Page 19

15 EMERSON

Jason kissed him.

Star football coach. Teacher of the year three years running. Big man on campus. Most popular guy at Santa Leon High. Also, nicest guy ever and the most handsome. That Jason King kissed him. The same man who keeps Dr. Pepper and Ranch Doritos in his office in case Emerson ever runs out. The guy who knows Emerson’s favorite foods and texts with him when words are too hard after a long day.

Of all the things Emerson has imagined in his life, this might be the greatest. Except Jason isn’t anything like one of his daydreams, he’s not a dream at all. Jason is so very real and also looking at Emerson like he’s something fucking special, and no one has ever looked at him like this.

For as long as he’s known he had a crush on Jason, it’s felt like an objective fact. Something true, but not something Emerson had any plans to try and change. There are lots of things Emerson likes and some he doesn’t, and all of those are simply fixed things. Like the way Emerson likes Eggo waffles or peanut sandwiches or Lord of the Rings. Liking Jason simply was. He was never going to do anything about it because Jason was straight. Or so he thought before tonight.

Now Jason is here looking at Emerson like he maybe wants to kiss him again, holding him so close Emerson can feel every line of Jason’s massive body, and suddenly having feelings for Jason doesn’t feel the same as the way he likes waffles or soft blankets. It’s different—more.

So much of Emerson’s life has been spent studying other people or himself, fascinated and confused in equal measure by the complexities of being a human. Along with that fascination has always come a frustration that he cannot understand his own emotions as easily as he can understand characters in a book. He’s tried speech therapy, occupational therapy, even talk therapy. He’s carried a laminated feelings chart in his wallet, and on more than one occasion, cried because he was so frustrated by not understanding how he felt.

Right now, this feeling bubbling up in his chest, is the most clear and solid thing he’s ever experienced; it’s happiness.

Jason King makes him happy.

“Boys,” Mabel calls, “there’s a line.”

“Yeah, boys,” someone much younger and decidedly male says.

“Sanchez,” Jason laughs, dropping his hand. Before he steps away, he kisses Emerson’s lips once more in a brief but pleasant kiss that makes Emerson’s insides tingle with delight. If he’d realized just how nice kissing was maybe he’d have tried it earlier, though in hindsight that would’ve involved letting other people touch him or get into his personal space and so far, despite many surface level crushes, he’s never ever wanted to cross that line with anyone but Jason.

“What’cha doing in there, Coach?” another voice adds. Emerson knows this one. It’s Matty.

“None of your business,” Jason answers, slipping out of the photo booth first. He takes off his plastic crown, depositing it on Matty’s head. “If you must be so nosy, Mr. Miller and I were helping Mabel test the photo booth.”

“Is that all, Coach?” Matty asks.

It’s only then that Emerson notices the photo booth photo in Matty’s hand. A sinking feeling floods his gut. He can hear Landon all over again. Why would you go to homecoming? Isn’t that for people who have friends? Of course you’re not going to prom, weirdo, who would go with you? Bet you’re gay, aren’t you? Mom and Dad will never let you bring anyone home, that is if anyone ever actually wanted to date you.

He’d been horrible and cruel, and the only saving grace was that he’d been so busy with sports and his own friends, he’d mostly ignored Emerson unless he was very bored or in a bad mood.

Emerson spent a few hours tutoring Matty this week. He knows he’s a good kid and not at all like his cousin, but his own knee jerk reaction to being in front of a large group of high school athletes is hard to ignore. Especially with all of them standing there staring, one of them holding a photograph that he knows could out Jason. Emerson feels like he might be sick. He’s not even sure he’s breathing. His lungs are expanding but it doesn’t feel like air is actually coming in.

In Emerson’s short twenty-six years of life, he quickly learned that the things he loves needed to be protected. Sometimes hidden away. Part of this was born from a discomfort with being perceived, along with a hefty amount of fear of ridicule—usually from his own family. He’s always minimized or hid his intense interest in things, worried about losing it or having it taken away.

He wants to hide Jason away right now. Wants to pull him back into that bubble of happiness they created in the photo booth where the perceptions of students and coworkers didn’t matter. To a place where only happy memories exist. The kind his mom might have had here. Denise said his mom liked to dance, which meant she probably came to homecoming here, just like Emerson.

