Nothing in the world can get me to stop thinking about it. Sex with Dillon. I fucked him. He liked it. He said it was good. Not ten out of ten, but at least edging up on an eight. I fucked him. Dillon showed me how to fuck him, and I did it. We had sex.
I don't know what to do with this information. With a girl, I'd be like, "Finally out of the friend zone, fuck yeah, motherfucker!" and tell everyone and then try to get her to have sex with me a lot more. With Dillon…I set out to have sex with his lady friends, and then got put in their friend zone. Then I fucked Dillon.
My first thought, no joke, is, should I text him? I don't know what the hell I'd say, though, so I don't. "Hey, thanks for the post-concussion care. How's your asshole today?" This is like the time when he kissed me, except a million times worse. All that not-thinking I did on purpose last night is just following me around now, biting me in the ass.
When Carter comes back I almost tell him. I feel like I have to look different. Act different. Sound different. Not gay, because obviously I’m not, but like, more adult, maybe? But he just goes “How’s your brain?” and I say “Still hurts” and then Carter says I should get a doctor’s note to have extra time on my finals.
Finals.
Fuck.
That’s a good reason to message Dillon, though. I have passed Stat, but that’s the only early final I have this year. Our Human Biology final is two-parter. I have notecards to write for an in-person essay, a project to finish for Macro, and in Spanish we have to do a full presentation, no cheat sheets, so I have to memorize all of my lines. I focus better when there’s someone else working nearby, another thing that Dillon helped me figure out, so, like, just…goddammit, he’s my tutor. He has a job to do, and that’s to help me pass two more classes.
So I text him.
Study tomorrow?
I can’t, he replies so fast. You’re on your own this week.
I stare at my phone for a second. The fuck? Our final is in two days and he punched me so hard I went kinda gay for a little bit. Isn’t it Dillon’s responsibility to make sure I pass? Is this because I wasn’t an eight? Should I have been a better fuck, and then I’d get to sit next to him while I try to find pictures for my Macroeconomics slideshow?
Or maybe I should have been nicer to him afterwards. And yeah, Dillon only punched me because I misunderstood, overreacted, called him a slur, and then shoved him to the ground. Which is fucking crazy on my part, so why the fuck would Dillon let me fuck him?
“God fucking dammit!” I say out loud, and Carter looks at me in surprise. “No, I just…I really need to pass these exams.”
“Let’s go get that doctor’s note,” Carter says.
It’s not that I study only because I have a really nice memory of being congratulated for my B in Statistics. There’s also anger in there, like, oh so you’re going to fucking ditch me at the most critical time in the semester? Fine. I don’t fucking need you anymore.
There’s stuff that does work. Being around people in the library. Taking breaks. Setting timers. Some of my classmates from Spanish let me join their group, and they take my suggestion that we practice presenting to each other. I can do this, and it doesn’t goddam matter that the guy who taught me how to study is apparently not talking to me after we fucked.
Like a little bitch I try texting him again on Sunday morning, though. Carter and I are going to study for Human Biology in the lounge, if you want to join. No reply. Like, part one of our test is tomorrow, man.
When Carter pauses to order food I check my phone again, but Dillon is leaving me on read. Feeling like an absolute creep, I actually call him. Of course he picks up; a phone call is insane behavior.
“Are you okay?” is literally the first thing Dillon says. He sounds like he’s ready to come running if I tell him my head still hurts. Gotcha, ya smooth bastard.
“Hey, can we study?” I ask. “I for real am trying to pass at least three more classes.”
“Are you kidding me? This is why you call—ugh. Oh, my god, Jay.”
“I’m obviously desperate, man!” I say too loud, and Carter glances over at me. I give him a look like I’m playing it up for Dillon, but just in case I go into the hall. “Seriously, like, great job helping me set up a healthy study habit. Please, please don’t ruin it now.”
God, I sound so fucking pathetic.
Dillon sighs, and I can almost hear him rubbing his forehead in frustration. “We can study. We can only—hey, hear me when I say this—only study. And I think it’s a good idea if we only ever study from now on.”
If I complain it’ll sound gay, so I just go, “Yeah, definitely,” even though Dillon himself said it was a seven and a half, almost an eight, even though it was my first time fucking anyone’s ass. Stop thinking about it.
“I mean, you still have people to hang out with outside of homework and class,” Dillon continues. “You should do that. Reward yourself for all the time you spent in tutoring.”
“What,” I joke, “are you trying to preparing me for Spring semester? I gotta find a new sucker to tutor me?” What I want to ask is if he’s trying to break up with me, but I don’t know if that would land as funny now.
Dillon chuckles just like I wanted. “Build those bridges early.” Then I hear someone call his name, and he says to me all fast like he doesn’t want to be caught on the phone with me, “You can handle the first part on your own, I promise. I gotta go. We’ll study tomorrow night.”
I exhale. He has other classes. I’m still getting what I wanted, which is a study buddy who actually likes helping. That’s all. And that’s cool. I don’t need anything more.
“You good, bruh?” Carter asks me when I walk back into the lounge.
I fix my face. “Fuckin’ scared about these tests, man. Let’s go.”
When Dillon walks into the Human Bio final he looks, like, messy. He’s still in his button down and quarter zip, but his jaw is covered in stubble and his curly hair is frizzier than usual. He also reeks like old booze.
"You okay?" I ask.
Dillon just glares at me with red eyes and sits down.
I'd like to ruffle his hair. I also very much don't want to be anywhere near him because he’s really, really distracting. Fucking awkward. "You smell like death."
"Give me some gum or leave me alone, asshole." he growls, rubbing his temples.
"Geez, fuck you, too.”
"Something you'd like to share, Mr. Givens?" Dr. Aulgur has a special radar for my voice I swear.
"No, ma'am." I wait until more students have filled in the room to whisper my follow-up. “What crawled up your ass?” Aside from my fingers the other night. And then my dick. Oh my god, I fucked this guy two days ago and nobody knows.
“I’m hung over, obviously.”
Dr. Aulgur is handing out the order for our exam—we have a written test and then have to do an oral test individually with the cadavers, so she’s not paying attention to me. I pull a packet of electrolytes out of my backpack and toss it to him. Dillon glances at our professor, then quickly pours it into his water bottle and barely shakes it up.
“What happened?”
He takes a gulp, then quickly hides his drink so we don’t get in trouble. “I went on a bad date, and then I got drunk.”
“When, yesterday?”
“Yep.”
“Did you…” Too many questions. “Why was it bad?”
“We had nothing in common.”
Dr. Aulgur calls me over then to talk about my extra test time. I have it if I need it, but I’ll need to start with the cadaver stuff and then do the written while everyone else is doing their oral exams tomorrow.
“Unfortunately, that’s the best I can do with such short notice,” she tells me.
Yeah, sucks to get a concussion on the weekend, doctor.
“Can I do the written test in another room?” I ask. “I have a hard time filtering out distractions.” Another thing Dillon pointed out for me.
Dr. Aulgur sighs. “I’ll see if I can find a monitor for you.”
“Jesus, am I that much of a burden?” I mutter, and am embarrassed to see that not only did my professor hear me, but she’s turning red.
“My frustration is with a system that makes it difficult to adjust quickly for students with specific needs,” she says quickly. “Not about you, Mr. Givens.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry.”
“No, I apologize for giving you the wrong impression.”
Not once in my life has an adult said a genuine sorry to me, so I don’t really know what to do here. I just mumble something and go back to my seat. Dillon snorts a little bit. Honestly, what the fuck is with him today? I want to tell him he’s being a bitch, but like, am I just mad that he’s not showing, you know, the care and kindness from Friday night? After my head trauma?
It’s a fucking chore to focus on my exam after that, but I do it. Dr. Aulgur has me come to the cadaver room with just her, and I have to examine the female body and point out various organs. Spleen, gall bladder, uterus; this part is actually pretty easy after spending the last month paying attention. I’m not going to start looking at medical schools or anything, but if you ask me to palpate a liver then I fucking can.
Dr. Aulgur tells me good job.
Holy shit.
I can’t go back to the classroom while the other students are still finishing the written test, so I wander over to the cafeteria. Carter will join soon enough, but I’ll bet that Dillon meets up with Viera or Kayleigh or somebody and tells them all about his bad date. Is that who he was with yesterday?
