Watching Him Back Ch. 05

For the second time in one day I have Crispin's hard cock in my hand. Crispin's breath mingles with mine, blowing hot over my neck. His hand is wrapped tightly around my dick, moving in time with my hand on his.

I felt like a fucking rock star when I saw him waiting by my car. He looked so self-conscious, glancing nervously at every person who walked by. All I said to him was, "Hey," and unlocked the car, and then Crispin chewed his lip and shrank in his seat until we reached my neighborhood. Given how he jumped when I reached for his hand as soon as the car was in drive, I think he was as worried for me and my reputation as what people would think of him. Maybe that's a weird trigger, but it turned me the fuck on.

Now it's easier to make him come. There's lube, there's mood music, we're on a couch instead of a bathroom stall, and that half hour of dry humping and making out wound him up. With his usual silence Crispin shudders and spills onto my fist, and I'm not far behind.

Today has turned out to be a very good day.

"Is this why you wanted me to come over earlier?" Crispin asks as he gets up.

"Not really." I accept the washcloth he hands me. The guy is so fucking thoughtful it puts me to shame.

"What was up with you yesterday?" His tone is carefully casual, but he glances quickly at me from the corner of his eye. Crispin might know he won't get a satisfying answer from me, but he at least asks and means it. I like him better for it.

"My family is a bunch of dicks sometimes," I say with a shrug, pulling my underwear back on. "My dad, I think, is getting suspicious."

The frown on Crispin's face, if I address it, could open up a whole new can of worms. So I poke him in the forehead. Crispin pokes me back, and in another second we're wrestling all over the floor. I'm bigger and had three years of mediocre wrestling in middle school, but Crispin is pure muscle and deadly. When I tap out the second time he only has the chance to sit up before I pick him up and throw him on the bed. He bounces, flailing comically, and I dive after him.

"Unfair!" he laughs when I tackle him. "You said you would quit doing that!"

Fending off a pillow, I correct him. "No, you told me to quit doing that, and I said I would if you wrote my English paper for me."

"Do your own work, stupid," he retorts, trying to smother me in the blanket. My witty reply is cut short by getting jabbed in the Adam's apple. It's all fun and games until someone can't breathe or gets hit in the nuts.

"Sorry, sorry!" Crispin says, flopping down beside me as I wheeze. "You okay?"

I nod and kick him in the butt, hacking for effect. I'm not all that injured, but I like messing with him. There's a pillow on the floor within reach. A quick grab, a smack to Crispin's face, and it's under my head.

"Jerk," he grumbles, but the smile betrays him.

"So tell me," I say, pulling him close, "did you catch shit for being late to class?"

Crispin shakes his head. "I get the impression that Mr. Rojas thinks I was getting bullied, but was ashamed to say anything. He encouraged me to talk to him anytime if 'things get tough.'"

"Oops."

"Yeah. And speaking of, guess who couldn't stop talking about you in Calculus?"

I roll my eyes. "Damn it."

"Yup, your gallantry at lunch has thrown you into full crush territory for Shauna Marie Oldman," Crispin informs me, trying and failing to sound sympathetic.

"Her middle name is Marie?"

"Not the point."

Covering my face with my arms I sigh loudly. "Oh, my life, my life. Why must this be my life?"

Crispin commiserates with a condescending pat on the head. "Poor baby. However, you did kind of have it coming to you."

"I did not." I drop my arms to glare at him.

"Between covering her work in class and defending her honor today..." Crispin trails off, looking pensive. "Maybe you should date."

"Fuck!" I groan as he laughs. "Why do girls take me being nice for liking them? Dumb."

Crispin pinches my side. "Don't be such a woman-hater."

"I'm not," I protest. "I just don't like anybody."

"Not true. You like Carter, LeAndre, Jay; you're always talking bad about girls."

I roll to face him. "Because all your friends are girls, except for that shithead Preston, and I don't like your friends any more than you like mine."

"Your friends are entitled, elitist assholes," Crispin's responds sharply.

"And yours are self-righteous, self-pitying losers."

His mouth tightens for a moment. "Seriously, what is your deal?"

