Laney Cairo - Bad Case of Loving You

“Okay,” he said. “Text me your address, and I’ll come over.”

I couldn’t think of a diplomatic way to ask if he had condoms, not with the way the guy sitting opposite me was perving at me, so I said, “Bye,” and ended the call.

I sat on the front steps and waited for Dr. M to arrive. If I went upstairs and tried to tidy my room, either no one would answer the door, or someone would, and they’d forget my name and that I lived there, too. I’m sure the seven or so people who lived in the house were all academic high achievers, but you couldn’t tell.

A decrepit Morris rattled down the road and parked. Dr. M climbed out and walked back toward the house. I waved and stood up, watching him. He was wearing jeans, still, and a white shirt and leather jacket, and he looked so fucking good it was painful.

He climbed the steps, and when he spoke, I became aware of exactly how much noise was rolling out of the house. I think he said, ‘Hey,’ but I couldn’t be sure, not with the volume at which Nine Inch Nails was being played.

Not that this was a time for conversation anyway. I’d only got to feel his cock briefly in the bar, but it had certainly been promising.

I slid a hand around his neck and pressed my mouth against his.

First kisses, first times, always had so much potential, and, God, this one just exploded. We both groaned. I felt his as a rumble through my body, and he pushed me against the doorframe, then kissed me utterly and completely. I clutched at him, got my other hand under his jacket, hung on for dear life, and we were fucking on the doorstep, but we both still had our clothes on, and it was only with our mouths.

I had no idea that kissing could feel so amazingly good, all hot and slippery and full of promises, leaving me breathless and dazed, and so fucking turned on that coming right there and then was looking more and more likely.

I wasn’t the only one; I could feel Andrew breathing hard as his mouth pressed against my ear. “Your room,” he said.

His hand was strong in mine, the skin smooth from endless washing, something I loved about medicine, the way it made hands feel. I led him into the house and past the door to the lounge room. There really was a beer can pyramid in one corner, and pizza boxes piled on the floor, and a mattress behind the couch, where Clive lived. Jeff was asleep on the couch, despite the noise, Geoff number two was playing PlayStation, and Clive was sucking on the bong. Just an ordinary student household.

We stepped over the looping ropes of ADSL cables that snaked up the stairs, the noise easing a little at the landing as we moved out of direct blast range of the speakers in the kitchen, and I pushed my bedroom door open.

The noise was reduced to a muted pounding through the floorboards, and Matthew locked the door. I recognised his room from my own student days; the teetering mounds of textbooks, pages of scrawled revision notes drifting across the floor, sheets of paper covered in sketches of muscle groups pinned to the wall.

He flicked his reading light on, and I turned off the overhead light.

This time we kissed slowly. He tasted of beer, and I threaded my fingers into his curls. When he pulled back and began to unbutton my shirt, his lips shone slickly and he licked them, swiping his tongue across them, sending my imagination spiraling. How could I have had doubts?

I shrugged off my jacket and shirt, and he ran the flat of his hand across my chest, then pulled his T-shirt over his head.

The sight of his skin, so smooth and young, the way his nipples puckered in the cool air, and, oh, God, the bars through the tender skin, just about undid me there and then.

I bent forward, took one bar and the surrounding flesh into my mouth, and sucked.

Matthew groaned, I twisted the bar gently, and we staggered backward and down onto his lumpy futon. There was a book or something under my knee, and I found the bar again with my mouth, wondering for a moment if I could identify the book without looking at it. Would it be Davidson’s Principles and Practice ? Forbes’ Atlas?

Then Matthew dragged his nails up my back, hitting the spot just under my shoulder blades that sent all thought skittering from my mind, and made me bite down on the bar.

He thrashed beneath me, and our bodies slid sideways so my hip was pressing against his cock, and his thigh was against mine. I began to hope he’d come just from what my mouth was doing.

Matthew grabbed my hair and pulled my mouth off his nipple. I started to complain, but he was so flushed and lovely and hungry beneath me that the words died away. “Latex?”

he said. “Have you got some condoms?”

“Ah, yeah,” I said. “Two in my jacket.”

Matthew nodded. “Good. I donated all mine to a good cause tonight, and I don’t have unsafe sex.”

I scrambled across the room for my jacket, feeling for the inside pocket, and Matthew tossed the book that had been in the way onto the floor. It was Kelley’s Essentials, which had not been on my list of guesses.

Matthew unzipped his jeans and pushed them down. When he pulled his cock out of his boxers I found myself frozen in place, hand in my jacket. He had a large metallic blue bead on the head of his cock, in the centre of the glans, and as he stroked himself I could see that there was a matching bead on the underside and a bar connecting them through the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” I said, crawling back across the floor littered with clothes and books to the mattress on the floor.

“Like it?” Matthew asked, and I nodded mutely. “You think it looks good, you just wait until you feel it inside you.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Naked, Matthew was melt-in-your-mouth delicious, and I crawled over his body and lowered myself down onto him.

Skin to skin, cocks sliding together, we kissed again, and God, we were on fire. “Suck me?” Matthew murmured against my ear as I latched onto the skin of his neck.

“Yeah,” I said, and slid off him and watched as he rolled a condom carefully over the beads and down his cock. He was a good size, long and lean, and I leaned forward and took his cock into my mouth.

I must admit I’m not used to using a condom for oral sex, but, hey, Matthew could have asked me to do pretty much anything right then and I would have agreed. Falsify his assessment? Sure. Let him submit a dodgy essay? Oh, yeah.

Skip rounds? Okay, as long as I could, too, and we could go fuck in the storeroom.

The beads were uncomfortable, bumping my palate at just the wrong place, so I changed angles, clambered around a little, and Matthew’s hands spread my thighs and settled on my cock and ass.

His fingers slipped a little in my sweat, and I got the angles right, and he groaned loudly. Fuck it all, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this, not this stretched-out-gonna-last-for-hours kind of turned on. Matthew’s thumb was pressing behind my balls, rubbing in circles, and his other hand was pumping my cock slowly. I sucked hard, and slid my hand between his thighs, pushing my fingers up against his perineum.

“Fuck, yes!” he cried out, and his legs thrashed on the bed and he was yelling and clutching at me and coming.

The sheets were rumpled and gritty beneath my back when Matthew pushed me down onto them, but his fingers were smooth and gentle as he rolled the condom onto my cock.

He ripped open a pack of sterile gloves, and the bit of mind that was still working noticed that he wore a size eight. Big hands, long fingers; then his mouth was on me, and his fingers pushed gently inside me, and I felt like I was one orgasm away from losing my mind. There was lube beside the bed, hospital issue lube, but I hadn’t noticed him putting some on his hand. He must have, because his fingers were sliding in and out steadily, and all I could do was ache and moan and wish it were his cock.