Chapter 8


Thank you for joining me! This will be the final chapter of Matt's and Brandon's stories... so far!

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It was Thanksgiving week, and I was sitting at home in my old room.

It was weird being back here. Everything was right where I had left it several months ago, just with an additional layer of dust over it. Every year I felt less and less attached to it, though, as if I was turning into more of a guest than a family member.

Though, I had to admit, there were some people I wish I was only a guest to.

My sister, who was a solid seven years younger than I was, pounded up and down the stairs, yelling "Mom, have you seen thiiiiiiis", "Mom, have you seen thaaaaaat". There was some kind of party with her friends or something like that, and she decided to make that bit extremely obvious. I tried to drown her out with headphones, but her ear-piercing whining broke through even the most sturdy of acoustic barriers.

What was even worse than the feeling of being a guest in my own home and having an incredibly annoying sister was how far away I was from everyone else. I didn't live anywhere near Michael or Dwayne, so I had to suffer without them for an entire week. I had felt too weird to ask Brandon what he was up for the holidays so I had no idea where on Earth he was right now. There was a decently-sized part of me that was regretting that I hadn't asked him, but I wasn't sure what I'd even do with that information if I had it. Would I want to visit him? That seemed kind of intrusive. We were only sleeping together--right?

Plus, it's not like I wanted to visit him. If I was interested in visiting him, I probably would have brought that up the last time I was over at his place. But we didn't talk about Thanksgiving, or being away from each other, or anything like that. Maybe we should have, but we definitely didn't.

"Dude," Michael said through my headset. "Is your sister still at it?"

"Yeah." I tried to shove a blanket under the gap in my bedroom door to stifle the noise, but that didn't drown out her pounding as she stormed up and down the stairs. I wasn't ready to submit myself to suffering, but I suspected I wasn't going to have much of a choice. "Can't wait until I'm out of this stupid house."

"Can't wait until Dwayne gets here so we can get started," Michael muttered.

"Yeah, when's he going to get here?"

Dwayne lived further away from college than either of us, and had to take a plane to get home. He was scheduled to land in another hour or two, so he wouldn't be online and ready to play for a while yet. I couldn't stop myself from feeling restless. At this point Michael and Dwayne and Brandon were more of a home than this place was.

Michael and Dwayne, I meant. Brandon didn't feel like home, that would be weird.

I checked my phone. No new messages. It was still a few more hours before Dwayne landed.

"How's Brittney doing?" I asked.

"Oh, we broke up," Michael said off-handedly.

"That's too bad."


They'd be back together by Christmas, I was sure of it. They'd been trying for a year and a half to break up, but it hasn't been working.

"So, how're things going with your boy?" Michael asked.

"My... boy?" I echoed.

"Yeah, or whatever you call each other."

I cleared my throat. "It's fine."

"Okay. That's cool."

I checked my phone. Still nothing.

"When's Dwayne going to get here?" I whined.

We were both overjoyed when Dwayne finally got online a solid three hours later. I wasn't sure I could stand much more awkward, stilted conversation with Michael. Sure, he was my de facto best friend and we were roommates and everything, but, god, we really couldn't survive without Dwayne. He was the butter that kept the slices of bread that were Michael and I together, and effortlessly able to smooth over any conversational oddities with barely a wave of his hand. I didn't think we could be friends without him.

Hell, I wasn't sure Michael could have any friends without Dwayne. I definitely could, I was sure. I was charismatic enough.

I checked my phone again.

I laid in bed that night and stared at the ceiling. My sister had come back from whateveritwas and had decided that eleven at night was the best time to throw another tantrum. I grumbled and rolled over in bed and pulled a pillow over my head, trying to tune it out. I didn't remember being nearly that obnoxious when I was her age. I pulled my phone under the pillow so I could check it. Still nothing.

It'd only been three days since I last saw him. That wasn't that big of a deal. We'd gone three days without seeing each other. Hell, we'd gone over a week without seeing each other, without a single lick of contact with each other. One little measly Thanksgiving vacation shouldn't be that bad.