Okay, I'm being mean. "I told you: my family is getting to me." It's not quite an apology, and I can tell from the way he screws up his mouth even further that Crispin is very aware of that.

"Well, you don't have to be a complete jerk about the people who are closest to me. And you did wink at Shauna from across the cafeteria. A million people saw it."

"Then tell them I was playing along with Jay and them."

Now Crispin laughs at me. "Too late! You winked at a table full of girls. Girls catch all those subtle things real quick, baby boy. And now," he continues over my groaning, "Shauna has confirmation that she wasn't just making things up and that you totally have a secret crush on her. They analyzed pretty much all of you two's interactions. And frankly, they have a point."

I chuckle a little at that, but this still bothers me. "Hey," I suddenly say as I prop my head up on the pillow. "Who are you taking to prom?"

Crispin rolls his dark eyes. "Jenny Gray, who else?"

One of his antisocial girlfriends. "Do you hang out with her because you like her, or because she's another social outcast?"

"Both, and she's hilarious. Next question."

"What are you doing after prom?"

"Game of Thrones marathon at Allison Barnhart's. Maybe a DnD session."

"Want to skip your nerd gathering and hang out with me?"

He grins hugely but buries his face in a pillow to hide it. Fucking adorable. "What about your friends?" he asks, peering at me with one eye.

"LeAndre's folks rented out a couple of suites, so everyone is going there. I'd ditch them for you," I swear grandly. I mean it.

Crispin looks contemplative for a moment, and I know he's a little irritated that I didn't offer to take him along to the popular kid party. I would counter with the fact that he didn't invite me to his thing, either--who doesn't like Game of Thrones?--but it's easier not to have the argument.

Finally Crispin says, "Allison has booze."

"I have stolen, like, so much liquor from my parents. And you know it's the good stuff because it's disgusting."

"They're going to be so suspicious."

I nudge him in the side. "Quit making excuses. Do you want to spend prom night over here or not?"

"Yeah, but how are you going to explain it to your parents?"

That's the main issue, isn't it. "My parents? I'll think of some bro-dude reasoning, like we chose to play video games instead of get drunk and irresponsible with our hooligan friends."

Crispin smiles. "How noble of us."

"I know. And then we're going to lose our virginities all over again," I reply, clasping my hands to my chest dramatically.

"You mean, you'll let me, you know, top?"

Wow. That wasn't really what I had meant, so I try to avoid answering. "Do you want to?"

"Duh." Crispin gives me a look. "Just because I'm not as butch as you doesn't make me an exclusive bottom."

My little sphincter clenches nervously, but, "I'll do it," I say, feeling like this could be a huge mistake.

"You're gonna love it," he promises with a kiss to my forehead, "and I'll practice my technique on Preston first."

"You will not," I retort, reaching under him to twist his nipple. Crispin attacks me with a pillow again. Tension successfully diffused, I defend myself until Mom calls us for dinner, and try not to think about to what I just committed.

****

"Hey, Mom," I say casually as I'm unloading the dishwasher, "I think Crispin's gonna come over after prom to hang out."

Mom looks up from the book she has out on the kitchen island. "Aaron, honey, I really think you should spend more time with your friends." She speaks slowly, like she's trying to find the right words.

"Crispin is my friend, Mom."

"I know, sweetheart, but I haven't seen Carter or LeAndre or Jay around in a long time, and with some of the trouble you've had at school," she replies, "the mother in me can't help but be worried."

Well, that makes me feel like an ungrateful bastard. It's highly possible that she's not so concerned with the way Crispin acts and dresses, she thinks that I'm going through some major crisis when in fact I'm having the best time of my life.

"I was always kind of on the fringe of that group, anyway," I say. "I mean, we're still friends, but Jay always does something stupid, sometimes stuff that could get everyone into trouble." I'm trying not to be a liar or a snitch, but I have to come up with a platonic reason for all of this.

My mother's eyes widen. "Are you saying that there are drugs and alcohol at these parties?"

Ah, crap. "No," I lie, "but Jay doesn't always think before he does stuff. Like he shoved this kid into the pool one time, just as a joke, and ruined the guy's super expensive insulin thingy. Or the other day, even, it wasn't a super big deal, but I was in the bathroom when the bell rang for third period, and because of a dumb joke that he and Carter made up, now there's a rumor that Shauna Oldman and I were in there together. The girl is already like, the least popular person in school. It's just sad that their joking means she gets bad-mouthed even more." I'm talking too much.