My spaghetti and meat sauce doesn’t look as appetizing anymore, for some reason. I should be hungry, but I don’t know, maybe getting a concussion messed up my digestive system for a little bit. I look at my phone, but no new messages. Dr. Aulgur told me I did a good job on the oral exam, which is forty percent of the final, so I’m probably going to pass the class. That feels awesome, but I’m not going to get Dillon-level enthusiasm by telling some rando. Today I doubt Dillon would even be that impressed.
When my roommate joins me I’m still picking at my cold lunch.
“How did that go?” Carter asks as he sits down. “I think I fucked up at least three of the questions. What’s the oral exam like?”
For the first time in my life I don’t want to tell my friend exactly what’s on the test. “Oh, uh, you have to point out organs and shit,” I answer him. “I think it’s different for everyone.”
Carter sighs in relief. “Okay, I can do that. Was it hard?”
“Nah, but all I do is study now,” I say with a shrug.
“Nerd!” Carter yells, shoving me playfully.
Okay, we’re cool. This is normal, and I’m normal, and I’m only downplaying how I did because Carter still gives more of a shit about football than grades. He’s also trying to do the bare minimum so he has time to visit his girlfriend at Mizzou and do Sig Ep stuff, so obviously he’s going to care less about my academic shit than the guy who’s tutoring me. It’s normal.
“Was Dillon still in there when you left?” I ask, super casually.
Carter pshaws. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Can’t believe you still want to hang out with him after he sent you to the ER.”
“Hah. Yeah.” I twirl spaghetti on my fork. “That was bad, but I was out of pocket first.”
My friend makes a face that says he doesn’t get it, but whatever. “I think I’m good for the oral test, so can you study with old Iron Fist for the next part? Don’t want to leave you hanging with your head bonk shit.”
“I should be good.”
Which is why I’m still sitting alone in the cafeteria when Dillon finally slides into the seat across from me. His curls are wet and he smells good again. I give him a head nod.
Dillon’s first words are, “Did you not eat?”
I look at my sad plate. “Wasn’t hungry.”
“The salad bar is still open. Come get food.” He stands without waiting to see if I follow him, and even though I’m not concussed I’m still like, this is alpha shit. Taking care of the pack. Not that I want to be, like, be babied. I’m fucking grown.
As I put green shit on my plate I tell him, “Dr. Aulgur actually told me good job when I left, so I think I at least aced the oral exam.”
“Nice!” Dillon says, then he looks like he catches himself doing something he shouldn’t. The next part is in a more even tone. “Looks like all that time in the library paid off, huh?”
I don’t even get a high five? Not that it’s why I told him. “Well, thank you again. I owe you.”
He’s about respond, but then watches me pour dressing over my giant salad. “How much ranch do you need?”
“Enough that I don’t taste fucking spinach,” I reply, staring him in the face while I turn the bottle upside down over my plate.
“You still order from the kids' menu, don’t you,” Dillon says, but he’s smiling like when he told me I was adorable. Not that I care about the adorable part; I just mean that he’s not saying it to make me feel bad.
I fake a huge frown and make muscles at him. “Nuh uh, I’m a big boy!”
Dillon chuckles.
Okay, so we’re good, right? Even if we “only study,” Dillon isn’t still mad at me.
“How’s your hangover?” I ask. What I want to know about more than anything is the date he went on two days after I fucked him.
Dillon grimaces. “Still not great, but I chugged a full Pedialyte and took pain killers, so I’ll survive.”
I almost don’t say it. “I can leave you to it if you need a nap.”
“Big talk after you called me on the actual phone,” he replies with extra sass.
“Okay, listen. Rude. You don’t have to put me on blast like that,” I complain to his guffawing. This is fun. Why can’t we just do this? But I can’t get out of my own fucking way, so I open my stupid mouth. “So why did this date suck? Was he a shitty lay?”
Dillon’s expression closes like door. He sits up all formal, pulling out our biology textbook with one hand while poking at his massive salad with the other. “It wasn’t like that.”
“So what was wrong with him?” I press. “I’m just curious. Too much like Marcus?”
Oooh shit, I’m not supposed to know his ex’s name. I go hot and cold real quick, but thank god Dillon doesn’t notice.
“Too much like y—all the guys I used to play with,” he responds. Then Dillon explains, “Just because I know you’ll keep asking, let me put it like this: getting trade isn’t enough for me.”
“What is trade?”
The expression on his face tells me that I won’t like his answer. “Look it up. I’m done talking about it; I already told you that we’re only studying from now on. Let me see your notes.”
I don’t look it up because I’m not trying to have gay shit in my search history, but I do ask Carter if he knows. His girlfriend watches Drag Race and stuff.
“Dillon said it about a date he went on,” I say honestly.
“And you can’t ask him?”
“Fuck no” I laugh. “I know how hard he can hit.”
Ashlyn tells Carter what she thinks the definition is, and I’m like, Fucking god fuck shit damn shitballs. Whatever definition you use, it’s bad right? For me, I mean.
Two days later Dillon hands me back my notecards. “You should be able to get a full blue book out of that, right? You added the part about the birds.”
I scrub my hands through my hair tiredly. “Bruh. Tess of the D’Urbervilles fucking sucks.”
“And you can explain why in paragraphs of at least three sentences,” Dillon says cheerfully, tapping the cards between us. “Handwritten, because these teachers are sadists.”
They’re all afraid of ChatGPT, although Dr. Stadler says he knows when an essay is AI. He could at least tell when I used it, which is how I almost flunked a class so easy that you’re not allowed to drop it.
“Well, good fucking luck reading my handwriting,” I grumble, and Dillon chuckles.
“Okay then.” He slaps his thighs in that Imma-head-out way, but not too loud because there are still other people in the library. “I’ll see you around.”
Wait a second. Hang on, hang on, hang on. I knew this was the last study session, but come on, man. That’s something you’d say to someone you plan to never see again.
“Does this mean you don’t want to know if I actually pass?” I ask, trying to keep my voice easy breezy. I’m chill. “What the fuck is ‘see you around?’”
“What? We don’t have any classes together next semester,” Dillon says easily, but his gaze slides away.
I grab the strings of my hoodie just to have something to do with my hands. “Yeah, but, like, we’ll still be friend…ly.”
There’s something that Dillon isn’t saying. Some things he has said include, “We can only study,” “I’m proud of you,” “I don’t think you’re stupid,” and most unforgettably, “Fuck me.” And I know! I know there’s not going to be a repeat. That’s not even really what I want, it’s just that I remember some part of it every now and then, even if I’m trying not to.
Dillon chews his lips—his full lips that are good at kissing, goddammit—and goes, “Does it make sense if I say that I need to recenter? This semester has been wild, and I need a break from all of it. The whole thing.” Then he shrugs. “We’re spending most of the time with my mom’s family in the Bahamas, anyway. International data is crazy expensive, so I just don’t use my phone.”
“Don’t use your phone?! What do you sit and look at?” I ask with fake outrage, trying to cover the bad feeling of not talking to him for a full month. Is this because I was a seven and a half? I’m trying so fucking hard not to be weird about it.
He looks kinda unhappy even though he laughs at me. “I think I’ll be a healthier person if I stay off the grid for a couple weeks.”
“Okay, sure,” I reply. “It just sounded like you were planning to, like, fully ignore me from now on.”
Dillon looks at me like I’m the most frustrating person alive. “Yeah. I am trying to tell you nicely that I would rather cut things off now, before it hurts too badly.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” Huffing, Dillon starts putting his shit in his backpack. “You and I spent a lot of time together this semester. Maybe too much. Things got, you know, intense—”
I’m starting to get it. “Wait, are you blaming the concussion you gave me? You told me not to do that. So I didn’t.”
“You…made choices based on your own…circumstances. I, on the other hand, did not have head trauma and I made choices. Those choices would have made more sense if we…” He lowers his voice as people pass by; his bright blue eyes follow them as he talks. “Had similar interests. Right? But I guarantee that once winter break is over, when you’ve had time at home, and with your friends, then you’ll be back to chasing girls.”
“I’m not chasing you for round two, bruh,” I say, irritated. “Jesus Christ, dude, do I have to ask playground style? Dillon, do you wanna be my friend?”
He gives me this sad smile as he stands. “I’m really sorry, but I genuinely think it would be healthier for us both to be around each other way less.”
Dillon’s shoulders are straight as he walks away.
I can’t kick anything because I’m in the library, so I pull my hood up as far as it will go and put my head down on the table.