I scrolled through our texts:

"Come over. Now."

"Come over. Now."

"Come over. Now."

Then one from me. "I'm coming over."

"Come over. Now."

"Come over. Now."

We had riveting conversations. At least we were consistent.

The house echoed as my sister finally shut up, and I dug myself out from under my pillow, leaving my phone behind.

It wasn't so bad. Just a week. I could survive a week without interacting with him.

But maybe I should text him, though, see how he was doing. Maybe something funny happened at Thanksgiving, and he'd want to tell me. Or maybe he was feeling out-of-place and alone like I was, and he'd want the company.

I grabbed my phone, then stopped. No, wait, that would be weird. It would be breaking our streak of purely utilitarian messages, and why would I want to mess with something so beautiful? And if he was feeling lonely, he probably had a whole bunch of other friends that he could message instead of me.

Anyways, if I messaged him and I didn't get a response, I'd probably lose my mind.

So, really, I should just call him.

No, wait.

He was probably busy. He had his family and everything, and maybe he was meeting up with some of is extended family. Cousins and aunts and uncles and maybe some nieces and nephews. There was probably a whole bunch of them, just family members coming out of the woodwork, and he had to meet up with them all and he was just so busy that he couldn't even spare a second to send me one measly little text to ask how I was doing or to say that he was doing okay and that he missed me or something like that. Exceptionally busy, he probably was, yep. Busy like I was with all my family members.

My sister screamed again, breaking my precious silence. I slapped my hands over my ears as my mom yelled back at her. I hated when my sister threw tantrums, because then my mom got all worked up and then they yelled at each other for a bit.

I opened the group chat I shared with Michael and Dwayne: "I hate my sister!"

"Still!" Michael said. Dwayne sent a demon emoji.

Just eight more days, I thought to myself. Six more days and I'd be back on campus...

I didn't get any messages the next day. My aunt visited, bringing along her three tiny yappy dogs, and I laughed as they all crowded around me when I sat on the floor. My sister squealed with happiness, which was the only squealing I could stand from her.

The next day my grandparents stopped by on the way to their own Thanksgiving vacation. They hung out and everyone ate tiny sandwiches that my sister fed to the three yappy dogs.

The next day Michael's and Dwayne's and my team rose up in the rankings because of all the free time we had to practice our strategies. It especially helped that I wasn't distracted by any new messages coming in.

Thanksgiving came around, and my mom and my sister and I gathered around the table with our aunt and the next door neighbors. We all gave thanks, and I said I was thankful for my awesome teammates and our new ranking, and my mom said that I can't give thanks for that and that I needed to be serious. I didn't give any thanks for any new messages.

The last few days of vacation I caught up on the last few chapters of reading I had to do for my classes. I'd been lagging a little, but not so much that a little bit of free time couldn't fix me right up. After I was done reading I tossed the books aside and checked my phone, because it would have been nice to have a little break after all that hard work. A flirtatious little text would have been enough, for sure.

My phone said nothing.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead before moving onto the next subject, but I spent more time staring at the clock and watching the minutes roll by instead of doing actual work.

My mom drove me back to campus Sunday afternoon, and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the forehead, and said, "Do well on your finals! See you at Christmas!". I waved at her from the front porch of my dorm building and went inside.

My room was empty and heavy with a musky smell of bedsheets that could stand to have been washed a bit more often. Michael wasn't due back for a few more hours because he had a compulsive need to stop at every kitschy restaurant and sideshow attraction he saw. I just hoped that he wasn't going to be so late that he missed picking Dwayne up from the airport.

I probably had a couple hours to myself. I checked my phone again. The only thing there was a message from Michael, a picture of him standing in front of a dive called Bucket Full O' Chicken, and he was posing as if I didn't have four other almost identical pictures of him at the exact same restaurant.

I figured I could go see if Brandon was back.

