The next day, while he writes his exam, I lie in his bed and I think about the night before. I don't think of it exactly, it's more like I see it. I feel it. My whole body tingles when I think about what he did. How he pried me open. How he spread me and filled me. How he knew what he was doing.
God, he knew exactly what he was doing.
He knew what I wanted, without me having to tell him. He knew everything. He took it slow. He teased me until I was so wild, I was thrashing. He teased me until I was close to begging. I was whimpering and moaning. I managed not. He caved in first, but I was close to begging. So close. There was something so beautiful about what he did. I wasn't expecting that. He was gentle and respectful. Sensitive to every sound I made. It was like he was in my head. I think about what it felt like, letting him in like that. Into my head and into my ass. I felt him everywhere. Everywhere. I think about how I used to think that Andy sets fires all over the place. It was true then and it's still true. Last night, he lit my whole body on fire. All he used were his hands.
Most of all though. I think of the way he looked, kneeling between my legs. Looking down at me. He looked at me with nothing but good things in his eyes.
Good things, only.
*
When he's finished writing his exam, he texts me to let me know where his class is going. They're going out for lunch and he wants to know if I want to join him. They're at Benny's Bar. It's a cool little place with a bar and a wood-fire for pizzas.
This is very normal. Being invited to join him like this, is very usual for us. This is exactly the type of thing that has happened between us a million times before. Only, this time it's different. It feels different. I feel like someone else as I walk into the pizzeria. I don't feel like I'm going to meet my friend. He and his group are sitting at a big table. He waves me over. I take a seat in the spot he saved for me.
"How did it go?" I ask.
"Good," he says.
"Just good, or did you ace it?" I tease.
"Let's just say, I definitely passed."
"Congratulations, Andy Montgomery, you're a free man."
The urge to lean in and kiss him is almost over-whelming. It feels unnatural not to. I try not to though. I've never seen Andy putting on a PDA, I'm not sure it's his style, so I don't touch him. Pizzas start arriving soon after I sit down.
"I ordered for you." He says, as the waiter places a ham and pineapple pizza in front of me. I smile and wonder if Andy's a little like me, if he also remembers everything.
Conversation flows easily. We eat and chat as a group. Over the years, I've met everyone here at least once or twice through Andy. They're a cool group of people. Obviously very arty and quite alternate. Several of them lean pretty heavily toward using their bodies as a form of self-expression. It would be hard to find a more colourful, or edgy group. Andy is the notable exception. He stands out from this crowd. He stands out from every crowd, but he stands out from this one especially. His style hasn't changed at all since he got here. He still wears jeans and t-shirts exclusively. His hair still isn't short, or long, and he still has a five-day stubble. He looks like someone who ought to be lecturing this group, not part of it. He's well liked, but there's a very, very slight coolness towards him. Reverence, almost. I've been to all of the exhibitions the art department has put on since I've been here, and I know there's a lot of talent in this group. A lot. It's just that not one of these people comes close to Andy's level of talent. Not even close. And they know it. All of them do.
Andy gets up to get us more drinks at the bar and I watch him go. I'm not sure if it's my imagination, or the torment of not being close to him and feeling unable to touch him, but this afternoon, he's looking hotter than ever.
Jesus, those jeans fit him well.
When he gets to the bar, he orders and then turns to look back at me. I smile broadly, and watch as his eyes light up. They light up a little. A quick little flicker. His mouth curls, too. He holds my gaze and then raises his chin at me, ever so slightly.
The reaction in my pants is cataclysmic. It's instant and intense. I'm squirming in my seat by the time he gets back. I can't stand being close to him and not touching him, so I lean my arm against the back of his chair. It's something I often do. There's nothing unusual about it. This time, whenever he leans back, I run my thumb along his back. I stroke his shoulder blade through his clothes. Every time I do it, the corners of his eyes crease slightly.
"Stop looking at me like that." He whispers when no-one is looking.
"Why?"
"Someone will notice."
I swallow and nod. I couldn't care less if someone notices. I hope they do. I hope everyone notices, especially the skinny guy with the neck tattoo, who keeps looking at Andy as if he's a burger and chips. Still, I try to behave. I try to contain it. I don't want to do anything Andy isn't comfortable with, but I do get a sense that for us, a bigger conversation is looming.
I hope we're on the same page. I hope to God, we are.
After a few more rounds of drinks and a couple more hours, I'm antsy. I'm finding it hard to sit still. The effect of being close to Andy has reached fever pitch. I've pressed my knee against his and it's burning me under the table. Every now and then, Andy puts his hand under the table and runs his fingers along the outer seam of my jeans. It feels electric.
When the first person in the group gets ready to leave, I say, "Are you almost ready to go?"
"You got somewhere better to be?"
I nod, "I do," I say through clenched teeth, "and so do you."
We say our good-byes quickly and get out of there. We walk home, shoulder to shoulder. It's late afternoon and the streets near campus are quiet. Today was the last day of exams. Most people have already left for the year. I'm nearly completely sober, but as we get close to his building, I nudge him with my shoulder and put on an elaborate little stumble, "Andyy," I slur, "I'ng drunk, can you come get me?"
"What the fuck?" He says, looking at me in amazement. His shock quickly turns to a smile, as I put my arm around him and lean in heavily against his body. He circles my wrist with his hand, holding me securely, the way he always does. He shakes his head at me.
"Are you getting the feeling, I'm not as much of a drunkard as you think I am?"
"Are you kidding me?" He asks, "Are you for real? Do you know how many times you've got me out of bed?"
"Sorry." I say, turning my body slightly, so I can grind my erection against his hip, "Do you forgive me?"
He sighs deeply. I can see how hard he's trying not to smile. "Yes, I forgive you, but I
am
going to make you pay."
And he does. He makes me pay, on the living room floor. He makes me pay with his mouth and his hands and his fingers inside me. He makes me pay more than once and I return the favour. I return it whole heartedly.
*
I wake up on my side, facing Andy. He's sleeping half on his belly, half on his side. Most of his face is pressed into his pillow, but he still looks beautiful. His dark hair stands out against the white linen. He's perfection. For such a long time, I've dreamt of waking up like this. Close to him. Right up in his face. He's even better up close than I imagined. I move until I'm only a couple of inches away. Until I can feel his breath on my face.
I lie like that and try not to move as I watch him, but he must feel me, because he opens his eyes slowly.
"What are you doing?" His voice is deep and thick with sleep.
I'm a little embarrassed he caught me watching him like this, "I-I just always wanted to know what you look like from here."
He sits up and swallows and then tries to smile.
Shit, I've freaked him out.
He's quiet for a second and then says, "You want some coffee?"
"Sure, thanks."
He gets up and walks to the kitchen naked. I watch him go. I watch his back and his ass and his legs, but I feel unsettled. I feel uncertain. I know Andy, and this is not a relaxed and happy Andy.