So I pass my fucking classes, and the only one I get a D in is Macro because I fucking bombed that final. In my defense, it was the one right after Dillon told me we couldn’t even fucking be friends, and that’s a crazy thing to say to me when I still have two exams left.
“Healthier for us both,” he said.
I’m so fucking pissed, man. Like, way to talk a big game about thinking about other people and being considerate, but then do none of that when push comes to shove. And like, obviously I should never have called him a faggot, but Dillon said he believed that I was sorry. And that was before we fucked!
And Jesus, the fucking…Dillon turned into this, like, unhinged sex machine that only cared about getting off and feeling good. It was amazing, now that I thought about it, that the Dillon who basically begged me to fuck the cum out of him is the same one who is such an uptight goody two-shoes everywhere else. Is he like that with everyone he sleeps with? What if he has bad sex? If it's a two and not a seven-almost-an-eight, does he just lie there? What is a five? Is it different if he tops?
And why.
The Fuck.
Would he tell me.
That things got too “intense.”
When I hadn’t even brought up having sex, not one time? He obviously wanted to forget it happened, so I was following his lead.
It’s not like I have anyone to ask about it. LeAndre’s whole family goes to visit him, Carter wouldn’t understand, Aaron wouldn’t mean to tell Viera but he totally would by accident.
I do have to answer for a D when I get home, but a quick point to the noggin and everyone chills out. Maybe I should get a concussion right before every finals week. My parents are going from holiday party to holiday party with all their church friends, and one time I hear my dad tell someone, “Jay’s still figuring it out. Football was never going to be forever.” Which is pretty fucking rich, given that it was my main thing until my knee exploded this summer. Then we’re off to Hidden Valley like always. Snowboarding is good because there’s not a ton of time to, like, philosophize when you’re just trying not to run over all the noobs.
Dillon calls me on New Year’s Eve. I snatch up my phone so fast, going, “Hello? Are you okay?” but it just sounds like jumbled noise.
“Dillon! You butt dialed me!” I shout. Maybe he’ll hear me from his pocket. “Dillon!”
I can kind of make out his voice amidst all the sounds, but there’s no way to tell what anyone’s saying. About a minute in he laughs real loud, and then there’s that encouraging chant of “Ey! Ey! Ey! Ey!” and I remember that he’s probably in the Bahamas right now. Even if it would be funny to have, like, a thirty minute call logged on his phone, he said international data is expensive.
I hang up.
Listen. I’ll be fine. For real. Like, I do actually have other friends. Not to mention that when school starts up again, it’s like a whole new group of people to sort because all our classes change. I only know my classmates from Spanish 102 because we were together in 101, right?
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Taryn says in Black Feminist Theory in the Harlem Renaissance. She still hates me, I guess.
“Yeah girl, I’m tryna bundle sensitivity training and gen ed shit together,” I reply, taking a seat one away from her. I tap my forehead. “Smart.”
She snorts a little bit, but not in a mean way, so I guess I’m on my way back into her good graces. It’s not that I’m trying to treat her like Dillon. To do that, she’d have to tutor me, then sleep with me—and who wouldn’t want that; look at her—and then of course never want to speak to me again even if she seemed to like hanging out with me. No thanks. But I know she’s smart, so maybe .
Carter and I are both in Applied Mathematics For Non-Majors, which is could be a fucking disaster, but we’re in different sections. Fucking Viera is in Principles of Visual Design with me, which may have way more math involved than I wanted in an art class. My knee is healed enough to be in spring training as long as the school nurse clears my head bonk recovery. Coming back after break just means new routines, and once I get a handle on my schedule it’ll be like last semester never happened.
I’ll be fine.
We’ve been at school for four days before Dillon passes me in the student union. He’s on the other side of the lobby, so we’re not close enough to say hey, but he doesn’t even give me a head nod. Next to him is that Swedish guy everyone was talking about because he had some bit part in a couple of movies when he was a kid, and so everyone’s all “Why is he here? Why not Hollywood or New York?” and acts like he’s a fucking celebrity. I’d bet good money that he likes hanging out with Dillon because he gets treated like a normal person.
Dillon looks darker, happier. His curls are braided down, his button-down looks sharp, and even across the room you can see that his eyes look even bluer next to his tan. He smiles at that tall blond motherfucker, and the dumbass Swede is probably wondering how to get those full lips onto his pasty dick. Suddenly my mouth is dry.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
"Are you going home for MLK Day?" I ask Carter, just to have a reason not to look at Dillon and Sven, or whatever his name is.
Carter shakes his head. "Going to Ashlyn’s. I would give you a ride on the way, but I don’t have to be back until Wednesday."
"I was mostly planning to be here, anyway," I reply. "Where's Ashlyn from, again?" Dillon either hasn't seen me, or he's being a total asshole. I can't tell which.
"Florissant. Hey, are you okay, man?"
I pull my gaze from my former lab partner. "What?"
Carter peers at me in concern. "You don't look so good," he informs me. "I mean, I know you've been super stressed, but you look like you're going to be sick."
"I just need sleep," I respond, rubbing my eyes. Sleep and a psych eval, probably.
Later, I’m walking out of the nurse’s office when I run into the last girl I had sex with.
“Hey Abbie.”
Abbie blinks at me, then her expression gets more friendly. “Oh, hi! It’s Casey, right?”
“Jay.”
“Jay! Right. Sorry. What’s going down?” She actually waits for an answer.
I hold up the note that I got. “I got a concussion last semester.”
“That would explain things,” Abbie says with a nod.
I cock my head. “What?”
“Oh, uh…” she backtracks, “I mean, when did that happen?”
Maybe I should be offended, but she’s clearly trying to be nice. I shrug and tell her, “Just before finals.”
“Ah. That sucks. Um, are you okay?”
“Working on it,” I say.
“Cool. Well…” she trails off.
I almost let things end there, but this girl who I drunk fucked in a random room in a frat house seems like a genuinely nice person. I’ve learned that I want nice people to think I’m nice, too, and also she deserves an apology for the way I fucked off right after I nutted.
“Hey.” I stop her. “I just want to say, like, I didn’t mean to totally ghost you. I was really drunk, and in a weird place, and—”
Abbie laughs, “Oh my god, we are so good. Honestly, I should thank you. That whole night helped me accept that I’m not into men. Like, at all.”
“Wow. Then you’re welcome, I guess.” It’s not about me. My dick didn’t turn her gay. It’s not about me.
“Seriously. Like, I grew up assuming everyone was straight, right? So of course I would be, too. But I should have known when I absolutely could. Not.” Abbie claps her hands for emphasis. “Have. Sex. With. A man. Sober! And I always would end up crying to one of my friends that I’d never be loved, blah blah blah, and then wanting to, like, snuggle while we watch a movie. Make out a little ‘for practice.’ Be like ‘If I were a guy, I would totally date you.’ You know, real lesbian stuff.”
I blink. “Okay.”
Seeing my face, Abbie giggles. “Oh my god, sorry, that’s a classic overshare. I also just got diagnosed with ADHD, which is maybe why I can’t shut up even though we’re basically strangers.”
“Did that, like, help?”
“Coming out? Oh my god, yes. I—”
I interrupt. “No, I mean the ADHD thing.”
“Oh, like, one thousand million percent. Getting tested was kind of fun, actually. And now I get extra time on exams and regular therapy, and I’m about to try meds so that studying isn’t, like, physically painful.” She does a silly little happy dance. “Everything’s coming up Abbie!”
I can’t help laughing a little bit. “Congratulations. Really.”
“Thank you, Casey! Just kidding, I know it’s Jay.” Abbie points behind me to the nurse’s office. “Okay, I have to go see this lady about a flu shot. Bye, and good luck with your brain!”
I know she means the concussion, but…I think I’m fucked.
It’s almost the end of the month when I give in and find fucking Crispin Viera in the student union.
“I need to ask you something real quick.”
He folds his arms, cocks his hip out all queeny. “I’m not going with you to a second location.”
“We can do it here,” I point to the little groupings of chairs by the window. “I just need your advice.”
He chooses one and sits in a huff. “What.”
Might as well get this over with. “So, you know Dillon was tutoring me, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Right. So we became pretty good friends, I think, but then suddenly he was like, ‘let’s not be around each other anymore,’ and it—” If I don’t say it, it’s not real. Although if I don’t say it, then I can’t fix it. “It really hurt my feelings.”
