Page 60 of Devilry

A loud moan leaves my mouth as he sucks hard on my tongue.

Unexpectedly, he pulls his head back from mine. “Let’s go eat.”

“Food?” I question, my mind still lagging behind, stuck on the way I wanted to suck on his dick like he was just sucking my tongue.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I’ll want this,” he grabs my junk, “for dessert, but how about we get dinner first?”

Talking my dick off the ledge, I steady my breathing and loosen my hold on him. “I guess I could eat.”

“Good. We’ll lock up here and then head to this place I know on the next block over. It’s got the most mouth-watering steak I’ve ever tasted.” He looks at me intently, while leading us back down the stairs. “You do eat meat, don’t you?”

“I eat almost everything,” I say with a smirk.

He tips his head to me and smiles. “Hurry up and get your ass down these stairs.”

When we finally make it outside, the sun has officially set and a light breeze has picked up. “Are you cold?” he asks. “We can take my car.”

“No, I’m good.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I think a walk will be nice.”

The first few minutes are filled with a comfortable silence, the streets of Georgetown luring me in with every step. Kent is nothing like this; the town and the people so dated, small, and sheltered. “The size of these streets is beautiful,” I comment, disrupting the quiet. “I told myself when we had Thanksgiving break I would use the opportunity to venture around Washington and spend some quality time seeing what else this place has to offer.”

“I’m assuming that means it’s your first time out to D.C.?”

“This is my first time anywhere,” I confess. “Before coming here I’d never even stepped out of my hometown.”

“You’re only eighteen, though, right?”

“Is this your way of indirectly asking me about my age?”

“Actually…” He stalls, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Without sounding like a complete stalker, I already checked how old you were on the school records.”

“You did?”

“Every now and then there’s a kid that skips grades and goes to college early because they’re some kind of genius.” Confusion must be written all over my face because he goes on to explain his motives. “I wanted to make sure you were definitely over eighteen. Knowing made me feel less guilty for wanting you.”

“Pity about not being a genius though,” I offer lightheartedly.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Elijah. You’re a lot smarter than most of the students I’ve come across.”

“Is that favoritism I hear?” I mock. “Are these the type of compliments I can look forward to because I gave you a blowjob?”

He stills, and I regret the joke immediately. “Elijah, I know you’re not serious, but nothing about the success of your school work correlates to what we’re doing here. Every grade and opportunity you get is because you’ve earned it.”

His words are earnest and truthful, and such a meaningful compliment to how hard I’ve worked to get myself here. “You know, my dad told me to quit working so hard because nobody was ever going to acknowledge me as anything more than ‘that gay kid.’” His steps falter, and I choose not to acknowledge it, not wanting to turn and look at him. Not wanting to see any pity in his eyes, I keep my gaze to the floor. “It means a lot to hear that I am more than that.”

The silence returns, but this time, I can feel the tension radiating off him. He wants to say something, but for whatever reason, he holds back and I’m grateful. Rehashing the things I intrinsically know are wrong about my parents isn’t something I want to do. Especially with Cole.

“I didn’t really see much until I left for college, either,” he divulges. “But since then I’ve traveled a fair bit around the country.”

It’s a simple fact about himself, but one I appreciate wholeheartedly. There’s no judgement in the delivery, or reference to how much I still have to do and learn. It’s like two people, strangers, slowly getting to know each other. Which is exactly what I want.

“Since I don’t have the luxury of school records, am I allowed to ask how old you are?”

This seems to lighten the mood. “As long as you promise not to make any old man jokes.”

“Please,” I scoff. “You’ve got to know you’re far from an old man.”

“I’ll be thirty-two December twenty-eighth.”

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