“Matthew Albert Smith,” Jason intones in the kind of teacher voice Emerson rarely hears him use.

Matty straightens up like he’s been struck by lightning while the other players howl with laughter, shoving each other and making a lot of ohs and ahs that have Emerson clenching his jaw.

“Damn, Coach,” Matty whistles, “didn’t have to do me so dirty.”

“Yes, he did,” Arlo hisses. “You’re making Mr. Miller uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m not,” Matty protests with that same smile he always wears, a smile that drops when he looks at Emerson. Clearly his attempt to smile is not working because Matty’s expression falls. “Shit, I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. I was just teasing. Honest. It’s good to see Coach King happy. Besides, you’re our good luck charm.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Emerson protests, but no one seems to be listening to him.

“Mr. Miller is the best,” Arlo says, snatching the photo from Matty and closing the few steps between them to pass it back to Jason who tucks it into his suit pocket. Arlo’s jaw is tight, head held high as he stalks back to the group. Emerson waits, afraid Arlo might be ostracized or yelled at, but all that happens is Matty swinging his arm around Arlo’s shoulder and ruffling his hair.

“Hell yeah, he’s the best.” Matty’s smile returns. “Mr. Miller won us homecoming.”

“Then why were you teasing him?” Arlo challenges, and Emerson smiles for real, unsure he’s ever seen Arlo really stand up for anything like this. He’s not sure why he, of all people, might be the catalyst, but knowing how much Arlo holds back, it makes Emerson proud to see him speak up.

“I wasn’t teasing Mr. Miller, I was teasing Coach. He blushes like a?—”

Arlo slaps his hand over Matty’s mouth, almost immediately yanking it back with a frown. “You licked me.”

“Serves you right,” Matty laughs.

“I don’t know why I like you,” Arlo grumbles, crossing his arms.

“I knew you liked me, Rosales. Come on, let's take a photo.”

“You and me?” Arlo squeaks.

“Yeah, why not?” Matty reaches for Arlo’s arm, pulling him into the photo booth.

“Let’s go,” one of the other players says, half of them shoving each other to try and squeeze into the small photo booth along with Matty and Arlo.

“Think you can handle this, Mabel?” Jason asks.

Mabel scoffs. “I’ve been handling teenage boys longer than you’ve been alive, Jason.”

“Of course you have,” Jason grins in that easy way of his that makes it seem like everything is normal. It’s a wonder he can manage it because Emerson’s entire life feels like it’s teetering on the edge. Somehow it never occurred to Emerson how different it would feel, probably because it never occurred to him he had a chance with Jason. He might have wished a few times, but that wasn’t the same as believing it could happen, or thinking of the possibilities.

There are possibilities now, and Emerson’s brain is going in a million directions. What if Jason likes Emerson enough to realize he’s not straight, but not in a relationship kind of way? What if he kisses Emerson again and realizes how woefully inexperienced Emerson is in all things relationship and wants someone who knows more to figure things out with? Even as he thinks it, nausea churns in his gut. He doesn’t like the idea of Jason with anyone else. When he thought Jason was straight, he’d been fine with it, but now he’s not, and Emerson doesn’t understand why, just knows he feels mildly ill.

“Emmy, did you hear what I said?”

The use of his special nickname from Jason drags Emerson out of his mental spiral, but can’t change that he wasn’t listening. He shakes his head, frowning.

“Follow me,” Jason says, lifting a hand like he’s going to reach for Emerson’s and then dropping it. Is that because he changed his mind or because they’re chaperoning and it might be inappropriate? He supposes kissing at the dance was probably inappropriate, but no one saw them. Well, unless you count the photo from the photo booth that Matty had.

This is so complicated. Emerson hates complicated things. Why can’t it be as simple as he likes Jason and Jason likes him and no one else matters?

With a bitten off sigh, Emerson follows Jason, not entirely sure where they’re going until Jason leads him around the snack table and back towards his office. He trails after him, watching the students dance and wondering again if his mom ever went to homecoming.