Instead of making some smart comment about me not knowing what a feeling is, Viera leans forward. “Was this after he punched you out?”
“Because I cussed at him? Yes.”
“And he nursed you back to health?”
“Also yes,” I say. Also Dillon kissed me, and touched me, and that’s not what this is about so stop thinking about it. “I apologized like, over and over again, and Dillon said we were cool. Then suddenly we’re not? I’m respecting his wishes that I don’t ask him about it, but if I fucked up I want to know what I did. So that I can, at the very least, never repeat that mistake…with another friend. I just want to know if he said anything to you.”
Viera sits back, analyzing me. “Dillon is a pretty private person, so it sounds like he told me exactly what he told you. Maybe he felt like you were getting codependent.” Then he adds, “You’ve always been a clingy bitch.”
“There it is,” I groan. He’s such a cunt! “Never mind, I’ll figure it out by myself.”
“You can’t,” Viera says with an evil little grin. “You’re coming from a majority perspective, not to mention you have medical, terminal Main Character Syndrome. Also, just for the record, Dillon basically gave up his social life to help you. Give him half a second to, like, enjoy being in college.”
“For the record,” I mimic him, “when you talk to me like that it makes it real hard to be sorry about high school.”
“Oh no! I’m not a perfect victim!” Crispin pretends to cry. But then he stands up. “Grow up. What you don’t know about me, Jayseph Elizabeth Givens—”
“Not my name.”
“Is that I usually don’t think about you until you’re right in front of me. Therapy is a beautiful thing, you know? And you need a few sessions before you get anywhere near Dillon Elizabeth Montgomery. Mkay bye bitch!” He snaps in my face and saunters off, fabrics flapping.
You know, if anyone punched me in the head I would have expected it to be Crispin Viera, but life is full of fucking surprises.
Let Dillon enjoy being in college. Leave him alone, because being around me is not enjoyable. There’s also this thing I’m starting to pick up on, which is basically Straight Guys Go Home, right? All the shit I read about allyship tells me to respect Dillon’s space, to be mindful of boundaries, that he needs a community of other queers, blah blah blah, but like, come on. If he also didn’t have a social life last semester then that means I was his community, right? Right? There’s no fucking way I’m the only one around here not knowing what to do with myself without all the…tutoring. And shit.
I’m really not trying to be annoying. When Kayleigh adds Design and ends up in my section, I don’t ask her anything about the guy I’m leaving alone. I lend her my notes because I think they’re pretty good ever since…well. “Your buddy Dillon showed me how to color code,” is how I put it. When she tells me that the Thetas are hiring a real DJ for a Valentine’s party on Friday, it’s obviously an invitation.
This is an experience reward for being a good student. Way better than an old movie in a dude’s room. The Theta house is less gross than most of the other houses, and they clear their big meeting lounge so there’s more dance room, but there’s also a little fire going outside in their backyard surrounded by the lounge sofas. They have a dress code: no hoodies or sweats or even jeans. It’s basically the classiest party you’re gonna get here.
I show up with Carter’s friends, fellow Sig Ep pledges who I should like better because we’ll be on the defensive line together. Let’s just say that maybe they need judgy gay tutors, too. Somebody to make them read a book or two. So I find other people to talk to pretty quickly.
Experience reward. I should be really feeling this, but I’m not. Getting blackout wasted is still a bad idea because of my head injury, Carter’s in our room with Ashlyn, and I don’t know. I’m just not in the mood to entertain strangers. If I told Dillon this, he’d say something like “Why do you feel the need to entertain anyone? You’re not the host,” but it’s not like I can explain it. The house is packed, so it’s easy to be talking to someone, look away, and when you look back there’s forty people in between you. Then you have to start over again with someone else. Hey, what’s up. What’s your major? Cool. No, I haven’t decided yet. Where are you from? How far a drive is that? Oh, it’s about three hours for me; not too bad. No, I’m not drinking tonight, but thanks.
And repeat.
Fine. It’s lonely. That’s the fucking word. This house full of people is lonely. You happy?
In the hallway I’m standing between two Thetas while they complain about a professor I haven’t had yet. Maybe I should just go back to my room; I’m sure Carter and his girlfriend are done fucking by now. Ashlyn’s fine; we can all hang out and maybe order pizza or something. Not that I’m hungry, but it’s something to do.
That’s when I see Dillon coming off the dance floor. He’s going to have to pass me. Without thinking I stop him by his arm. Dillon turns to me and for, like, half a second he’s still smiling.
“Hey, you been doing okay?”
Dillon looks down at my hand. “Yeah man,” he says like I’m being weird, and shakes me off to follow his friends down the hall.
I know it’s gross to park myself by the door. This isn’t stalking, though. I haven’t kept tabs on him, I haven’t tried to message him, I haven’t, like, triangulated his whereabouts, I haven’t learned his schedule. This is just me keeping an eye on who’s leaving, and being sober at a party for once. The thing about Dillon is that he’s not an all night party guy. He’s said before that he has a strict weekend curfew of two in the morning. “Otherwise it throws off my sleep schedule too much,” he told me once. And I was like, of course, how else do you have time to fuckin’ iron a fresh shirt if you’re not up by eight every fucking day? And Dillon had laughed. So when he packs it in for the night, I’m just like maybe we happen to walk back across the Hill at the same time. It’ll be like a check-in.
For the record, it still technically isn’t stalking when I see him walk out the door and leave after him, because I was still talking to a couple of people in my Spanish class and actually waited until I could say bye in a normal way. So Dillon could be just hanging out on the lawn, or—since it’s way before the fucking curfew he sets his own damn self—have gone somewhere else. It’s mostly a coincidence when I happen to catch up to him right as he’s peeling away from some people he’s walking with.
Maybe I had thought about what I’d say to him when we finally got a chance to, like, be around each other. Maybe I’d thought about it a lot. But after Dillon brushed me off an hour ago I can’t think of a good opening line, so I end up walking up on him real fast like a fucking weirdo and going, “Boo!”
Dillon spins around so fast that I flinch, and loses his balance doing it.
You’d never know I shredded my ACL back in July; I catch him like a goddam hero. “Whoa, you okay man? Let’s get you some water, huh?”
This is a weird thing to say right now, but his weight feels, like, comfortable. Like I kinda want to hold on.
Dillon pushes me away. “I’m not drunk, Jay. I just tripped.”
“So I get to make fun of you, is what you’re saying.” I get the message: don’t touch him. I put my hands in my pockets.
He kind of chuckles as he turns to keep walking home. “Shut up, Jay.”
“Because you looked like—you know those old timey wooden toys with the wires, you push down on their little platform and they, like, dance?” I skip ahead of him to imitate the jerky motion.
“It’s your fault,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too mad.
“Sorry.”
We walk side by side for a little bit, and suddenly I’m like, overwhelmed with how much this month has sucked. Sure, technically I’m doing fine in my classes, and I don’t think anybody’s mad at me—Dillon literally wasn’t even mad when he told me we couldn’t be friends—and I’m finally on track to get back into football. Some of the people I’m around now are cool and all, but I don’t know them like I knew Dillon. Like I thought I knew him.
“Fucking cold out, bruh,” I comment, because it’s about eight more minutes to get to my dorm, and then five more to Dillon’s.
“Mm hm,” Dillon replies.
Without touching him, I make like I’m about to tap his chest. “Hey, I know you don’t care, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. I passed all my classes.”
He just nods and goes, “Nice.”
“So, thank you again. What all are you taking this semester?”
“Um, a bunch of education classes, Sociology, and Art Appreciation,” he says, and maybe because I’m shutting up Dillon keeps talking. “It’s fun; we’re taking two field trips this semester. Chicago and St. Louis. Have you been to City Museum?”
“Where you crawl around in trash? Fuck yeah, dude. It’s awesome.”
“Trash!” Dillon laughs.
“Like, clean trash,” I explain. “Construction site trash. And there’s hand sanitizer everywhere.”
“Something to look forward to,” he says sarcastically.
“Are you…enjoying…your college life?” I ask, because apparently when I’m around too much he isn’t.
Dillon cocks his head at me, kinda chuckling. “It’s okay. How’s your first night on Earth, Mr. Alien, sir?”
“Fuck off,” I laugh, “I’m just wondering if you’re having more fun now that you don’t have a dumbass following you around, begging you to help him study.”
