Page 15
“So agreeable,” Dante mumbles, then snorts. “I assume you want something that’s more sugar and milk than coffee?”
“Mocha.”
“Noted.”
We stop in front of my house, Dante’s arm still slung across my shoulders.
He uses his arm to turn me toward him, pulling me into the warmth of his solid chest. The familiar scent of him washes over me and I close my eyes for one long second to memorize it.
Dante doesn’t look surprised when I push out of his embrace with an annoyed huff.
“Goodbye.”
Dante’s dark chuckle follows me into the house.
I peek through the window to watch him head back home, a happy little pep to his step.
I remove my shoes, gingerly placing them on the mat, before heading toward my room.
The door to Mason’s study is wide open as I walk by, so I pause to wave good morning.
Mason happily waves back. “You look perky.”
I roll my eyes. “I had coffee.”
“Just coffee?”
I flick him off and trudge the rest of the way to my room.
I should take a shower, especially after the events of last night, but a part of me wants to keep the pieces of Dante that linger on my skin.
The familiar smell of him lingers on the hoodie though, enough to quell my stupidest urges, so I guess I can take a shower.
Once showered and delightfully clean, I tug the hoodie back over my head while my hair is still damp.
My phone lights up with a message from where it sits on the bed. I lean over slightly, tap the screen, and use all my willpower to stop from smiling at the sight of Dante’s name. Motherfucker.
Dante
Be a good boy and draw me another picture. Give it to me tomorrow.
I ignore his text.
The rest of the day is a blur of homework and sketching. Mason works on his computer on the couch, while I sit with my sketchbook nestled in my lap. When he’s not looking, I sneak glances at him, noting the color in his cheeks, the vibrancy of his eyes.
Despite making his life as hellish as I can lately, I still worry about Mason more than I would any other sibling if I had one.
I remember life before his illness when we were kids, and I remember how Mom hid him away from the world during and afterwards.
One summer I got to go to coding camp, I took to it like I’d been made to do it.
Poor Mason had wanted desperately to join me, but our mom had already been too far deep into “protecting Mason” mode.
No, too many germs, she’d sang. Enough germs for me, but too many for Mason.
I’d come home every night when I was twelve and showed an almost-ready-for-college Mason how to code.
It’d been our secret that summer, one of many that we’ll probably always have.
Ever since our parents died, there’s been this divide between us that I somehow just can’t cross.
I want to hug him, but he won’t let me, because he physically can’t allow it.
And I want to tell him I’m sorry for always being such a little shit but the ability to apologize for any of my behavior is simply impossible now.
Mason yawns around bed time after spending hours typing nonstop.
He looks over at me, but I purposefully hide my face so it looks like I’ve been sketching for hours, not staring at him while going all maudlin.
He leaves the living room with a sigh, and my heart hurts so much that I don’t know what to do with it.
Once the sounds of Mason getting ready for bed quiet, I make my way to my own room, snuggling down into the bed still dressed in Dante’s hoodie.
Lifting it to my nose, I take a deep inhale, calming at the spicy scent of his cologne and skin.
And if my heart beats just a little faster when I fall asleep that night, well, that’s between me and God.
I wake up early the next morning to spend time in the library.
Sometimes getting out of the house helps me focus on a task at hand.
The sun hangs low in the sky, campus quiet as I make my way toward the library.
Usually I’d have coffee in my hand to keep me warm, but I don’t want to drink any since Dante will be bringing me some later.
That feeling of being watched niggles at the back of my brain again, but I assume it’s just Dante.
A smile tugs at my lips, making me dip my head down to hide the blush that’s no doubt working its way up my neck.
Libraries have the most amazing, comforting smell.
Old books and magic, that’s what my mother used to say before taking me and Mason to the library as children.
Something about a library just settles my nerves, makes me feel like maybe everything is going to be alright.
Even when Mason was sick as a kid, we’d find our way to the library, and nothing could hurt us there when we escaped into another world.
The library is almost empty when I push through, everyone my age still asleep.
Just the way I like it. I head up to the third floor where the research texts are and navigate my way through the empty oak tables.