Mom folds her arms.

"Or one time he got a bunch of guys to take that old Colonel Sanders statue from the KFC in the Loop. Like, he brought tools and pried it up, just so they could move it outside and put a Carver High shirt on it. Then they found out that if they had gotten caught, they could have gotten like, a hundred hours of community service for that." No need to add that the tools and the shirt had been my idea. Somebody had to be the brains of the operation. "I need an excuse to not get in trouble with all the detention and stuff, Mom. Which, I remind you, was extended because I got mad at Jay for bullying Crispin within Coach's earshot."

That gets her. "I just worry about you, Aaron."

"Yeah, yeah, mom stuff," I say, grateful for the parental smile she gives me. "I'm fine. I just get along with Crispin is all."

The next day at school one Shauna Marie Oldman keeps popping up in my peripheral vision. How many classes do we have together? For the love of sweet fuck--we get grouped together in AP English, and I end up lending her my book because she forgot hers. Or maybe she just pretended to, because when she hands it back to me there's a piece of paper with some crappy-assed, disproportionate anime drawing of a winking girl giving a peace sign with a speech bubble that says "Thank you!" How had Shauna drawn that while we were sitting with our books in hand, discussing Tess of the Goddamn D'Urbervilles?

I hang back a little when the bell rings, and sure enough Shauna does, too. Nip. This. Shit. In. The. Bud. "Hey, Shauna," I call. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

She goes bright red and all her friends start giggling. "Sure, Aaron."

"Um, so I just wanted to apologize for yesterday," I say, hooking my thumbs in my backpack straps.

"Oh, my god, no, it's fine, I get it." Shauna tucks a lank strand of hair behind her ear.

"No, I made a dumb joke not even really about you, and Carter and Jay took it too far, and you didn't deserve that."

If Shauna blushes any redder it's going to come out her pores. "Oh, don't worry about it. Like, it's fine."

A mean thought crosses my mind, that her tongue-tied shyness isn't a tiny bit as endearing as her gay friend's, but I continue, "And I know there are already rumors spreading, but I don't want anything to be misinterpreted, you know?"

"Oh, right, right." Shauna's head bobs like a parrot. "Absolutely. I totally get it."

"Yeah, well, I just wanted to let you know that I don't have, like a secret crush on you or anything; I'm actually--" Gay. "kind of friends with Crispin, I guess, and it was an inside joke. Me winking, or whatever." I almost told her, but I'll be damned if Shauna Oldman is the first person to hear it from my lips in this school.

Shauna's ability to recover her sour face is remarkable. "Friends with Crispin?"

"Yeah, like, I'm in detention until forever, and he's an aide, so... yeah." It's an even weaker explanation than what I gave to Jay, but Jay's dumb ass didn't react with such skepticism.

"Oh, and you just assumed that because you were acting like a decent human being that I would think you have a crush on me?"

Damn, Shauna. "No, and not that you're not..." I try to imagine that I wanted to kiss a girl. "... pretty or anything, but just in case your friends are giving you a hard time."

She folds her arms. "Why would my friends give me a hard time? I choose to hang out with people who are nice to me and everybody."

Now I want to crumple that shit drawing up and throw it in her face, and I would if Crispin didn't appear in the doorway.

"Shauna, we're going to be late," he says, and maybe because he can read my frustrated body language he adds, "Hey, Aaron."

I step around Shauna. "Okay, glad we're on the same page. Sorry again, Shauna."

"Yep," is her high horse reply.

"See you later," I say to Crispin, and move on with my day.

Crispin messages me in sixth period, a bold move for such a goody two-shoes. shauna told me about your convo

I reply so defensive. what did she say 2 u?

she asked if u gave me the same speech. A moment later he clarifies: that u being nice doesnt mean ur attracted 2 me. dont worry i told her no.

I snort, then pretend to sneeze into my sleeve when the teacher looks at me. thats right. im not nice 2 u. xspecially when ur blowing me in the bathroom : O <=3

Crispin's response is immediate:

AARON DO NOT SEXT ME IN CLASS >:[

I laugh out loud at that, and then I really do have to put my phone away for fear of discovery.