“Ha.” Dillon’s voice sounds weird, so I look over at him, but it’s too dark to tell if he’s smiling or not. He says, “I have more free time, that’s for sure.”
The lights of the performing arts center start to brighten the path, which puts us at the halfway mark. That pathetic little part of me slows down. I wonder if Dillon matches my pace on purpose, or if it’s an automatic thing. A polite thing.
I tell him, “I hear that dumbass is actually trying this semester, thanks to a real judgy friend he had once upon a time.”
“It’s been over a month. This dumbass hasn’t found any intrinsic motivation yet?” Dillon asks in that judgy tone where, like, I know he’s looking off to the corner again.
“See?” I say loudly. “It’s that exact type of fucking little comment that keeps certain dumbasses on task when they get distracted. Other people aren’t as mean as you.”
Now Dillon chuckles. “Stop being on your best behavior for them and they’ll find it. I promise.”
Uuuuuuuugh fuck, I can’t stand it anymore. If we can talk like this, why the fuck are we not allowed to hang out? It doesn’t make any fucking sense.
“Listen. Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Bruh. Like, I really, like, really really miss studying with you.”
Dillon almost softens, his shoulders relax for a second in my peripheral vision, but then he straightens up again. “Give it time,” he says. “You’ll find a new tutor.”
“Okay fine. I also miss chilling with you, no homework.” I stop walking, and because Dillon can’t help being polite he stops, too.
It’s the first time in weeks that we’ve been fully face to face, and I’m suddenly really glad it's when I’m following the Theta party dress code. Obviously I’m not the hottest guy on campus, but I know I clean up good enough. But that’s whatever, like, I could still say all this shit in a hoodie, but Dillon is in a fucking suit, and his hair is braided in a way that looks like he’s about to walk a fucking red carpet, and he told me I was a slob that one time, and I just don’t want to look like shit right now, okay?
Dillon looks at me for a moment, and his face does that thing where he can’t decide what expression is correct. But I know at least some of them now—confusion, frustration, the one where he thought I was adorable, sadness, frustration again. Finally he rubs the bridge of his nose and goes, “I already told you it’s not a good idea—”
“But you didn’t fucking tell me why!” I explode. “Have you ever in your life had someone just go, ‘Oh hey, I know we got really close, but surprise! I think you fucking suck.”
Dillon’s face morphs to angry. Oops. He squares up and yells at me, “I’m a god damn Black, gay athlete, motherfucker. You think coming out in high school was a fucking breeze?”
For once I know exactly what I said wrong. “No, you’re right, I’m sorry. Seriously. That was a fucking insensitive question, and I know that’s why it’s hard to be around me sometimes. I’m sorry.”
See, when you apologize like that and mean it, they can’t stay mad at you. Dillon’s whole I’ll-concuss-you-again vibe immediately goes away.
“Okay,” he grumbles.
“It’s just, like, so…” I shuffle a little bit. “If you know what it feels like, why the fuck would you do it to me?”
“So my childhood friends not talking to me after I revealed that I was gay,” Dillon says slowly, “is like me telling you that three-ish months of intense hanging out is enough?”
What I’m hearing is that it is not like that. “Well…”
“Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“I’m not!” Oh shit, maybe I am. “I’m really not trying to fight with you, man, I just really want things to go back to how they were.”
“When, Jay? Tell me when you liked things the best.” Dillon’s hands come up and goddammit, he’s gonna start listing shit I’ve done. “When you threatened me after I caught you and Brantley? When you had to practically fuck some poor girl in front of me to prove how much of a big, straight man you are? When you called me a faggot for no reason? When you had a fucking crisis while your fucking cock was still—” he claps at me “—inside me? When, Jay?””
From his perspective, I sucked way worse than I could have imagined.
“I wanna, um,” I clear my throat. “Can I do over the part about the crisis? I, um, don’t regret that.”
Dillon rolls his blue eyes. "Oh, I'm so moved. What a grand declaration when nobody's around!"
"It’s a private fucking conversation!" I protest.
"What do you actually want, Jay?" he demands angrily. "You think I’m rolling over for you just because we fucked that one time when you had a head injury?"
What do I want? Obviously I want to be friends again. I want to hang out and study. I want to kiss him while he comes. I want to watch him blow me. I want to talk dirty to him. I want to be balls deep in his ass while he rides me. Turns out most of the things I want are just sex, so instead I answer, "I really do want to have sex with you, though."
Whoops.
Dillon just gestures irritatedly, like that wasn’t a huge fuckin’ reveal. "Why?"
"I don't know."
"Ugh!" Dillon turns to walk away, but I grab his arm.
"I don't know what you want me to say! You can't expect an answer that I don't fucking have yet."
Dillon shakes me off, but he doesn't leave. "This is lusting after forbidden fruit, and you know it. I don't want to be the guy you experiment with and then ditch."
"I’m a fucking work in progress, Dillon. If you want me, this is what you get." I can't help myself, because I want to hear him say it. "Do you want me?"
He frowns. "Once again, I already let you fuck me." That’s not really an answer, but I’ll take it.
"So what's the problem? You want me to kiss you here? I'll do it." I step toward him, but Dillon skips backward.
"No! You don't know how to give a casual kiss, and I don't want to be the guy who security catches dry-humping on the Hill."
The image makes me smile. "That sounds like you're saying my game is on point."
"Shut up, Jay," he laughs reluctantly.
I don't know how to make him do what I want. I mean, I can say the words in my head: I just want to be with you. If I could rewind to that day, minus the misunderstandings and concussion, when we were friends and had pretty damn good sex, boy I would fucking do it. That's all I want: to still be friends and fuck. I don't know what that is, but I only hope Dillon wants that as bad as I do because he did let me fuck him, and he did spend all his time with me, and he is letting me keep him out in the cold now even if he seems mad.
"Look," I finally say, "I spent the entire first semester trying to prove to you that I was a good person. I don't know what it is about you that makes me try so hard." Maybe I started the sentence with something else in mind, but the truth popped out in the end. Why had I tried so hard?
Dillon folds his arms and doesn't say anything.
"Like, this has been the most fucking stressful few months of my life, trying to stay on your good side," I continue. "All the shit you say to me about who I am and what I'm like sticks in my head, and it's like…oh my god, you might be the meanest person I know, now that I think about it. Why the fuck do I keep trying to impress you?" Seriously. At this point I'm just thinking out loud, but I have got to have some sort of weird, masochistic streak to keep coming back for more of Dillon's verbal abuse.
"I don't know," Dillon replies, just absolutely letting me hang myself out to dry.
I’m on a fucking roll, though. "You accused me of being a homophobe, then when I tried not to be would always be like, ‘Try harder.’ You told me I was too fucking stupid to be a sociopath—who says that shit to another human being? And, and!" I put a hand up to stop whatever Dillon's about to say, "then you kissed me, made fun of me at me for freaking out about it, gave me a concussion, and then got mad at me again for feeling weird about having gay sex for the first time in my life. Of course I would crash out! That was perfectly fucking normal reaction! Who the hell are you?"
Dillon blinks. "Um…"
I don't blame Dillon for not being able to keep up with me. I can barely keep up with me, at this point. "It's like, I had you on this pedestal because of Aaron—"
Dillon sighs under his breath. "Of course. Fucking Aaron." He sounds like me when I talk about Viera.
"Hey, shut up." I snap. "If not for him, I probably wouldn't have even tried to be nice to you at all. But I had it in my head that because you were gay and out, somehow you were better than me. And you, you sat up on your high horse, telling me how I was and what I wasn't and basically treating me like shit when I was in over my head the whole time, trying so fucking hard to be the kind of person you'd want me to be, changing and changing and hearing your voice in my head like, fuckin’ night and day, telling me to be less judgmental, more sensitive, more open, and so I tried even though it was so fucking hard, and then we…" I don't know what comes next. "We…"
Dillon is staring at me with those big blue eyes and for once, without a single thing to say.
"You know what? Forget this shit," I declare, and walk past him. "You're an asshole, and I'm fucked in the head."
This time it's Dillon who catches my arm, turning me around. Good. Maybe not good. I knew two minutes ago what I wanted.
"Jay," he says, and his voice is different from usual. It's soft, like after he knocked me out, like when he told me I was being adorable, like when it was six in the morning and everything was quiet except for us. It gets under my skin. I don't like it right now. I keep my eyes on the ground.
