Page 40 of Man On

"Really?" I deadpan, but I can't hide my laughter. "You think you're clever?"

"Yes," he retorts. "But really, I just got it from the vending machine."

"Cute," I say, getting ready to toss the candy bar back to him.

"Nah, you keep it," he says before turning around towards the rest of our friends and teammates that are congregating in the common area. "You need it more than I do!" he calls over his shoulder. "Try not to be such a bitch tomorrow!"

"Ah, fuck off!" I call back as the elevator doors close, even though he’s helped me feel marginally better. My shoulders are a little less tense, and it takes me until I get to our door to remember why I was so pissy in the first place.

Sigh.

Fucking Lane.

I thought we could be something like friends; I was trying to help him out. But I make one little joke, and he has to act like a giant man baby about it. Why the fuck does he have to be so damn sensitive?

My hands clench into tight fists. I feel so out of control. Every little thing he does burrows under my skin and makes me second guess myself, or worry about things I normally wouldn't. I'm starting to wonder if it would have been better to take one of my other school offers. I got an offer for Princeton. Lane might have gotten better grades than me, but my playing stats are better, and my SAT scores were higher. He's not the only smart one in the family. I might be smart, but I wasn't smart enough to separate myself from him. Something about him just makes me feel like I need to stay close by.

I guess I like to torture myself as much as I used to enjoy torturing him.

Slamming the door, I stomp to my room, realizing too late that the lights are on, which means Lane is home. Movement catches my eye, and I turn around to look into the open doorway of Lane's room.

He's standing there like a deer in the headlights, completely naked, frantically trying to tie a towel around his waist. His face flushes that delicious shade of red that gets my dick hard, and I know without a doubt what he was doing—or was about to do—when I walked in. His big, hard cock tents the towel, trying its best to escape though the gap where the ends of the towel are precariously tucked around his waist.

Lane lunges for the door, but my anger and arousal come rushing at me all at once, and I make it through the door first, slamming it shut behind me. I take several steps forward, and Lane backs up, until his legs hit the bed behind him.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

Fuck, I love it when he gets flustered and stutters.

His blatant fear should turn me off. It should make me back off and leave him alone.

But it doesn't.

It does the opposite.

I stalk forward and crowd him until he falls back on the bed, his towel falling open when he bounces down on the mattress, exposing his erect cock. It springs free and smacks against his abs. Immediately, he moves to cover himself up, but I lurch over him and grab his wrists, growling in his face. Lane struggles against my hold. Despite being larger than me, he can't get enough leverage to move me from my position without touching me with his pelvis. My head cocks to the side, and it occurs to me that maybe he's not trying very hard. His cock, hardening by the moment, presses against the inside of my thigh. His mouth drops open when I roll my hips against his, his wide, shocked eyes fluttering.

This. This is what I need. His fear and confusion. His arousal. His shame that echoes my own self-hatred.

I'm a bad, bad person, because fucking with him makes me feel good.

"N-Noah..."

"You didn't have to stop," I say, forcing my voice to sound casual, even though I know he can feel my cock hardening against his. It pulses with each frantic beat of my heart. For the first time, I can't hide it, given our position. But I'm feeling reckless, and I want to ruin him to appease my own needs.

"I wasn't doing anything."

"Liar," I say, rolling against him again. He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth, hissing at the contact.

"I—"

His words are cut short when I release my hold and pull one of his hands towards my mouth. He gasps when I spit in his palm.

"Fuck your fist, Lane," I command, sitting back against his thighs. He knows better than to fight me. He knows I see through his golden boy facade.

He knows I know the truth, even if he can’t admit it to himself.

Lane wraps his big hand around the thick shaft of his cock and strokes, slow and tentative at first. Within the first minute, his movements quicken. His strokes are smoother, more confident. He spreads drops of pre-cum over his crown and down his shaft to lube his furious strokes, but it's not enough. Pushing back, I lean over his thighs and open my mouth, letting some of the saliva that's pooling fall from my lips, dripping it on his cock as his hand pumps even faster, driving him closer to completion. His gaze zeroes in on my mouth, his pupils dilating, and he whimpers.

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