Since our dinner last night, Payne seems better. I’m trying to pretend it has nothing to do with me, but I can’t stamp down that twinge of pride at being the one who got to support him like that.
Seeing Kyle with another man though … I saw red.
I’m not a violent guy, but if he’d been right in front of me, I would have punched him. The guy he was with had nothing on Payne.
Stupid, horrible, dumb loser.
Words have been coming easily, practically pouring out of me, but still not on what I’m supposed to be writing about. They’re nonsensical snippets of pining and loss and betrayal, and while none of it is anything I’d ever publish, it feels good to follow the muse.
I’m keenly aware of Payne behind me, watching TV, volume down so low it’s a hum of noise. And even with him doing his best not to distract me, I can’t stop the weird feeling of needing to say something. To make it clear I’m not ignoring him.
I open my mouth to suggest we get lunch when he cuts me off.
“Don’t.”
I slump. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” It’s not my fault his presence is so big.
He angles his head so he can smile at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, you were. I swear you have the loudest inhale in history. Not to mention I can practically hear you thinking about it from here. You need to get used to working with people around since you want me here and I’m not hiding out in my room every day.”
“You’re going to stay?” My voice hitches with excitement.
“You’re doing it again …” he sings.
“It was a legitimate question!”
“Legitimate procrastination, maybe.”
I turn back to my computer with the biggest grin on my face. Maybe he only means short term, who knows?
I’ll take it though.
And if I’m really, really lucky, I’ll get the chance to hold him again.
My fingers fly across the keyboard.
And as I write, I zone out. The room around me disappears as I’m transported into the world beneath my fingertips.
When I blink back into reality, my hands are cramped, and it’s darker than it was earlier. I glance over my shoulder and find the TV off and Payne gone.
Beside me, though, is a bright yellow paper crane, with a note along the wing.
Babysitting the girls tonight. Be home later.
Nerves that have no right to show up hit me out of nowhere. I know it’s dangerous, and I’m leaning into the fantasy too far to be safe, but all I can picture is Payne in the role of my boyfriend, letting me know when he’ll be home.
I drop my head onto the desk.
Bad, Beau!
Determined to behave somewhat normally and not totally smitten with my roommate, I go shower, then forage for leftovers in the fridge. It’s well stocked, and I could cook something—if I wasn’t so worried that I’d put it on and forget about it. Luckily, the leftover Thai smells mouthwatering as it reheats.
I sit at the kitchen counter as I eat, letting the silence settle over me. Normally this is the moment where I’m most lonely. Where the end of the day hits me and I realize I’ve been holed up here with no human contact, and my thoughts usually head in a dark direction, but this time, when I ask myself if anyone would even notice if I was here or not, I come up with a different answer.
Payne would notice.
Butterflies hit me again, and I wish they’d stop. I wish I could be immune to him, but even more than that, I wish he was in a position where I could tell him how I feel. Going through a breakup isn’t stellar timing for unloading that onto him, but for the first time in our whole lives, I actually have the opportunity.
We’re not teenaged punks. Neither of us is leaving for college. We’re in the same town, the same fucking apartment. I could … I could actually do it.
I stare blankly at my food as I realize, with total certainty, that I’m going to tell him. Not now. Not even soon, since I want to make sure he’s in a good place first, but in the coming future, I will tell him how I feel.
He’ll probably let me down easy.
But my brain can’t stop conjuring pretty images of him saying he feels the same.
I’m an idiot.
A hopeful idiot, but just as stupid all the same.
Since Payne is with the girls, I assume that means Marty and Lizzy have gone out together, so instead of messaging my best friend like I normally would, I take a photo of the crane and send it to Payne.
Me: Man of many talents.
To my surprise, he texts right back.
Payne: I’m good with my hands.
I bite my lip and try not to read too much into that, but … it sort of sounds flirty. Maybe? Sort of?
Me: So am I, but clearly we use that superpower for two very different things 😉
Payne: Oh yeah? What do you use your magic hands for?
Me: Typing, of course. Whatever else could you possibly be referring to?
Payne: LOL
I give him a minute, but nothing else comes through. Fuck it.
Me: They’re also good for jerking off.
Payne: We have that in common.