Jason pulls a key out of his pocket, unlocking the door and flipping the light on while waiting for Emerson to step inside before shutting the door. The noises from the gym are still loud, but dulled here, and some of the tightness in his chest unwinds because this is familiar. Just him and Jason in their spot. The place where they share lunch and talk. A place where the rest of the world doesn’t matter. More of that tension bleeds away when Jason closes the distance between them and pulls Emerson into a crushing hug, the deep pressure exactly what his deregulated nervous system needs.

Attempting to shove his face into Jason’s neck, he’s frustrated to find his ear defenders making it uncomfortable. Yanking them off, he drops them to the floor, immediately burying his face in the crook of Jason’s neck. With his ear against his shoulder and his lips half-pressed to the hollow of Jason’s throat, he breathes a little easier, focusing on Jason’s familiar scent and the warmth of his body.

There’s a fleeting thought that maybe this isn’t what he’s supposed to do after his first kiss, but this is what he needs and Jason won’t mind. Jason never minds. Jason understands him, in ways no one ever has. Jason innately knew Emerson was overwhelmed and overstimulated and on the verge of a shutdown and brought him here—somewhere private.

The truth of the situation hits Emerson in full force. Jason likes Emerson, not just when he’s happy or easy, but always. He likes him even when he’s on the edge of breakdown, nearly ripping the back of Jason’s suit jacket because he can’t pretend he doesn’t want to be closer. If Emerson could, he’d crawl inside of Jason’s suit and stay there, crawl under his very skin. Everything about Jason is warm and bright, and Emerson basks in him like a man starved of sunlight.

With Jason, he doesn’t need to mask, and the relief that comes with this acknowledgment has Emerson’s chest aching. He doesn’t want to let Jason go. Not now, not ever. He wants Jason. He wants to kiss him again, wants to go on a first date and hopefully a second and third. He wants to open himself up to all the vulnerabilities he’s spent a lifetime avoiding, and it terrifies him. There’s very little in his life he’s ever wanted and certainly nothing as desperately as he wants Jason. This big, beautiful man isn’t just Emerson’s crush, he’s his best friend, and somehow that makes Emerson want to cry.

Everything is going to be different now that they’ve kissed, and maybe it’ll be a good difference, but it’s still a change. But this—being held by Jason—is familiar and safe in a way very little in Emerson’s life ever has been.

Suddenly liking Jason feels as fragile as spun glass and Emerson holds on all the tighter. He can’t lose Jason. He can’t.

“I’m right here,” Jason whispers, as if he can read Emerson’s unease. “I’m not letting go, Emmy. Not until you tell me to.”

“What if I never want to let go?” Emerson whispers, the words half-garbled against Jason’s neck. Saying them spikes his anxiety. He can’t believe he admitted that out loud. He’s too intense. He’s too clingy. This is part of why he never wanted to date. Well, that and the part where he doesn’t really like people very much. But mostly, it’s because he knows himself and his tendency to hyperfocus, and he knows he’s going to be too much.

Except Jason surprises him, as always, by somehow managing to find the right thing to say.

“That might make eating and taking a piss kind of hard, but I’d be up for the challenge.”

Against the odds, Emerson laughs. Somehow, Emerson suspects that if he sincerely asked, Jason might actually try, giving him the funniest mental image while also soothing the part of Emerson that is so used to being too much for everyone.

“Be worth it,” Emerson mumbles.

“Hell yeah it would,” Jason agrees, those gloriously massive hands of his stroking up and down Emerson’s back. “Have I mentioned I like holding you? And kissing you. The kissing was fantastic. A-fucking-plus.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Emerson mumbles. “I bet I was horrible.”

“Not possible,” Jason counters so quickly it’s obvious he means it. “But for the record, I’m very down to practice. Like right now, for example. If someone very handsome who happened to be in this room with me wanted to kiss me, I would be very amiable.”

“I taught you that word last week,” Emerson says.

“Amiable is a great word,” Jason laughs.

More proof that Jason is one of a kind. So often, people get annoyed when Emerson infodumps about synonyms and random words he learned while reading, but not Jason. He always listens as if what Emerson has to say is the most interesting thing in the world. And he remembers too, often bringing them up later as if to say, see, I was paying attention .

