Page 5 of Rowdy Boy
He bows his head and grunts before resting his forehead on my shoulder. “Will you jack me off?” he whispers earnestly. I scoff at his request—like I could deny this dark emo prince after he just made me see stars.
“I got you,” I tell him, batting his hand out of the way to take over the long, tight strokes I just watched him use on himself. Fuck, I must have spewed a pint of jizz. He’s so slick and solid.
“You like this, Bash?” I ask as I speed up and twist each time I reach the base of his cock.
He presses his forehead harder into my collarbone in response. “Fuck. Yeah. Harder… fuck.”
I increase the pressure but maintain my pace. Faster and harder are two completely different things, and I always aim to please.
After a few minutes, he starts to tremble. Without overthinking it, I reverse our positions and push him back so he can lean against the door. He doesn’t fight it or question me—he just trusts me to take care of him. His hands fist the fabric of my T-shirt, pulling me even closer.
“I’ve got you,” I croon as I brush his hair out of his eyes, then work that hand between our bodies. I keep jacking him while I move to cup his balls.
“Yes… Fuck yes… please, Jake.”
My dick is hard again. I didn’t set out to make him beg, but damn if I don’t love his moans when he’s shivering with pleasure.
A few seconds later, I feel the first hot gush of his climax. I keep working him over but let up on the pressure.
When his breathing finally evens out, he pulls away and grins. I return his smile, totally blissed out and feeling lighter than I have all day.
“You good?” I ask as I reluctantly let him step away from me. We don’t usually linger after we hook up, but seeing as how I’ve still got things to do here tonight, I want to get on with it without being dismissive.
He blows out a long breath and runs his hands down the front of his boxer briefs to try to clean himself up. I use the hem of my T-shirt to do the same.
“Yeah. Really fucking good.”
We both stand there for a few more seconds, not speaking, but not ready for this to be over yet either. It’s not often that I can just—be.
Bash has been out since middle school. There aren’t many other guys our age out in this town, myself included. At least not many I trust.
I’ve been burned by the “I’m not gay, I was just drunk” morning after game more than once over the last few years. Bash doesn’t play games like that. He’s got this sad boi/bad boi vibe going on with his tight-fitting band T-shirts and his long, sinewy fingers with their chipped black polish. Plus he likes it when I take control, and fuck if I don’t get off on telling him exactly where to put it and stroke it and suck it. It’s like a sexual game of Bop-It every time we hook up.
“Shit, it’s late,” he murmurs when he checks his phone. “If I don’t get home soon, I’ll miss my chance to sneak back in the house before my stepmom gets up for work.”
I nod and move to hug him, inhaling the cloyingly sweet cherry scent mixed with a hint of tobacco. “Hey, don’t be a stranger. I know I can’t always get away, but it’s not because I don’t want to…”
“Yeah, yeah,” he insists. “I get it, man. I’m good just coming when you call.” He cocks one eyebrow playfully.
I roll my eyes at his corny but somehow still sexual joke.
“Can I drive you home?” he asks, glancing from me to the bottle of gin sitting half tipped in the gravel at my feet. He only had a few sips. I drank most of what’s missing. I snatch up the bottle, take another long swig, then recap it and shove it into my backpack before shaking my head.
“Nah, man. I’ve still got business to attend to tonight.” I blindly dig through my bag until I’m grasping a canister of aluminum. The fresh can of spray paint feels cool and smooth to the touch. I pull it out to show him the goods.
“Seriously? It’s almost four, Jake. What are you gonna do?”
I scowl at his question. He might be hot, but he’s not that bright if he can’t work it out.
I shrug, like it’s no big deal to commit vandalism in a town where almost everyone knows my name. I don’t love the idea of getting caught, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take to just feel something.
“I’m tagging the bridge tonight.”
“What bridge?” he hisses through gritted teeth.
Yep. Hot as hell. Dumb as fuck.
As if singing out its siren song just for me, a train horn blasts in the distance.