Nrgh. Payne. Jerking off. Standing in the shower, water running over his hair and down his tattooed body, forearm flexing with every stroke. Goddamn I want to see that. My fingers are itching to write more, to flirt, to push boundaries I have no business pushing. Instead, I close my phone and will myself to forget about the maybe almost kinda flirting that’s probably all in my head and look for distractions instead.
It’s too late to go for a walk, and I can’t be assed pulling the yoga mat out. I still haven’t grabbed another coloring book, and the one time I’m actually considering cleaning the place, it’s already clean.
I could go to bed, since I was up at four, but even that isn’t calling to me.
Instead, I flop back onto the couch, about to turn the TV on, when I’m hit with the faintest whiff of Payne’s cologne. My eyes fall closed as I breathe more of it in. His scent floods my senses, and my cock thickens with interest.
Guess I’ve figured out how to spend my time.
I duck into my bedroom for the lube, then head back for the couch. As I’m passing Payne’s room, the idea to go in there flickers through my mind. While it would be hot as fuck to jerk off in his bed, even my feelings know what the word “limits” means. Apparently jerking off over him is fine; doing it in his space is not.
Good to know I’m not yet beyond rational thought.
Back on the couch, I turn my face and press it to the cushion. His scent is still there but frustratingly faint. I squirt some lube in my hand and hook my sweats beneath my balls. Then I take a deep breath and relax.
I stroke myself slowly, almost teasingly, as I wait to reach full hardness. All I can concentrate on is how amazing my couch smells and how good Payne felt in my arms last night. Only a foot from where I’m sitting now. His large, warm body, pressed against me, making me hard.
Mmm. Sighing, I drop my head back. My hand circles the tip of my cock before I give myself another long, hard stroke. Desire is pooling in my balls, driven by the image of Payne on his knees between my spread thighs, leaning in, his hot breath on my swollen, needy cock.
I’ve never jerked off so much as I have since he moved in.
He’s everywhere in my place. Filling every room with my filthy thoughts of him. I walk into the kitchen and can see him bending me over the island. I sit at my desk and can picture him spinning me in my chair before shoving his cock into my mouth. He’s in the shower with me while I clean myself, and in bed with me at night. My need for him is growing stronger, more tangible every day. And sure, maybe I should focus on my plan to pay attention to his flaws, but those flaws only make me want him more.
My balls tighten with the need to come, so I draw back and loosen my grip. I want this to last. To enjoy my fantasies. It’s so fucking difficult though when all I can think about is him.
Payne Walker Payne Walker Payne Walker …
I groan deep in my chest, and I jerk off with purpose, getting myself so close before backing off again. I do it over and over, until my thighs are trembling with the pressure of holding off, and I know I’m not going to last much longer.
I’m so lost in the delicious arousal flooding my system that I don’t register the small click.
The light footsteps.
Then movement catches my attention as Payne walks into the room.
My heart stops.
He freezes.
My hand keeps fucking going.
“P-Payne …”
His dark stare drops to my cock and sends a full-body shiver through me.
“I … I’m sorry—” He goes to turn, and I speak without thinking.
“Stay.”
Payne whirls back around, confusion on his face, but even that isn’t enough to embarrass me. I know any normal person would have stopped touching themselves by now, maybe tucked their junk away, but when Payne’s gaze falls to my cock again, my hand only moves faster.
My eyes are locked on him as he crosses his arms and rests casually against the wall.
“Okay.”
Fuck yes.
My balls throb as I jerk off, greedily drinking in Payne’s long, muscular body. I want to ask him to take his shirt off, but somehow I manage to cut off that thought. I’m panting, body alive and thrumming with my impending orgasm. Then I notice something that catapults me over the edge …
The long, hard outline of Payne’s cock.
I bite off a cry as I come, head tossed back and thighs tensing through the pleasure. My cock throbs and throbs, and the weight of Payne’s stare sends tingles through every limb. The high lasts a blissfully long time, and when I finally crack open an eye, I’m hoping Payne will have done the decent thing and left me to my embarrassment.
Instead, he’s still there. And as soon as we make eye contact, he lifts his eyebrows.
“You really do have magic hands.” Then he reaches down and adjusts himself before disappearing into the hall.
All I can do is stare at the place he disappeared and try not to picture him going to relieve himself.
Over me.