The last of his unease fades, as it usually does in Jason’s presence. Emerson pulls his face out of Jason’s neck, blinking away unshed tears to look up at Jason. His smile widens when he catches sight of Emerson’s face, wrinkles forming in the corner of his eyes from the depth of his happiness, and it shoots a damn arrow right through Emerson’s heart.

“What do you say, Emmy?” His hands find purchase at Emerson’s lower back, anchoring in place. “Can I kiss you again?”

Those beautiful brown eyes of his are open and earnest, so full of affection that there’s only one answer it could be; there is only one answer it will ever be where Jason is involved.

“Yes.” Emerson whispers.

Jason angles his head down, one hand slipping around the back of Emerson’s neck. Not to control the kiss but just to touch, as if he, too, can’t get enough. When his lips touch Emerson’s, it's all Emerson can do not to whimper, the touch so unlike those he’s experienced before. He should be used to being close to Jason, used to his freely given hugs and shoulder squeezes, but he isn’t at all. Every touch from Jason feels like the first, and Emerson doesn’t think he will ever get used to how good it feels to be touched and held. And now, kissed.

And oh, Jason is a good kisser, the gentle slide of lips enough to have Emerson’s toes curling. It’s not until Jason pulls back that Emerson realizes he’s tapping his fingers on his palms—a happy stim he can’t seem to control. He tries to shove his hands into his pockets, so used to trying to hide, but Jason merely reaches for his hand and kisses each of his fingers from pinky to thumb before doing the same on the other hand.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Jason’s hand settles on the side of his face again. “I don’t want you to hide. Not from me, or anyone. You are exactly who you’re supposed to be, Emmy.”

“Sorry,” Emerson lets out a shuddery exhale. “I’m getting used to this…used to…being me. Just Emerson.”

“For what it’s worth, I like just Emerson.”

“You’d be the first,” he whispers, hating how much his family’s opinions of him still impact him even now that they’re thousands of miles away. Learning to unmask is hard. Learning to trust that someone being nice to him isn’t a joke or a tool to get him comfortable and then try to change him is hard. Being a person is just hard.

“Then everyone else are fucking idiots.”

“It’s statistically improbable that everyone else has been wrong,” Emerson points out, as much for the sake of being realistic as the insecurities clamoring at the edges of his brain.

“You know what else is statistically improbable?” Jason crowds closer, his hand sliding around to cup the back of Emerson’s neck. Those thick fingers of his hold on, not tight enough to hurt but enough that Emerson relaxes under the grip.

“Hmm?” Emerson hums, finding it difficult to form full words with Jason looking at him so intensely. It has his insides squirming, but not in the painfully discomfortable way he’s used to when other people make eye contact with him. This is different, makes him want things he’s not sure he’s ever wanted with another person. He’s daydreamed about sex, touched himself plenty of times, but the idea of actually having sex with someone is just not something he spent time imagining. He’s imagining it now, in ways that make his suit feel a little too tight.

“A one point safety.” Emerson waits for an explanation, relieved when Jason curls his fingers in his hair and continues, “It’s a play when one team scores a touchdown, but the opposing team manages to get the ball off a turnover and runs it back into the end zone for a tackle. It’s improbable. So much so, it’s only happened three times in college football and never in the NFL, but that doesn’t mean it can’t.”

The irony of spending his formative years being tormented by his cousin and Landon’s fellow football players, who constantly reminded him how awkward, unpopular and unliked he was, only to find a man who loves the sport like he needs it to breathe, yet somehow also thinks Emerson is equally special, makes him want to laugh. He settles for smiling, something he does a lot now.

“Are you comparing me to football again?”

“I mean, yeah.” Jason grins, entirely unabashed. “Football is fucking great. Like you. Shit, I know we’re supposed to get back out to the dance, but I wish I could just stay in here with you. Talk to you, kiss you.”

“You can kiss me,” Emerson blurts, blushing at how eager he sounds.

“Yeah?” Jason’s tongue darks out to lick over the swell of his bottom lip, his smile turning sweet. It draws Emerson’s attention to the dimple in his chin and the sharp line of his jaw. Jason really is handsome.