Crispin and I don't get to hang out much in the week before prom. There's some brief fondling in the art classrooms after school, but all his girlfriends want him to shop with them and plan for fucking after parties, and I'm busy trying to figure out how I'm going to take a cock up my ass for the first time in my life.

I wonder if Crispin did all the same kind of research before he came over that first time. All the sanitary and safety issues--I have a new respect for the porn stars who manage to do this all day without prolapsed anuses right and left. What did he have time to do in the bathroom, then, when he jumped up and was all, "Gotta go get ready!" I wonder? Was that when he stretched himself out?

My getting ready might have been different from his, but I think I've psyched myself up enough that I'm at least prepared for when Crispin walks in at 11:30 on prom night. I greet him with a wolf whistle.

"Da-yum, Viera," I say appreciatively, and motion for him to turn around. He obliges. "I like that ass in them pants."

Crispin smiles shyly. He really does look like a pint-size GQ model with his velvet tuxedo jacket, slim-fitting pants, and his hair in a bunch of fancy braids and twists so that it's piled on top of his head. I guess I won't be pulling on it tonight.

"People are dumb," I say without really thinking.

He gives me a quizzical look. "Hello, I guess?"

Shutting the door behind him, I explain, "No, I'm just saying I don't get how people don't see you like I do."

Crispin's expression softens in a way that makes my chest warm, and for a moment we just look at each other. Yeah, I do like you that much.

"I feel overdressed," he comments, eyeing my tearaway pants and T-shirt.

"Just you wait," I retort as I hand him a glass of bourbon.

Crispin sniffs the dark liquid and makes a face. "Acquired taste?"

Clinking my glass against his, I suggest, "Let's find out."

Crispin takes a sip, raises his eyebrows, and then gently spits the bourbon right back into his glass. I can't stop laughing.

"It'll take me a bit," he says tartly as he wipes the corners of his mouth with one finger.

"So gross!"

"Did I detect forest floor and, I wanna say, gasoline?"

Reclaiming the glass, I push him onto the couch.

"What are you doing?" he laughs.

I down my bourbon in one gulp. God, that burns. Burns so much. Burning. "Wait for i-i-i-i-it."

I turn the ceiling light down and hit the remote. The Village People's "YMCA" blasts through the speakers, and I rip off my pants. Crispin starts laughing so hard he can't even see just how terribly I dance--I have no rhythm and no moves--and only laughs harder when he notices that I made myself boxers out of gift wrap and tape. Right as the chorus sounds I give him the really big reveal: I rip off the paper boxers to show my only clean black jockstrap.

Crispin grabs his chest with a groan. "Oh, my god, Aaron. Oh my god."

I give him a few off-beat pelvic thrusts. "You like?"

He rolls his eyes to the heavens. "You fulfilled a fantasy I didn't even know I had. Oh, Lawdy."

"How about some of this?" Turning around, I do my best to booty pop, but it feels all wrong.

Crispin is clearly having trouble breathing through his laughter. "What the hell is this?"

"I'm twerking."

"You're definitely not."

"You're right--this is definitely making it clap." I think I pulled a glute.

"The hell it is!"

"What if I back it up and do it on your face, huh? Is it twerking now?" The burn of bourbon in my chest has already spread up my brain, which is probably the only reason I don't fall over in shock when Crispin puts his hands on my asscheeks and licks the center. I freeze.

Crispin pulls back immediately. "Sorry, is that too weird?"

"Do that again or risk losing a limb," I threaten. We move in sync: Crispin turns to lean back against the arm of the couch, and I climb up straddle him I'm facing his knees. Crispin's fingers are less tentative but still gentle as he parts my cheeks. I feel a plump-lipped kiss in the space between hanging sack and puckered hole, then Crispin's warm wet tongue trails from there to his goal. He wastes no time diving in there, tongue darting quickly inside me only to retreat again. My cock strains against the pouch of my jockstrap, but I can't unclench my fingers long enough to do anything about it. Every lick makes me shake, and I have to press my forehead into the couch between Crispin's calves.