Greek row was quiet. I guessed that most of them weren't back from vacation yet. I felt sneaky and privileged to walk around it while no one else was there.

The ladder was still outside Brandon's window. It was cold to the touch, and I wondered when he was going to pull it up. Hopefully he wasn't planning on leaving it out all the way through winter.

His room was vacant, but his window was unlocked so I let myself in. I poked around a bit, looking for any indication that he had come back. I couldn't see his suitcase anywhere, and there was still a chunk of his clothes missing from his closet. I could hear some people moving around downstairs, and occasionally one of them would yell out, but it was fairly quiet all the same. If I had to guess he wasn't back yet.

I eyed his desk and chuckled. Most of his school notebooks that frequently littered the surface were gone. Even football jocks had to study over break, I supposed.

I sat down on his bed and patted my knees and checked my phone. Still nothing. Okay, well, it wasn't like I had anything to do for the next couple of hours anyways, I might as well just wait here for him.

Three, four minutes passed. Michael sent me another picture, this time of a bucket full o' chicken. I replied, "Better save me some!". A few minutes later Michael sent me another picture of chicken bones spelling out "NO".

I chuckled and laid down.

I kicked my heels against the side of the bed and banged my foot against the corner of the frame. I hissed and rubbed it.

I got up and knelt in front of Brandon's bookshelf to fiddle with his things.

There were mostly movies or music on the shelf, but he had a couple of older textbooks from previous classes, some tchotchkes, and a few well-thumbed pulpy sci-fi novels that you could buy in the checkout line at convenience stores. I knew that Brandon was into crap like this, but I'd never actually checked out his collection. I picked one up; it was about an alien viral invasion on another planet. I chuckled. On one hand it was kind of funny that a jock would be into this kind of crap, but it made some weird kind of sense at the same time. I double-checked his movie collection and noted that he had a couple seasons of Star Trek and Farscape mixed in with the inspirational sports movies and superhero blockbusters. His books seemed particularly well-read; the edges of the pages were all dark from being touched over and over again. Curiously, there were a few bands of darker pages that looked a little more loved than the rest of the book.

I thumbed the book open at one of the darker bands. It was a scene where the main character was meeting up with a scientist. "How's the ole' ball and chain?" the main character asked the scientist.

"He's doing well," the scientist replied.

I blinked at the page. A gay scientist? I read a little further, and after a couple more references it was obvious that the scientist was in a relationship with a guy. Nothing more was said of it outside of those sparse references. I flipped to a different dark band, and the scientist was mentioned again. His partner wasn't, on the other hand. It was the same for all the other bands in the book.

I smiled, imagining Brandon flipping through those pages over and over again, reading about this gay scientist who mentions his male partner twice in this entire book. It was actually kind of adorable.

I put the book back and shuffled through the movies. Maybe I could put something on his computer to occupy myself until he got back.

No, that felt weird. I didn't have permission to do that. Hell, I didn't even know if I had permission to be in his room alone. The only time I'd done that was when he had messaged me to come over.

I checked my phone. Maybe I should message him: "Come over. Now." Wouldn't that be funny? Or maybe it would be confusing. What if he went over to my dorm instead? Did he even know what dorm I lived in? Or maybe he'd understand that I meant to meet him at his room?

Goddammit, I couldn't tell!

I heard a slam downstairs, and a few yells.

"Hey, guys!" someone yelled. I leaped to my feet. It was him!

I paced back and forth. What should I do? Should I do something? Should I strip naked and ready on his bed? Should I remain standing, say hi? I didn't know!

I couldn't make out what anyone was saying until the voices moved up the stairs. "--it was a hundred and seventy pounds!" Brandon said loudly, arguing with one of his friends. "Yes, YES, no, I'm not lying, asshole!" Now he was coming down the hallway. I swallowed hard and abruptly sat on the bed. Did I have enough time to strip? Shit, what if someone was walking with him?