Suddenly all Emerson can think about is what it might be like if Jason were naked. With him. If they were both naked. What might it be like to feel another man against him—to feel Jason. Jason’s got a lot of hair, he’s got it on his chest and thighs. Emerson kind of wants to rub against it like a cat which is maybe weird, but also sounds like sensory heaven. Would Jason like that? He’s used to sex with women. Women who probably aren’t inexperienced.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Huh?” Emerson blinks, shivering when Jason’s hand settles on top of his head. The weight of it is oddly soothing.

“I said what’s going on in that pretty head of yours? You look a million miles away.”

“I was thinking about you naked.”

It’s only when Jason chokes on his own spit, pink splotches blossoming on his cheeks, that it occurs to Emerson maybe he wasn’t supposed to answer that question quite so honestly.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t ever apologize for being honest,” Jason says, the faintest quiver to his voice. “Or uh, thinking about me naked. Full permission to think about me however you like whenever you like. Just uh, shit.”

“What?”

Jason clears his throat, reaching down to adjust his pants. “That’s gonna make chaperoning difficult.”

“Are you hard?” Emerson asks, eyes drawn down to the noticeable bulge in Jason’s very well tailored suit.

Jason blows out a breath, laughing softly. “Yes.”

“Because I’m thinking about you naked?” Emerson presses, needing to be sure.

“I mean that,” Jason confirms, still blushing, “and you just existing.”

Pleasure spreads through Emerson, swift and all encompassing. Never in his life has his mere existence been something someone else was so happy about, and his fingers do their happy taps at Jason’s words. It would be so easy to overthink it, to try and analyze unspoken subtext the way he has to with most people. Except Jason isn’t like most people. When Jason says something, he means it. The sense of safety this affords Emerson is immeasurable. There’s no second guessing or worrying. What you see is what you get with Jason King, and he sure likes what he sees.

“I should probably get back out there,” Jason says, making no move to leave. “I really want to kiss you again.”

“I thought you needed to leave.”

“I do,” Jason says, scrubbing a hand over his freshly shaved jaw. The skin is so smooth that Emerson can’t help but wonder how it might feel to lick it. “I also need to kiss you.”

“Need or want?” Emerson asks, unsure when his heart started beating so fast.

“Both,” Jason answers, maneuvering Emerson until his back is pressed to the door. The music from outside is so loud it vibrates against his back, a stark contrast to the steady presence Jason makes against his front. “What are you doing to me, Emmy?”

“I don’t think I’m doing anything,” Emerson answers.

Jason’s laugh is small, the sound muffled when he presses his lips to Emerson’s in a kiss so sensual and slow that Emerson understands exactly what kind of problem Jason had with his suit a moment ago. He always assumed when he read about people getting aroused from just a kiss that it was an exaggeration, that it might take more stimulation to get him going since it takes him so long to get out of his own head to even jerk off. Yet with a single kiss from Jason, he’s half-hard in his suit and imagining what it might be like to touch another man’s cock for the first time.

Maybe all those books he read had something right after all because he’s pretty sure he could die happy kissing Jason. Being driven to distraction by thoughts of sex is another thing he was certain was a literary exaggeration; yet crushed between the door and Jason’s body, there is no exaggeration in thinking this is the most incredible thing he’s ever felt.

“Can I?” Jason starts, pulling out of the kiss with flushed cheeks and well-kissed lips.

“What?”

“Pick you up?” Jason asks, inching both hands towards Emerson’s ass.

Emerson nods, and despite the permission, he’s still surprised when Jason effortlessly lifts him from the ground, his legs wrapping around Jason’s waist to keep himself steady. He knew Jason was strong, but knowing something and experiencing it for himself are very different things. They also cause different reactions in his body. Knowing Jason has muscles is something that’s nice for Emerson to look at, but feeling the way those muscles can move him around, holding him steady and guiding him wherever Jason wants, makes Emerson so hard it's physically uncomfortable.

“This would feel better in less restrictive clothing.”

“Yes, it would,” Jason agrees, kissing Emerson’s jaw and down the side of his neck. “You’re so sexy.”

