spills onto Noah’s stomach, cock pulsing with each shot and causing Noah to brace them both against the tile for fear his knees might buckle. It’s almost too much in itself, to feel Ellery finish on him in warm sticky spurts.

He’s covered in Ellery—proof that he’s good enough, that he’d done that.

Too soon, Ellery returns to reality with a broken constitution, picking up the pieces of himself from Noah’s care and trailing sloppy kisses that sound like sobs against his chest and neck.

“Holy shit,” Ellery whispers, pushing his wet bangs out of his face, and staring through his fierce blush into Noah’s face.

Noah swells at it all—how done-in Ellery looks, the timid smile finding its way to Ellery’s face along with bashful eyes creeping up towards Noah’s, the fact that Noah hadn’t ruined them.

“Welcome back,” Noah husks, knowing he probably looks as fucked as Ellery feels, but he doesn’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter if he gets off tonight; he’s wearing Ellery on his stomach, and Ellery is having trouble even holding their gaze now that he’s been so thoroughly drained. That’s enough—that’s way fucking more than enough. Except for maybe another kiss.

Noah gives him one, squishing their noses together and melting Ellery into gorgeous giggles he could eat up like candy.

“Gracious, Noah,” Ellery warbles, and Noah smiles against his lips.

“I told you I wanted you.”

Ellery’s chest rocks in a way that announces tears, but when Noah freezes and pulls away, he seems fine, water trailing over him and wearing an exhausted smile.

“You ready for your turn?” Ellery asks, and Noah shrugs.

“I’m… you had a real good time. It was already awesome for me,” Noah explains with a grin he couldn’t keep away if he wanted to. He’s expecting Ellery to roll his eyes—to playfully shove off of him and cut the water—but instead Ellery’s cheeks darken as he watches Noah’s face, dazed.

“...I really like you, Noah,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard under the water. His eyelashes are clumped together, long and lovely and wet, and his blue eyes are somehow more intense when there’s no clothing competing for the space. He’s achingly human and beautiful.

And he’s Noah’s.

“I really like you too, Ellery,” Noah admits, eyes roaming him for the hundredth time, and Ellery beams.

“Sooo…” Ellery starts, wiping his cum from Noah’s stomach in thoughtful sweeps of his palm that Noah wants to brush away. Leave it. “What if I want to make you moan my name?”

Noah presses his lips thin in exaggerated thought before stealing a glance down at himself. “Yep. I think we can arrange that,” he teases, going in for another kiss as Ellery laughs.