Dillon puts himself in front of me. “You’re so, so close to saying something real.”
"I don’t know what that means, and I can't take this anymore," I say honestly. “This is fucking me up. You know I flunked the Macro final after you told me we couldn’t even be friends? The fuck is that? Like, I had studied so goddam fucking hard and then just, like, I kept thinking about it. Everything else just—” I wiped my hand over my head. “Gone. I wish I could vaccinate myself from you."
Dillon looks kind of sad from my peripheral vision. "You know that gay isn't infectious, right?" he jokes, but it sounds empty.
"You made me fucking miserable, dude." It's only when my voice cracks that I realize how stressed I am. Last time I cried it was, what, six, seven years ago? I used to cry all the time when I was a kid, but you get made fun of enough and you stop. Fuck me if I start now.
Dillon slides his hand down to fit in mine, and I let him intertwine our fingers. I should walk away.
"Jay," he says again. He steps toward me.
"What?" My tone is flat. Oh, boy. I am a motherfucking mess. How did this even happen?
Dillon takes a deep breath, faces me, and puts his other hand on my neck. "I have a confession." Our mouths are very close together.
I finally look him in his stupid blue eyes. "If you tell me you drove me insane on purpose I will fucking kill you."
He smiles a little at that. "I didn't."
Then, instead of telling me what the hell is going on in his head, Dillon closes his big blues and kisses me, not a minute after telling me he didn't want to get caught humping on the Hill. And, holy fucking shit, that might be exactly what happens. Maybe I'm extra sensitive now because of all the stress, but if I'm not then Dillon has been holding back. Way back. His tongue isn't even in my mouth and my hair is standing on end. Goosebumps, shivers down my spine, chest tingling—all that good shit is happening. His fingertips are light on my neck, stroking just a little, just enough to set my blood to racing.
And all this after he told me I suck.
"Dillon," I manage to say as he nips at my mouth. That’s—woof. So fucking hot. "Text Brantley and tell him to fuck off."
He pulls back a little. "You can't stay the whole night," Dillon protests. It's not even twelve o’clock.
"Gimme an hour," I insist. "I’ll have you in bed by two." I’ll fucking have him in bed in ten.
Dillon looks unsure, so I put both hands on his face and smush. "Or just tell me what big-ass secret you've been keeping."
He steps back and pulls his phone from his pocket, texting quickly. I’m already starting to breathe a little heavy. Like, this wasn’t the plan, not at all, but fuck me if I don’t take this opportunity, right? If Dillon’s willing…Holy shit. Are we seriously going to fuck again? Like for real? Holy fucking shit. I’m so excited.
Dillon shifts his weight while he waits for Brantley’s reply, and glances up at me kinda embarrassed. When he looks at me like that a warm spot in my chest starts to grow. I want my hands on him again. I want his hands on me.
“This is so fucking gay,” I say, mostly to myself, but Dillon busts out laughing.
“Oh,” he giggles, “you think?”
Wrapping my fists into his coat lapels, I pull our bodies together. “I mean,” I say, “you’re the expert, but it does all read pretty gay to me.”
His long, curly eyelashes brush his brown cheeks before he meets my eyes, still smiling. “Are you sober?”
Dillon’s lips are so fucking full. It makes everything he says, like, fascinating. Especially when I can look at them this close.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, distracted.
“Are you concussed?” Those lips ask again.
“Ha ha. No.”
“Faded?”
“I said I was sober.” And then because I can’t, like, not after Dillon basically gave me an electric fuckin’ shock with a little peck, I lean in and kiss him. So fucking soft.
Here’s my deal: I feel like if I don’t give into every minor, like, impulse, that Dillon will run away again. He’ll be all, “Oh, Jay, I'm always initiating or whatever. You clearly don’t actually like me, you just like what I do to you. No fucking and no friendship again, buh bye.” And that would lay me out. I’d have to just, like, quit school. Like, I for real want to do more than just fuck him, but at the same time, you know, that part was honestly so, so good. The way he touched me so gentle, and then let me fuck him so hard…like, who does that? Who is able to do that? And I’ve been trying so goddam hard for that not to be the only reason I want to hang out with him, and it’s not. It’s not! But it’s not, like not part of it, if I’m honest. Like how one of the things I learned about Dillon is that he’s a really, really good kisser.
“You’re sober and sound of mind, and you want to come back to my room and fool around,” Dillon states like he’s a fucking lawyer and I’m on the stand.
With my hands tangled in his clothes already, it’s real easy to slide one hand fully inside his coat and around his waist. “I want to come back to your room.”
“Okay.” He still sounds like he doesn’t fully believe me, even though we’ve smooched out here in plain fucking view a couple of times already. What’d I say about him running away?
“And inside you,” I add.
Dillon laughs. “Jesus Christ, Jay.”
I wrap my other arm around his back, holding him so close that we have to lean away a little bit so our eyes don’t cross. “Hey. You kissed me, motherfucker.”
Dillon looks embarrassed again.
“That’s a can of worms you fucking opened on your own. All I told you is that I miss studying together, and now look at you.” I bite at his lips, just a little bit, in case he likes it as much as I did. “Ready to take me home.”
“You’re right,” he says against my mouth. “This is pretty fucking gay.”
Whatever; my body is remembering how it felt when Dillon was hard and spooning me, and how getting me off made him get off, and how nice it was to have him touch me.
“I’m gonna get a chubby,” I say.
DIllon, to my surprise, rolls his pelvis against mine. He’s got that challenging look on his face, the same one from right before he kissed me that first time. Leaning away, he goes, “Hold it in. Brantley might be in the room.”
“Check your fucking messages!”
Chuckling, Dillon steps back just enough—not all the way out of my arms—to hold his phone in front of his face. “We have one hour.”
“An hour? That’s all he could give you?” I shout. “A fucking hour?”
Dillon pretends to think. “Hm, I guess if Brantley comes back before you’re satisfied then you could just take a turn with him. After all—”
“I’m gonna fucking punch you in your goddam mouth.”
Dillon laughs. “Come on, then.” And this motherfucker starts actually jogging back to the dorms.
I, because I’ve been doing good with my PT, can actually run past him with no pain. “Fucking slow!” I yell, and he lets me be just ahead of him right until we have about a hundred yards to go.
“All State!” Dillon shouts in return as he reminds me why we could never catch him in high school.
And then it’s all a little funny, because why did he smoke me so bad if he has to wait so he can let me in the front door? And he did all that in fucking dress shoes.
“Rude,” I tell him, and he kisses me. So of course I have to chase him again. Down the hall, up the stairs—I catch him on the landing and fully put my tongue in his mouth—down the hall again and to his door.
He pauses to open the door, and I feel like a fucking moth to a flame when I step in close.
"I want you to ride me," I say hotly in his ear.
Dillon fumbles the keys. I know I'm being a little heavy handed, but I like the way he shivers when I breathe on his neck. When I slide my hand into one of his back pockets the keys drop to the floor.
"For fuck's sake," Dillon grumbles in a shaky voice. He bends to pick up his keys, and I push my pelvis into his ass.
“Ooh, stay there,” I joke.
Dillon, grabs his keys, stands up, and—you guys, I didn’t know this was allowed but it’s so fucking hot—grabs me by the fucking throat to hold me still.
“No, you stay there,” he orders as he finds the correct key without even looking at me.
Oh my god, like, yes, whatever you say. What the fuck? And then he’s pulling me into the room before I have time to think too much about it.
By the time Dillon locks the door behind us I have my shoes and socks off. He takes his coat off, turns around him, and I am on him like a horny dog on a leg. I need him naked, to prove that I hadn't lied to him, that I really was attracted to him. Dillon laughs a little when I shove him up onto the bed and hoist myself after him.
"Tell me the thing," I order, unbuckling his belt.
Dillon's eyes grow wide with false innocence. "What thing?"
I throw his belt to the side. "Your confession."
He shakes his head. "I don't what you're talking—" he sucks in his breath when my hand finds his cock. He needs to quit playing; dude's already hard. "I don't, ah, remember."
I pull my hand out of his pants and get off him. "Okay. Bye."
"No, wait!" Dillon sits up to grab my waist. "Come here, come here, I'll tell you." He puts my hand back on his dick and shoves a pillow under his head.
I squeeze a little. "Get to confessing."
He gives a sassy look. "The moment is gone, though."
"Put your head down and power through." I take my shirt off.