“Are you talking to me?” Emerson asks because while he’s the only one Jason is kissing, that is not a word that’s ever been used to describe him. He’s tall with gangly arms and excessively long legs that make his pants always too short and his hair is so red it could stop traffic. He’s got delicate wrists, and his skin is pale enough it might as well be see-through. He’s also, despite his height, half Jason’s size because there is not an ounce of muscle on his noodle-limbed body. Sexy is absolutely not a word that anyone has ever used to describe Emerson.

“Who else would I be talking to?” Jason asks, with that easy smile of his.

“Well no one, I suppose,” Emerson answers, looping his arms around Jason’s neck since he has no idea where else to put them. He kind of wants to touch Jason’s chest but he’s not sure if he’s allowed and asking is harder than it should be.

“I can’t stop kissing you,” Jason murmurs against his lips.

“That’s perfectly alright with me,” Emerson answers, surprised he can form words with Jason’s body so close and his lips on his.

The next kiss is deeper, Jason’s mouth firm against his own. It brings a whimper to Emerson’s lips, and at the first sound of it Jason’s hold tightens, the tip of his tongue slipping into Emerson’s mouth. He’s seen people do this in movies, read enough books to assume that most people must enjoy it, yet none of the references prepare him for how good the extra stimulation feels.

Jason’s tongue is probing, warm and wet, and it deepens the taste of him. It’s a sensory delight, and try as he might, Emerson can’t stop the wanton moan of desire that Jason pulls from him.

“Fuck,” Jason curses.

“Sorry.”

“No, do it again,” Jason groans, fingers digging into Emerson’s ass. “It’s so hot.”

Part of Emerson wants to protest. First sexy, now hot. Surely Jason’s confused. Then again, Emerson doesn’t exactly want to argue with Jason’s delusions when they make him feel desired in a way he never expected to feel with another man. If Jason thinks he’s those things, who is Emerson to argue?

“Emmy.” Jason’s voice is low and gravely, the pitch of it fueling Emerson’s arousal. “Oh, Emmy.”

Emerson’s breath shutters in his chest as the deep bass of music from the dance pulses at his back. After a lifetime of loneliness, and years spent devoid of physical contact, Emerson’s walls shatter, leaving him stripped raw and starved for affection. It’s absolutely terrifying, and if Jason weren’t holding him up, he’s pretty sure he’d be on the floor.

“Jason,” he whimpers.

“Yeah?” Jason asks, resting his forehead against Emerson’s. His chest labors under his ragged breathing, his face flushed and his smile radiant. “How are you?”

It’s such a Jason question. Always checking in, always worried, because he cares about Emerson. If only the answer were an easy one to give. He’s not okay. He’s somehow better and worse all at once. How can Emerson possibly explain how jarring it feels to experience this depth of attraction and arousal for the first time? It’s not like he’s ignorant about sex or averse to it. He’s just spent so long shoving those desires away, along with anything else that might require human intimacy because it felt too out of reach. With one single confession and a few kisses, Jason opened the box, and there may be no putting the lid on it again.

“Are you overthinking?” Jason asks.

Emerson ponders the question. “Just regular thinking, I think.”

“Your regular thinking is most people’s overthinking,” Jason says in that soft, affectionate way of his that makes Emerson feel like everything is alright. “Which, for the record, before you overthink that too, is something I’m very into. I love that sexy brain of yours.”

“I don’t think brains can be sexy,” Emerson muses.

Jason grins. “Everything about you can be sexy, Mr. Miller.”

“Except that,” Emerson frowns. “Don’t call me that. My students call me that.”

“Got it,” Jason laughs, unbothered and easygoing as always. “No sexy teacher time.”

“Just…Jason and Emmy time.”

Jason stops laughing, the intensity of his gaze staggering. “Say it again.”

“Uh, which—oh.” Emerson’s heart thuds harder, faster. As if it knows every beat right now is for the beautiful man holding him. “Jason and Emmy.”

Jason’s body trembles, and when he kisses Emerson this time, there’s nothing slow or sweet about it. Jason shifts his hold so that all of Emerson’s weight is braced in one hand. Emerson hardly has time to marvel at Jason’s impressive strength before the hand he freed is at Emerson’s cheek, smoothing down the side of his face and lower until it curls loosely around his throat while he plunges his tongue into Emerson’s mouth and all but devours him. Jason’s kiss is demanding, eager, and Emerson feels utterly owned by the way Jason claims his mouth, the sensation as unexpectedly arousing as it is safe.