"Why have we never done this before?" I ask breathily. I mean, it's in all the porns. It's not like I was unaware that it was an option, or anything.

Crispin's mouth leaves my ass with a pop. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "Does it really feel that good?"

"God, yes," I reply.

He chuckles a little as he strokes the wet area with his fingertips. "So if I do this now..." A finger slides into me with only the question mark in his voice as a warning. My toes curl. I don't know if it hurts or if it feels good; I've been trying my own fingers, but I can only reach so far. Crispin's small, callused, slender digit is all my body needs to seize up in terror and anticipation.

"Whoa," he says. "Try not to clamp down like that."

I know what he means because I've been in his position, but now I get just how hard our first time must have been for him. Crispin's expression is almost comically surprised when I turn around, finger still inside me, and grab his face to kiss him. He laughs against my mouth, and my lips press against his even teeth.

"Am I seriously that good?" he asks when I pull back.

It's time for him to be unclothed. "Not yet," I answer truthfully as I undo his bow tie, "but I get why you were so nervous about your first time." How is it that the knowledge only makes me like him more?

"Are you really that nervous?" he asks, draping his free arm around my shoulders.

"Um, yes." His little white shirt buttons are next to fall prey to my hands.

"You'll be the biggest notch on my belt; I'm going to brag so much about this in college."

I laugh. "That's mean."

"I'll change your name, of course," Crispin comforts me as I unbuckle his pants, "but all the juicy details will stay the same."

I run my fingers over the front of his briefs. "Then you'd best make this the best I ever fucking have."

It's weird to still be basically sitting on his hand, but at least I'm getting used to the feeling of having a foreign object inside me. The Village People finally shut up, and I grab my phone to change the soundtrack. Crispin takes the opportunity to pump his finger a couple of times, I think as an experiment to both of us. He's watching my face.

"How are you doing?" I ask, pressing back against his hand. It's not that the finger feels amazing, but his dick is starting to look huge by comparison. I need the practice.

With a blush that turns his cheeks a rosy bronze, he replies, "Okay? I mean, whenever you're ready..."

"I'm ready," I lie with a kiss. Hopping off the couch, I order, "Git nekkid, you."

Crispin strips while I grab the condoms and lube, and I'm so tempted to tell him to leave the bowtie on. Oh my god, but with his MMA-worthy abs and his rich brown skin, silky black hair and dark eyes... it's only his honed reflexes that keeps us both from knocking heads when I jump him.

"Aaron!" Crispin exclaims, only slightly muffled by my mouth on his face.

He probably thinks that I'm super excited about getting fucked up the ass. I don't know how to properly tell him that's not it. I'm excited that Crispin will get to feel what I've felt and vice versa, but even I'm not sure just what is making me so hungry for him tonight. Do I have a tuxedo fetish?

The couch is just large enough that I can straddle my boyfriend's lap. Crispin's hands wander over my skin as I kiss his mouth, pull me closer when I grind against him. Our skin burns where it touches. I'm on fire, I'm so hard it hurts. Crispin's cock curves up against the cleft of my ass. It's still scary, but that portion of my brain shouting, "This will really hurt!" gets smaller and more garbled with every taste of Crispin's tongue.

With lips still pressed to mine Crispin fumbles for the lube. "You ready?"

"I'm still ready," I respond, lying less this time.

"Then take off your underwear."

"You take it off," I respond. It's kind of fun to be a brat.

Crispin pushes me to standing and slips his fingers into the band of my jockstrap. His dark head bends as he pulls the elastic lower, lower, slowly until the base of my shaft peeks from the top. Crispin kisses me there, pulls the jock lower, puts his lips to the newly exposed flesh, and then pushes my underwear all the way to my feet. My cock would have slapped the underside of his chin if he hadn't caught between his full lips.

"That is so fucking sexy," I exhale, knowing that his ears will turn pink. I just need to let him know, because in the back of my mind I'm convinced that I'm about to have the worst sex of my life, but Crispin needs to understand that no matter what happens to me or my fragile virgin ass, I still want him. I'll always want him.