"Argh. Fine." Dillon stares at my navel. "I was gonna say that I've been holding you at arm's length, kinda."
Tapping the underside of his chin, I say, "Oh, you fucking think? Explain, asshole."
"I mean…" he puts his arms—still so cut— over his face so I can only see his mouth. "I mean I knew you were straight, so I was trying really hard not to like you. Like really, really hard. Yeah, I was kind of mean to you, but I was afraid that if we were too nice to each other I'd slip up, and you'd notice how into you I was."
I fold my arms. "You were worried I’d think you liked me?"
"You seemed oblivious!" Dillon exclaims. "I thought you thought of me as Gay Number Three after Aaron and Crispin."
Though I'm still horny as hell, I scold him, "You're a fucking idiot. Just because I'm not as smart as you are doesn't mean I have no feelings. I obviously at least thought of you as a friend." Maybe I’m not that mad, but it kinda feels like the tables have turned and I like it.
"I get that! I'm sorry." Dillon peeks at me between his forearms. "I was just…scared. Because I know in the back of my mind that you're still straight, and it just takes one, like, faggy slip-up before you tell your buddies I tried to seduce you and you all come beat the shit out of me."
My eyes bug out so far that it hurts. “Seriously?” I ask. “That's how you've been thinking of me this whole time? After you kissed me that first time? After we fucked? After I’ve been trying so hard to just, like, get you to fucking talk to me? The fuck, man!”
“You aren't the first straight jock I've ever liked,” Dillon explains sheepishly.
It feels a little better to not be the only moron in the room. "Put your hands down now."
Dillon does, and looks hilariously shocked when I slap him lightly. "The hell?"
"That's for being a shitty friend," I say, and bend over to kiss him. Dillon grabs my ass so hard it makes a smack.
"You will pay for that," he promises, grinding against me.
The room is cool, but I'm already starting to sweat. Dillon's lips leave mine to bite my neck, my shoulder; he drags his tongue up to my ear and sucks on my earlobe.
“Fuck,” I groan, and he giggles.
I have this desperate need to, like, see him naked. I only got to that one time, and we have maybe less than an hour now, and if I spend the whole time wrestling with the sweater Dillon’s wearing on top of his fucking button down? I will die. I pull him up to yank all his clothes off, and maybe I'm not gentle.
“Ow,” Dillon complains, stopping me so that he can undo his own buttons. “Relax, Jay. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?” I exclaim. “You’ve been running away from me for a month. We have less than an hour. Get your goddam head in the game, Montgomery. How fuckin’ long did it take to get you warmed up last time? And if you think for one second—”
I can’t talk with Dillon’s tongue in my mouth, and I’d rather let him kiss me than do most things, so I shut up. Usually I can’t, like, filter out stuff like the wet smacks of mouths together (is that why I chose to be drunk during sex so much?), but with Dillon it’s like the sound sinks into the base of my neck. I keep shivering pleasantly, not because I’m cold, but Dillon’s lips on mine and his hands under my shirt give me goosebumps.
“I’m about to do something you won’t like,” Dillon says.
“What?”
Patting my shoulder, he goes, “I’m going to shortcut the process a little bit and go get ready on my own in the bathroom.”
I pshaw. “Bruh, I’ll go with you.” I’d helped him the last time. His asshole doesn’t scare me.
“Nope,” he replies with a smile, shaking his head. “It’ll be faster if I just do it.”
That panicky, pathetic feeling starts to creep back. “Is this gonna be like when you went back to your dorm to get sweats,” I ask, “ and came back with an entirely different attitude? Because—”
“No.” Dillon slips off the bed and collects a couple things. “I’ll come back with my current attitude.”
“And what am I supposed to do while I wait?” I protest, watching him slip his shower slides on.
He gives me a sassy grin. “Stretch.”
Dillon sails out the door and it takes everything in me not to sail right after him. Fucking tease.
I shouldn’t have this much time to think. It’s always like, I want to have sex, I find someone who also wants to have sex, and then we have sex together. And like fine. FINE. I looked some shit up, okay? Mostly because Dillon said a perfect ten would be coming without touching himself, and I didn’t think it was possible! And there was a lot about how it’s really about, like, the individual or whatever, but a good bet is to get the…guy, like, close before the penetration part. And then the, like, top does the touching instead. Otherwise it mostly seemed like toys are the cheat code? But I’m not out here buying shit that Carter could ever find, so…
“Fuck,” I say out loud, and it kind of feels good to get it out there. This is fucking scary. “Fuck.” I’m gonna have to up my game, like, immediately, and here I was thinking I’d never get another chance. “Fuck.”
I pull out my phone and start googling. Off the school’s wifi and in private browser mode on the VPN that a buddy showed me, duh, but thank god for Reddit. I’m gonna have to look up what “side stuff” means later, but at least there’s some good advice on topping.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I sigh, and just about pass away when Dillon reenters the room right at that second.
He chuckles, kinda looking at me like he can read my mind. “Getting cold feet?” he asks.
I shake my head. But like, yeah I was for a second maybe, but fucking look at him. He’s just got a towel around his waist, so all the curly little hairs on his lower abs are right in front of my eyeballs, his iliac furrows—cum gutters—are fucking popping, the traps and lats, pecs round, fucking mad delts and shit. And that’s before I ever get to his face. Or how it felt the last time he was naked around me.
“Holy fucking shit,” I exhale. “You don’t even look real.”
Dillon gets this shy look on his face before he turns away from me to put his stuff away. And I let him, because I really want him to be in the mood for what we’re about to do. Oh my god, we’re gonna fuck again.
I gotta be a good top. A good partner. Dillon smells like soap, and oh shit “Should I have showered?”
The sneaky look on his face when he turns around is fucking cute. He goes, “I don’t know; let me check,” and grabs my arm to pull me close. Dillon holds my right arm up by the elbow and sticks his full face into my armpit.
“What the fuck,” I kind of laugh, but Dillon’s bright eyes flick up to meet mine as he takes a huge whiff. Ooh, do I like this a lot? More shit I didn’t know was allowed. Then Dillon opens his mouth and bites my armpit. The noise I make—you’d have thought he cupped my balls. Like, I get so hard. “Dirty lil’ bitch,” I growl to his sassy little chuckle.
“You’re alright,” he tells me, but lets me pull his face to mine. He’s like, so fucking good at kissing.
“At this point I better be,” I reply, “because now we’re down to forty minutes.”
Dillon’s about to make fun of me for suddenly knowing how to sense time passing, and I don’t really have a good transition for what comes next, so I just bend to get my arms around his thighs and pick him up. He’s laughing, of fucking course, but lets me put him on the bed and unwrap his towel like a present.
Oh my god, I’m really gonna do it. I’m gonna blow him. Dillon almost stops me; I can tell by the way he sits up halfway, but I’m already pulling his legs to dangle over the side and stepping between them. My heart is pounding so loud I wonder if Dillon can hear it.
“Oh, shit. Oh, okay,” is what he says first, which makes me laugh a little bit.
His dick is in my face. He’s not all the way hard yet, but the thick shaft is plumping up and twitching as it does. I open my mouth.
It’s surprisingly easy. Like, I hadn’t thought about it before, but in this position it’s too not hard on my neck, and whatever Dillon did in the bathroom means he’s all clean now so there’s not like an Oh no, am I licking old piss? Although maybe that’s part of the appeal and shit. I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that I need to prove to Dillon that I’m game for anything. Like, maybe if he has something to hold over me he’ll be less afraid to be with me, does that make sense? But also I want to do this.
“God damn, Jay,” Dillon breathes. “That’s so good.”
I slurp noisily on the tip, watching his adductors shake. I’m so hard. “You must not get a lot of head if you think this is good.”
Dillon’s strong hands tilt my head up. “You think you can do better?” he challenges me.
This fucking guy. “Don’t you dare fucking call this trade,” I warn him.
He smiles. “I won’t.”
And then I fucking shut him up because I absolutely fucking can do better. Dillon’s cock barely fits in my mouth, but I’m gonna swallow him like an anaconda. Bobbing on that dick like a fucking pogo stick, I run my hands over the Dillon’s muscles. Squeezing, sliding, rubbing, teasing, getting him closer to that edge, past the point where he can think straight. He’s melting on my tongue like candy, dripping and leaking so much that I’ll probably still be tasting him tomorrow. It makes my skin hot.