Eager for anything Jason will give him, he tips his head back against the door, exposing the line of his throat as he tightens his legs around Jason’s waist. It’s heady and thrilling, and Emerson feels bold making his desires clear.

“Fuck,” Jason curses, mouth attaching itself to the hollow of Emerson’s throat.

A moan erupts, and Emerson’s face burns when he realizes that guttural needy sound came from him. He had no idea having someone suck on his neck would make every inch of his body, from his head to his toes and most definitely his cock, light up with pleasure. Clearly emboldened by the sound, Jason mouths at his throat, leaving Emerson seeing stars.

How do normal people function with this level of arousal? Emerson is losing his mind, all rational thought and propriety fleeing. He’s pretty sure there’s a solid reason not to come in his suit, both because of the dry cleaning bill and the whole chaperone thing, yet somehow his desire to touch and be touched overrules it all. He’s never felt this desperate in his entire life, and he’s pretty sure he might die if Jason stops touching him.

“No dying, Emmy.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” Emerson groans, embarrassed, turned on and very close to rutting against Jason like a teenager.

“It’s adorable,” Jason huffs, his amusement somehow as arousing as the kisses he continues to pepper along Emerson’s throat.

Emerson is very overwhelmed, and while it’s not bad, his brain is close to short circuiting. He doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to feel so much—arousal, affection, desire—and still function.

“I’ve never liked anyone the way I like you,” Jason whispers, ruining Emerson further. He kisses his way up the side of Emerson’s neck. “My Emmy.”

My Emmy . Two little words uttered with such casual certainty that tears prickle at the corners of Emerson’s eyes. He squeezes Jason tightly, trapping his face against Emerson’s throat. He’s never belonged anywhere, never belonged to anyone. Until now.

“Please don’t let me go,” Emerson whispers, unsure if he means right now or ever.

“I’ve got you,” Jason promises. “I?—”

A solid knock at the door has both of them stilling.

Jason’s eyes widen while Emerson automatically assumes the worst.

“Are we in trouble?”

“No.” Jason shakes his head, some of his dark hair that’s been slicked back falling loose across his forehead. “We’re the teachers. Although, we probably should be out there, but we’re not going to get in trouble for taking a few minutes to uh—you know.”

“Sorry,” Emerson starts, but Jason silences him with a chaste kiss.

“Nope, no sorry.” Jason kisses him, looking physically pained when he has to pull back. “Besides I’m the one who dragged you in here. If anyone is at fault it’s me, and?—”

“Mr. King,” someone yells loudly, knocking again with slightly more urgency. It’s definitely a male voice but with the music blaring and his relative lack of familiarity with the majority of the staff here he has no idea who.

“Ugh,” Jason groans, the slope of his handsome features turning down in a frown. Clearly he knows who is waiting on the other side of the door.

“Remember we didn’t do anything wrong,” Jason says, straightening Emerson’s boutonniere then kissing his cheek. “It’s no one's business what we’re doing in here. You’re not going to apologize, right?”

“I can try not to,” Emerson shrugs. Between his family’s conditioning and his brain’s propensity to assume he’s in trouble at all times from making an inadvertent social faux paus, apologizing comes second nature to him.

“Let me handle this then,” Jason offers, smoothing back a stray lock of Emerson’s hair. It pops back up, and Jason grins, trying to smooth it down a second time but the hair refuses to cooperate. Emerson knows it’s pointless because he tried all day, and while he could’ve used gel like Jason, the sensory ick of having crunchy hair was not something he was willing to suffer. He doesn’t point this out to Jason though, wanting any bit of physical contact he can have.

“Ready?”

“Not really,” Emerson answers.

“Me either,” Jason sighs, squatting down to retrieve Emerson’s abandoned ear defenders from the floor. He carefully slides them back on Emerson’s head, the lingering feeling of Jason’s fingers skimming through Emerson’s hair fading when Jason turns his attention to his office door. His hand turns the knob, pushing the door open and returning them to the real world with a harsh clatter of pounding music and flashing lights.