"I've got pictures, dickhead, I'll show you," Brandon yelled as he unlocked his bedroom door. I licked my lips. He opened the door.

Brandon stopped in the doorway, surprise on his face. "You," he said.

I blinked. "Hi?"

He dropped his bag on the floor next to the door and grabbed me and kissed me hard. I whimpered and grabbed him in return. My heart pounded and I dug my fingers into his arms.

"Bro," one of his friends said at the doorway. "I need to see those--" He choked on his words. "Yeakay I'm going." He pulled the door closed behind him. Brandon pushed me down onto the bed and pressed his body against mine.

"I didn't know when you were getting back," Brandon said, finally breaking the kiss.

"You could have texted me," I muttered.

He snorted. "I was camping. I didn't have cell service."

I blinked. "What?"

"My dad and I camp every year for Thanksgiving. We were out in the middle of nowhere."

I stared at him, a little slack-jawed. I didn't do all that worrying for nothing, did I?

"We shot a deer!" He jumped up and grabbed his phone. "A hundred and seventy pounds! Look! My dad won't have to buy an ounce of beef all winter!" He flipped through the photos.

"Dunno," I said. "I don't think I could go four months without a steak."

"Deer is so much better than beef." Brandon rolled his eyes and fell onto the bed next to me. "That was the best Thanksgiving we've had in years." He tugged on my sleeve, pulling me towards him. I nestled myself against his arm. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

I winced, remembering my sister. "Loud."

"It's so quiet out in the middle of the woods." Brandon took a deep breath, squeezing me towards him, then rolled over and kissed me again. "There's something I missed, though," he said, and traced a path up my legs.

"Might want to lock your door, first."

He locked it, then straddled me on the bed and kissed me hard. He slid his hands under my shirt and pressed his cool hands against my stomach. I wriggled and tried to playfully push them away.

"Did you miss me, too?" he asked and nuzzled my neck. I grunted as he slipped his free hand down between my legs, where I was already getting hard. "Oh, definitely," he muttered and nibbled at my neck. He fondled me, running his fingers up and down my shaft through my jeans. His other hand played with my nipples underneath my shirt, running his fingers back and forth across them as they grew hard. I giggled and tried to push his hand away as I felt my neck heat up. "No," he said. "I want them. They're mine." He pushed my shirt all the way up over my chest and took one of my nipples into his mouth.

I gasped and arched my back up towards him. He grazed my nipple with his teeth as his other hand sank further beneath my legs to cup my balls. "Fuck," I moaned as he switched to the other nipple. His grab around my cock prevented me from wriggling away completely.

"I want you in my mouth," he said hotly, then undid the front of my pants.

"Maybe that's what you missed," I said and grinned.

"Hey," he said, sliding my pants off my hips. "Shut up."

"Make me."

He took my cock in his mouth. I gasped as he ran his tongue around the head, sucking lightly. God, I missed this, too. He teased underneath it with little flicks of his tongue, then licked all the way up, getting it nice and wet before wrapping his lips around the tip and sinking down on it. I gasped and involuntarily thrust up into his mouth, and he grabbed my hips and pinned them down in response. My body twitched as I struggled against his grip, but he was much stronger than I was, and pinned me down easily.

"Fuck, fuck," I muttered and grabbed at the bedsheets as if that would help me handle the sensation of his hot wet mouth around my cock. I culed my toes underand jerked against his grip on my hips. I inched my thighs apart and reached down to grab his hair, pulling him down further onto me. He had to let go of my hip to wrap his hand around what wasn't fitting in his mouth, and he squeezed gently as I took advantage of the freedom to thrust shallowly into his mouth.

Brandon pulled his mouth off my cock with one last little swirl around the head. "You're so delicious," he muttered and kissed the inside of my thighs.

I whimpered. "What?" I asked a tiny little voice. He ran his hands up the inside of my thighs, which made me shiver.

"So tasty," he muttered and lapped up a bit of my precum. "I want to be inside you so bad."