Thing about Dillon is that he’s not quiet. He’s all, “Yes, that’s it,” and “just like that,” and “Oh my god, Jay!” especially when I throw his legs over my shoulders to get at his ass. I’m fucking rimming him so good. No, I haven’t fucking done this before. No, I didn’t think I’d want to. But the little brown ring needs some loving care, and I’m ready to eat this ass like I’m starving. From there to the thick balls, to that thick dick, and back down again, I keep my tongue and lips busy while Dillon calls my name again and again, over and over.
The competitive side of me wants to swallow cum. Like, get him so hot and bothered that Dillon can’t help himself, right? I win. He’d be so embarrassed. But Reddit told me that if he’s not, like, almost coming when I stick it in, he’ll have a harder time without a bunch of moves we don’t have time for. So I slow down, putting my mouth on his inner thighs and pelvis, teasing but not too much.
“God. Fucking. Damn,” Dillon exhales as I lower his thick thighs from my shoulders. His hands are fisted in the sheets. Hot.
“You could never be a spy,” I tell him as I shuck my clothes.
“What?”
I climb up to join him. “You’re fucking noisy in bed. Everybody would know your weak spots, like, fucking immediately.” My tongue in his mouth stops hims from getting mad at me, and Dillon’s strong arms wrap around my waist as he pulls me closer. Again, I could do this forever because it turns out I really like it when Dillon is so turned on by me that he has to grab my ass. The clock is ticking, though, so I rearrange us with my head comfy on Dillon’s pillow.
He straddles my waist, squashing the tips of my cock under his balls, and from the sneaky little look on his face Dillon did that on purpose.
“You trying to be a pillow princess?”
“I told you,” I remind him as I reach for his cock, “I want you to ride me.” Dillon lets me stroke him a couple times. I guess…like, I genuinely do like touching it.
Dillon pulls a strip of condoms—I can’t believe I was so focused on rimming him that I didn’t notice him put all his supplies on the bed—out and holds it over my face. “I’ll give you all of these since you’re not gonna last,” he says sassily.
I rip one open and Dillon moves to let me roll it on. “You think?.”
“I’m just saying I know how to throw it back,” he says, and I can’t see how he does it, but something with his hips puts his hole, like, right at the tip of my cockhead, just brushing it. Holy shit. “If you come early, I won’t blame you.”
I take the lube from him and squirt a generous amount onto my covered dick. “I’m the one who’s worried half an hour isn’t enough.”
And then I put my hands on him and pull that sweet asshole directly onto my straining cock. Oh that’s so fucking good. Holy shit he’s so hot and tight. Oh my god.
“Oh,” Dillon sounds like I hit something good immediately. “Oh, fuck.”
I slap one of his juicy ass cheeks. “Throw that fucking ass, if you’re gonna talk shit.”
He wants to be mad so bad! But that smile creeps through as Dillon starts bouncing on my erection. So he wasn’t kidding about what his hips can do. He winds in circles, grinds, pulls, working my cock with his tight hole while bracing himself on my chest.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe, “I like you so much.”
Dillon looks shocked, then so fucking happy that I’m really glad I said it. Because duh, between stopping him on the Hill and now, I figured it out. Yes, I have an actual, for real, for serious crush on this fucking guy. Probably have for a while. I like him so fucking much. I like how smart he is, how confident he is, how fucking cut he is, I like his smile and then way all of his feelings show up on his face, and how smart he is, and his little mannerisms, and that he’s funny, and that he thinks I’m funny, and that even after I was a fucking shitbag to him he still cared enough to let me change, and that he’s too nice to keep kicking me to the curb when I crawl back to him. I like his curly hair, and his brown skin, and his pretty eyes, and his thick lips, and his tight bubble ass, and his strong hands, and I like that I get to look at all of this while Dillon takes my cock. It’s amazing. He’s fucking amazing.
Dillon’s blunt nails dig into my pecs, holding me down as he rides me. I think I get it this time, like how fucking amazing it is that two people could feel the same thing so strongly. I could be throwing away life as I know it for him, and it's like, what matters is right here. Dillon and me and now.
“Come on, pretty boy,” I urge him. I don't know if it's hearing his words from my mouth or hearing me call him pretty, but Dillon’s hips go into overdrive, fucking me so hard that the bed bangs against the cinderblock wall.
His blue eyes close as he rolls his hips back onto my cock. “Oh, fuck yes,” he says. “Fuck me.”
My hands can’t stay off him. I touch his powerful thighs, the round pecs, his rippling abs, the corded arms that hold me down. His cock leaks precum onto my abs in long, clear drips, that I can almost taste from here. My eyes keep wanting to shut with pleasure, but I force them open. I have to see this. I have to watch him.
“Shit, I’m coming,” Dillon says like it caught him off guard, and I finally wrap my arms around his hips to buck into him, trapping his cock between our stomachs to slide in the slippery mess. Dillon bites my shoulder hard, screaming as I fuck him so fucking hard, and then that familiar burst rocks my body but only it’s so much more intense, it’s bigger, it’s fuller, and I’m coming deep in his ass.
When my vision refocuses Dillon is still on top of me, wiping sweat from his upper lip with his thumb. Hot. He kind of smiles at me. “Whoa.”
“Come here,” I say, holding my arms open. Dillon settles between me and the wall, fitting himself sideways and half on top of me. We stay like that for a while, Dillon occasionally turning to kiss me while I stroke his back. Wow. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on all this. I can’t believe I almost didn’t have it at all.
The sound of a phone buzzing interrupts the quiet, and Dillon finds his phone in the tangle of sheets. I can read the notification—Brantley’s on his way back—and groan.
Dillon laughs, “He does still live here.”
“Don’t make excuses for him.”
“Come shower with me, if you want,” Dillon suggests as he slides off me.
Bold move, but I’m into it. We gather our stuff, my coat included, and I follow Dillon down the hall.
The showers are quiet except for us, but Dillon pulls me into a stall with him.
“Pervert,” I say, and he laughs.
He doesn’t do anything sexy, though. Just washes himself, then watches me take my turn under the spray. Those bright eyes look me up and down sleepily, like he enjoys the view. Like he’s glad I’m naked in front of him. I really like it.
“So, okay,” I say as I rinse shampoo from my hair, “You know how you told me I was ‘close to saying something real?’”
Dillon nods, smiling a little. “I remember being present for that, yeah.”
“I really, really don’t like it when you figure me out like that. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
He folds his arms all cocky. “I think it’s cute.”
“You’re so fucking annoying,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“You like it, though.”
“I fucking do.”
And then Dillon joins me under the water.
Fucking him here is faster, quieter than in his bed. He keeps his washcloth clamped between his teeth as I pound him from behind, trying not to yell as I hammer his fucking prostate. Even with legs spread and arms braced against the tiny shower stall walls Dillon bucks against me, matching my pace, meeting each thrust. I reach around when I get close, jacking his thick cock so he shoots just after I do, but this time I’m the one digging my teeth into his shoulder so I don’t make a noise.
I have to put all my same clothes back on while Dillon gets into his sweats. I can’t stop touching him. If only Carter were out of town.
“Come to breakfast with me,” I tell Dillon while he’s brushing his teeth.
He mumbles around his toothbrush, “Breakfast?” like, bruh, don’t act like you know me like that. Rude.
“Fine, lunch.”
He raises his black eyebrows.
“Early fucking dinner! What do you want to hear, asshole?” I whisper-shout, and Dillon laughs.
He finishes, wiping his mouth, and turns to lean back against the sink. “You want to be seen with me in public?”
“Bruh. I’ve been seen with you in public this whole year.”
“This whole five months,” he corrects me. “But okay. Text me when you get up.”
“You do—” I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, “you like me, right? Like me too. Back. Whatever.”
The smile Dillon gives me is like stepping into fucking sunshine, man. “Yup. I like you, too. Back. Whatever.”
His blue eyes are kind of sleepy and—ugh, god, who am I anymore—I pull him forward by his hoodie and kiss him. If he says it, it'll be now. I can almost hear him declaring it's too much; he can't do this actually; I'm straight and he's just going to get hurt.
"You taste like dick," Dillon informs me. He looks so fucking pleased, though, that I know he's just trying not to, like, squeal. Just because I kissed him? I like this.
"See you tomorrow," I say, and head down the stairs. I get a text before I've even hit the ground floor.
Perfect 10.
If you enjoyed this story, consider visiting the author's website.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
