We're drunk, so very drunk. You more than me though.
I jam my key into the lock and open my door; I practically fall into the room and lie laughing on the floor. You step over my head laughing too, and turn the light on. Now I'm grinning as I pull myself up and lock the door behind us, sealing us from the rest of the flat. Not like anyone else is awake at 4am, but these are student halls and anyone can just walk in, security is that shit.
I catch your eye as I walk over and take the drink you just poured me. Most of it is on the floor; I'm glad, even the little that made it into the glass will probably tip me over the edge, and I want to remember tonight. I deliberately let my fingers linger on yours as I take the drink, and then sink onto my office chair. My eyelids flutter with faux-drunkenness as I watch you drink messily from your own glass, still standing -- no, swaying -- in the centre of the room. I know exactly what I want Mike, do you want the same?
It made you nervous to go in those bars tonight didn't it? As soon as I knew you were visiting me I decided I had to rip you out of those mainstream clubs from back home and show you something a little different. Back home you're that 6ft guy in the bar that turns heads, but here you needed twice as much alcohol just to join me in the crowd. I looked after you though.
Time to test the waters; I put my glass down and awkwardly stand up, feigning effort. I begin to lift my t-shirt off, turning towards my wardrobe as I do; it gets tangled as I try to push my arms through, covering my head. I struggle, and then feel your fingers on the sides of my naked torso, and your body brushing up behind me. I freeze, my vision still obscured, and just let myself absorb your presence. You don't move, you simply let your fingers rest gently on my body.
They feel electric upon my skin, and I'm suddenly nervous with excitement as I comprehend that you share my own intentions for tonight. Here I am at 4am, standing in my crappy bedroom so close to four other students, with you holding my body; we can't pretend this isn't happening and I'm not going to let you back down. I lift the t-shirt from my head -- it wasn't stuck at all of course -- and let it fall to the ground. I watch the material crumple as it hits the floor; there's something so erotic about the situation, everything is turning me on. I raise my head up once again and feel your stubble on my neck as you kiss me gently beneath my ear. My ear lobe moves slightly as you continue down my neck to my shoulders, breathing upon my bare skin. This is mind-blowing. Your fingers follow my skin as I turn around to face you.
There's a split second where I look at your chiselled face, absorb your features, notice the slightly messed-up hair, and the faint smell of sweat from our night out. Normally I would have been alarmed by the aggressively hungry look in your eyes, but any sense of caution disappears when you kiss me. I say kiss, but it's more of a violation. This is the first time I've ever kissed a man, and you are not tender with me Mike. Instead our teeth clash together in a drunken tussle that culminates with you thrusting your tongue into my mouth, muffling any objections that I could potentially have been making. There are none, evidently.
You taste different and strange, the drinks making you seem alien though I imagine I taste exactly the same, and your lips are tougher than any others I've kissed before. The impact of having this man being so intimate with me ploughs through my drunken stupor and I am suddenly hard, my body wanting to burst out of my remaining clothes. My hands have made their way to your hips and are pushing you towards me, crotch pressing into my own; your hands are roaming over my entire torso and back, feeling my skin and rubbing me. They feel huge, I feel dwarfed in their grasp, and I also notice that I am looking up to him, just slightly, as we make out. Is this how it feels for the women he has had?
My thoughts are disrupted as Mike breaks our kiss and steps away to take his own shirt off; there is a moment of silence as he looks back at me and down at his own spectacular body. His muscles are defined, and he is plucked. I can see the first hint of pubic hair at the top of his branded boxers. His look suggests I should be appraising his body, which I realise I am. Even drunk his ego is dominant, and I realise he is used to being worshipped, much how I have in secret for the last few years.
The alcohol has made me slightly cocky, and I choose not to offer any compliments apart from a smile as I close the distance between us again. I place my hands over his pectorals, and spread my fingers whilst rubbing his nipples. They harden, and I move my hands past his armpits and grasp his shoulder blades, pushing him into my body again. This time I ignore his lips and bite his neck, eliciting a growl. It's as if his masculinity is being challenged; he moves his head and locks onto my lips again, his hands holding my hips too firmly, and arches his back to tower over me and push me down. Once again he is dominant, and I love it.
His breathing quickens and his chest starts to press into mine with every gasp that he takes; a faint sheen of sweat has appeared that rubs off onto my own torso. I drop my hands to his ass, and for the first time I run one hand around between us and grab his crotch. In my mind I had always imagined this to be a sensual movement, but I am drunk and there is no finesse; I find a hard, indistinct mass that feels warm through the fabric of his jeans, though I'm not sure if I'm imagining that part. I grab at it, revealing my inexperience, but he is so wasted that it doesn't matter. He growls again as I hold him, pushing himself against my hand. Drink has made me brave, and I bring the other hand around and clumsily start to undo his belt. He continues to tear at my face, his hands also moving down to my backside, pulling each cheek apart and massaging them roughly.
At last the strip of leather comes free and I grab the button that still holds his trousers up; undone, I pull down the zip and feel his jeans splay to each side, still held up by his hips. I am still working blind at this point, my face being assaulted by his mouth. I lay a hand flat against his stomach, and move down jarringly over muscle until I reach his underwear. I slip one finger, and then another, and then the rest underneath the waistband and feel the coarseness of his pubes. In my head I'm screaming that I should be in shock, for the first time I am putting my hand down another man's pants! But this seems a minor thought as lust compels me to continue. The tips of my fingers brush against skin and I realise that I have found his penis much sooner than I thought I would. I don't stop moving my hand though.