I wait until I feel that climax-ready tingle in my balls before lifting Crispin's mouth from my erection. "Get ready to fuck me," I say with a quick kiss. I push him back to sitting on the couch; Crispin rolls on a condom and I squirt so much lube over him that it runs onto the cushions.

"Is there any left?" Crispin jokes as I toss the container away.

"There's another bottle," I respond flippantly as I resume my place in his lap. God, but he's hard. Crispin isn't huge--he's the perfect size for the rest of his body--but it already feels like I'll be trying to sit on a baseball bat.

Watching my face, Crispin's brow furrows. "Aaron, we don't have to--" he starts, but I cut him off.

"Best I ever have," I remind him. He nods, and I position myself over his pole. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god I can't, I can't, I think, but gravity pulls me so that the tip presses against the opening. Crispin's hands come to help, so I wrap my arms around his neck and let him guide me. I try to remember all the advice I read. Relax. Push out. Breathe deep. It seems like ages until the head of Crispins cock pops inside me, and then I have to clench my fingers in order to keep from leaping off the couch.

"I'll go slow," Crisin whispers, and I nod. He's so gentle, running his hands over my back, kissing my chest right over my pounding heart that it barely registers when I'm sitting fully in his lap. I unwind myself from him a little, sitting back--that stings--to look him in the eye. Crispin, however, has his eyes shut and is biting his lip. His abs flex, made shiny by the lube and our sweat; I can tell he wants to thrust, to fuck me like I've fucked him before, and it's taking all his self-control to stay still while I get accustomed to his size in me.

Pain or no, that makes me want him to move.

"Go ahead," I say, and raise up just enough that he can lift his hips. We both exhale at that first withdrawal and thrust, him in ecstasy, me in agony. Crispin withdraws again; I repeat my mantra. Relax and push out. He thrusts. Breathe deep. He pulls back. This time I sink farther down on him, trying to get more comfortable.

It hurts, it still hurts so badly, but I know he's being careful and I don't want him to stop. I lean back and brace myself on his knees, working his shaft with my hole. Crispin's hands guide me; his eyes are still closed, and I briefly wonder if he has to go through this every time I'm in him. Almost as soon as the thought enters my mind I feel Crispin tilting my hips; it's like the clouds open because suddenly his cock is rubbing over something that feels really, really fucking good.

"Oh, my god, yes," I say.

Crispin grins up at me. "We got it?"

I roll my hips to feel it again. "Fuck yeah, we did."

Crispin wraps his arms around my waist and lets me ride him; his teeth are on my chest and his harsh breathing takes over my ears.

This is tiring--my thighs burn--but now that it feels good I don't want to stop. Until I get a cramp and have to pause. Crispin laughs at me, but he massages my leg with his strong hands.

"I don't think I can be a power bottom," I admit, leaning at a weird angle to relieve the pain. "I'm frail."

"Let me scoot so you can put your knees up here," Crispin offers, ever the thoughtful one, and we rearrange so he's lying on the couch and I'm straddling his hips. We scramble to put him back inside me, laughing when our foreheads bonk together, and I'm able to sit back (way faster than I probably should) so that he's all the way inside me.

"Ow."

"Oh my god, Aaron, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I didn't mean 'ow' like it hurts. I just didn't know how--that, like, took my breath away."

Crispin pets my stomach. "Try tensing up right here," he advises, rocking his hips gently.

I do, and fuck me if that wasn't a great tip. Now I hold myself at the right angle to feel his cock rub over that spot inside me, rocking with Crispin in a way I wasn't able to do by myself. The slippery lube makes squelching sounds between us, for some reason the sound is dirtier, sexier than before. Crispin's bronze abs flex as he rolls his hips into me and he gasps when I run my fingertips down his torso. It's hot, I'm still burning from the bourbon or maybe just him, and I'm trying not to be too loud but I can't help going Unh ugh unf every time Crispin's dick bottoms out in me. He's holding back, though. I can tell from the bulge of his muscles, even though his hands on my hips are so gentle.

"You can fuck me harder," I whisper in his ear, and Crispin responds immediately, bucking his hips until I'm bouncing on him. I can't breathe properly; it feels like the pounding in my ass is poking my fucking lungs. It's so weird and it's so good.

He pulls my head down and kisses me. "Like that?"