I trembled. "You don't want me to come in your mouth?" I asked, but really I just wanted his mouth on me again.

"There's time for that for later," he said and kissed me again. He fished around in his side table for lube. "Right now I've missed being inside you."

He's been getting better at getting me prepared for his length, and within seconds he was sliding his cock inside of me. I sighed at the feeling of his stiff heavy dick inside of me, and I squeezed down on it.

"Mmm," Brandon moaned and wrapped himself around me. "So tight, aren't you?"

I chuckled and flushed, unable to look up at him. "If you say so."

"Oh, I do say so." He nuzzled my neck and bit down hard. I gasped, a jolt shooting through me and tightening up my entire body, enough that I could feel the throb of him inside me. I whimpered as he ground his cock against me.

He searched for my mouth again. He kissed me roughly and thrust into me. I groaned and wrapped my legs around him. My heels dug into his lower back as I arched myself up against him, opening myself up for him.

"Goddamn," Brandon muttered and grabbed onto my hips and yanked me down onto his shaft. My cock twitched.

I'd missed this, too. I'd missed him fucking me, sinking his cock inside of me, opening me up. He ground against me, then grabbed my shaft and stroked in time with his thrusts. I moaned and wiggled and thrust myself up against him in turn.

"So hungry, aren't we?" Brandon muttered. "Like you need me inside of you."

I felt my whole body heat up and my cock throb in response. Brandon rubbed some of my precum with a thumb and smeared it over my shaft. His other hand slid underneath me to grab my ass and pull me up onto his cock.

His hand on my cock was quickly bringing me to the edge, and I bit down on his shoulder in an attempt to stifle my moans. Distantly I knew that the whole house could probably hear us, but I wanted to pretend otherwise. Brandon ground his cock into my ass, and my balls tightened up and I squeezed down on him.

"Are you gonna come?" Brandon muttered.

I hissed.

"I want you to come with my cock buried inside of you," Brandon said, thrusting deep into me. I grunted and rocked my hips up against him, teetering right along the edge. "Come for me," Brandon muttered. "Come for me--"

I came hard. My orgasm rippled through me and Brandon moaned as I squeezed down on him, and he came soon afterwards, emptying himself deep inside my ass. Brandon still twitched his hips against me and his cock throbbed several more times in the aftermath.

He left his cock there for a long moment. He breathed heavily and pressed his forehead against mine. I smiled up at him, and he kissed me before pulling out of me.

He collapsed next to me on the bed and pulled my back against his chest. He pressed his face against the crook of my neck and slid his legs in behind mine.

"My shoulder hurts," he muttered.

I chuckled. Probably from me biting it so hard. His cum was dripping out of my ass, so I figured it was only fair.

One of his hands wormed its way underneath my shirt, and he drew little circles on my chest and buried his face against my shoulders. I closed my eyes. I was exhausted, from all that driving and then all that waiting around and then all that sex...

"Hey," Brandon said.


"I..." he stared, then didn't say anything for a long moment. I considered turning over and asking what was the matter, but I was too tired. Plus, he'd eventually say whatever was on his mind.    

"Be my boyfriend," he said.

I stared at the opposite wall. Boyfriend? Us? Together? Not just sex, but, like, boyfriend-stuff? Like holding hands in public stuff and seeing movies and birthday presents and Valentine's Day and things like that?

Yeah, I could live with that.

I shrugged. "Sure."

Brandon squeezed me and took a deep breath, then relaxed against me.

I reached off the bed to grab my phone out of my pants pocket and settling back down in Brandon's arms. I felt his confused stare as I opened our text messages. I still didn't have an entry for Brandon in my address book; our conversation was still titled with his phone number.

Brandon scoffed as he watched over my shoulder. "You didn't save my number?" he said.

"You probably have mine saved under 'Tiny'," I shot back.


I saved his number under "Brandon BF", and Brandon chuckled and buried his face in the back of my shoulders and squeezed me again.

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