My usual one is empty, with the deep scratches in the corner from someone practicing their whittling skills as they studied.
I drag my sketchbook out of my bag, along with my laptop and textbook.
An hour of studying at the library before class will give me enough time to work ahead so that I can finish the course materials before finals season occurs.
I usually like to jump ahead in my courses, because I often already know what they’re teaching.
By the beginning of high school, I was taking college-level courses.
A college senior at nineteen would’ve thrilled my parents, too bad they’re not around to see it.
I scowl at my train of thought and focus back on my work.
When the numbers start to annoy me because they’re too predictable, I grab my sketchbook to doodle a distraction.
That feeling of being watched again washes over me.
When I glance up, movement behind some books catches my eye. The familiar shine of Dante’s hair is easy to spot. I smile down at the sketchbook again, then reach into the pocket of my hoodie to grab my phone.
When do I get my coffee?
Dante
When you’re good
What do I have to do to be good?
Dante
Take your cock out
My chest heaves as I stare down at those words.
Is he serious? I think about arguing with him, telling him to fuck off, but I also think about that glorious feeling of pleasing him from a few nights ago.
Pleasing Dante has quickly become one of my favorite pastimes.
I clear my throat awkwardly as I slip my hand under the desk, unbuttoning my pants with one hand.
Dante
Keep your other hand on the table, flat.
I do as he says with a stutter in my breath.
Dante
Good boy. Now take your cock out.
My cock is already rock hard, pre-cum leaking from the tip when I swipe my thumb over the head. A hushed sound reaches my ears despite the blood pounding in my head.
Dante
Now make yourself come
You have five minutes
I keep my eyes trained on the scratch marks at the edge of the table as I shuttle my hand over my cock.
It’s dry and not the most pleasurable jerk-off experience of my life, but the idea of doing it in public, with Dante watching in the wings, makes it somehow the top ten best masturbation sessions of my life.
My balls tighten and the base of my spine tingles as my orgasm creeps up on me.
I gasp quietly and tilt my head more, ducking my chin into the hoodie that still smells like Dante.
Spilling into my hand, I close my eyes tight as my orgasm washes over me. I pant softly through my release, not at all shocked when Dante’s warm body presses against my back.
“Give me your hand,” Dante mutters into my ear.
My face must be beet red when I lift my cum-covered hand from under the table. Dante presses his cheek against my own, lifts my hand to his mouth, and licks my cum from my hand. Oh fuck. If anyone saw us, it would look totally depraved. Because it is. We’re both sick.
“It’s time to go to class now.”
Dante’s heat disappears from my back before I can even try to kiss him. After shakily buttoning my pants back up, I pack my things away, and trudge out of the library. I can feel Dante’s eyes on me, his presence close by as I walk across the street to the math building.
All through class my body thrums from the release in the library.
I wish I could’ve fallen to my knees and sucked Dante off there, eyes staring up at him in proof of being a good boy.
Only his good boy. I want everyone to see just how good I can be for him.
By the time class is over, I feel like I’m in some sort of trance where all I can think about is Dante.
Dante stands at the edge of the quad when I exit the math building.
The sunlight makes his dark hair look like onyx, like coal.
My fingers itch to draw him like he is right now, broad-shouldered, annoyed curl of his lips until he catches sight of me.
The transformation of his face from annoyed to delighted should be illegal.
I should not have that effect on anyone, let alone someone as glorious as Dante.
“Mocha,” Dante announces while holding a cup out to me.
I take it with the most bland look I can muster. “Thank you.”
Dante glances over my shoulder with a frown, then slings his arm over my shoulder. “How was class?”
I glance over my shoulder, but don’t see anything.
Odd. I let him lead me deeper into the quad where a couple of other people are lounging around on the grass.
He plops down on the ground without any fanfare and opens his arms. When I just stare down at him in confusion, he wiggles his fingers in a clear sign for me to join him.
Sighing, I sit between his legs with my back to his chest.
“Class was fine,” I mumble while taking a sip of the coffee.
“You’re a math major?”