"Harder," I respond. Why? As it is I feel like I can't take it anymore. All this tension, the buildup, it has to go somewhere, but the harder Crispin fucks me the more it feels like I'll end up in a coma.

I'm jacking myself so fast that my muscles burn. My body is tingling, stiffening in preparation; I know I'm digging my fingernails into his skin but I can't help it. My balls contract so hard it hurts, and then everything goes white and tense and shit, fuck, I've never come like this before, shaking all over as I shoot all over the fucking place. I think I'm crying, or maybe shouting, or laughing; my voice is loud over the music. "Keep going," I beg, just so he knows what it's like to finish inside.

It takes only a few more thrusts until he wraps his arms around me so tightly it might bruise. "Oh, my god," Crispin says. "Oh, my god."

I still can't breathe.

"You came so hard."

I know, and if my body would quit shaking I could tell him so.

"Oh, my god," he says again.

I fall onto the couch, and Crispin rearranges himself to put his head on my chest. I got cum in his hair. He pets my arm, which is really nice. Regulatory.

Finally I have enough breath to confess, "I meant for us to make it to the bed," which for some reason cracks Crispin up. He giggles, then snorts, and then I join in because I'm not even sure what was so funny about what I said, but we're still in sync and I can't help how my body is expressing the warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with Crispin fucking the absolute shit out of me. He's doing that thing where he can't even breathe anymore; he's just guffawing at the idea of not making it over the back of the couch to my bed. It takes minutes--hours? Who cares?--for us to calm down enough for me to get the words out.

"Hey, even if it's only for a little while, I love you," I say. "So much." My heart pounds in my throat. Say it back, please say it back. "I'm, um, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as I figured it out."

Crispin's dark eyes fix on me just before they fill with tears. "Damn it, Aaron," he replies thickly, "you're not supposed to do this."

Why is he crying? Isn't he supposed to be happy? "I'm sorry--" I start, but Crispin shuts me up with a salty kiss.

"You're going to make it so fucking hard to get over you, asshole."

"You aren't making it any easier," I retort, earning a laugh. "So are you going to switch to topping now, or what?"

He gazes at me for a moment, then slowly shakes his head. "Not always. I like having you inside me." Crispin's face is rosy and half-hidden by his mussed black hair, and that might actually be hotter than just having the cum fucked out of me. Okay, maybe not, but I feel like another five minutes of looking at him like this would have me hard again.

"That can be arranged," I inform him, and Crispin laughs, crawling over the back of the couch to pull me up behind him.

****

"Happy gradu-fucking-ation, man!" Jay shouts, slinging an arm around my neck before releasing me to bump chests with LeAndre and Carter. He's like a puppy sometimes. "Free of this hellhole!"

"Free to study your ass off if you want to stay in school," LeAndre comments dryly.

In his enthusiasm Jay nearly runs over the smaller figure trying to weave through the crowd. "Watch where you're going, fudge packer," he barks. Carter laughs, but LeAndre shakes his head.

"Don't, man."

Before Crispin can defend himself I smack Jay so hard in the back of the head that he stumbles. "Watch your mouth around him, fucking prick."

LeAndre whistles; Carter exclaims, "Damn, son!" Crispin raises an eyebrow at me. Oops, but I really don't care right now.

"What?" I say with a shrug. "If you won't bust out your skills I'll be a little violent for you."

Jay pushes me and rubs the injured spot. "What, is this your boyfriend?" he jeers in a singsong tone.

LeAndre asks, "What skills?"

Crispin stammers. "Uh, er, there aren't really, um, I--"

One look at his pink ears makes up my mind to answer both questions at once. "We've been dating on the down-low since February," I cut in, stepping between my boyfriend and my friends. "And let me tell you virgins, he fucks me good. Surprise, mothafuckas!"

Crispin's face turns bright red. "You're an asshole," he says affectionately.

"I'll see you later." And then, in front of everyone, I grab him by the collar to give him a quick and noisy peck.

Crispin's eyes are the size of dinner plates. "Uh, um right. Happy coming out, I guess."

I grin. "Thanks."

"Bye, guys," Crispin says mostly to LeAndre, who's so stunned he only goes, "Yuh."