Page 101 of College Town

He puts on a mock scowl as Tommy starts loosening his tie for him. “Dude. What if there had been like, a really pointy paperweight you were shoving me into?”

Tommy yanks on his tie like it’s a dog collar and palms him through his slacks with his other hand. “Nah. I’d rather be the one getting the paperweight.”

They both freeze. Blink at one another.

Lawson cracks first. He cracks hard. Tips his head back and shuts his eyes and the laughter bursts out of him in a bright punch of sound that leaves his lungs aching.

“Shut up,” Tommy hisses. When Lawson peeks, he sees that he’s gone red and cutely self-conscious. He gives an ineffectual tug on Lawson’s tie. “Shut thefuckup.”

“Oh no!” Lawson laughs. “I’m never shutting up about this.”

“You asshole–”

“My dick has been called many things by my adoring public, butpaperweight’sa brand new one.”

Tommy bites at his lip, his cheeks red, his gaze downcast, and looks very young.

Lawson smiles helplessly, and swoops in to kiss his hot cheek. Against his ear, he whispers, “It’s okay. I think it’s sweet when you’re lame.”

“I’m not lame,” Tommy protests, “and I’m not sweet. Come here.” He wrestles him into another kiss and Lawson obliges.

A minute later, Tommy presses a slim little tube into his hand, and Lawson breaks away to goggle down at it. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really. You gonna oblige me, or keep asking dumb questions?”

“Here’s a not dumb question: did you plan this?”

His face is still flushed, but Tommy meets his gaze defiantly.So what if I did?

“Just checking,” Lawson says, and reaches for his belt.

They don’t get naked – that would be too irresponsible even for two people fucking in a public place – but somehow that makes it hotter.

Lawson gets Tommy’s jacket, off, his tie loose, and the bottom three buttons of his shirt undone so he can push it up his back and out of the way. The spread of his thighs where he leans facing the desk, hands braced on its surface, spine bowed so his ass pops out, keep his slacks from hitting the floor. Lawson bunches his boxer briefs – sleek, expensive black cotton – down just far enough to work his lubed fingers, and then his cock, right where Tommy wants him most.

Lawson shucks his own jacket to keep it from getting sweat-stained, throws his tie over his shoulder, and unzips his fly. Just undressed enough to get the job done, and each time he snaps his hips forward, Tommy grinds back against him, the rasp of fine wool against bare skin nearly as loud as their harsh breathing.

Lawson fucks him in short, sharp thrusts, chasing a blistering orgasm. Tommy sways forward on his arms with the impact of each, his whole body rocked with the motion; his sweat-damp fingertips squeak and slide on the wood, and he huffs fast breaths through his nose. When Lawson shifts his angle and glances over his shoulder, he sees Tommy’s lips peeled back off bared teeth, like he’s trying to bite back the desperate noises building in his throat. The back of his neck is red with effort, shiny with sweat that’s soaking into his shirt collar.

Lawson pauses long enough to bend down and lick it off, and Tommy makes a high keening sound behind his teeth.

“Don’t stop – don’t stop–” he pants, pressing back into him.

“I’m not, baby,” Lawson promises. “Don’t worry.” He straightens, adjusts his grip on Tommy’s hips, andgrindsinto him.

“Hnnng.”

“Like that?” Lawson asks, and does it again. “Or…” He draws his hips back and slams them forward, driving into all that tight, clenching heat until he’s cross-eyed; until one of Tommy’s arms buckles and he slaps his hand down to keep from face-planting on the desk. “Like that?”

“That,” Tommy gasps. “Oh, like that – yeah, like–” He devolves into grunts and bitten-off moans as Lawson digs in with his fingers and fucks him at a brutal pace.

It’s good, it’s better than good, but it’s the details that make it exquisite for Lawson. The dark triangle between Tommy’s shoulder blades where his shirt’s sticking to the sweat on his back. The way he chases each withdrawal of Lawson’s hips, and then gives so sweetly on the forward thrust. The way his forearm flexes and strains his sleeve as he braces himself – and then the dark fans of his lashes on his ruddy cheeks when he gives up and lays his cheek down on the desk in full, boneless surrender.

He used to get like that sometimes: he’d strain his whole body so hard as he chased the pleasure Lawson was trying to give him, until he couldn’t hold it anymore, and went limp and receptive in a way that, the first time, frightened Lawson, and now turns him all tender inside.

He pulls out and Tommy’s eyes flutter open. “No, no,” he slurs; he sounds drunk. Seems it, too, as he reaches back clumsily and tries to grab at Lawson’s hip.

“Shh, you’re alright.” Lawson lifts him, turns him, and then hoists him so he lies back across the desk. Tommy stares dazedly up at him, and Lawson pets over his sweaty stomach, and strokes his leaking cock until his eyes flutter shut again. “It’s alright,” he repeats. “I’ve got you, baby.”

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