Page 142 of College Town

“Jeez. Okay.”

They made the rest of the short trip to the school in uncharacteristic silence. Lawson turned down the narrow road that led to the back gate, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that, yes, winter storm or no, the gate stood open as ever.

The big halogen light poles that ringed the practice field came on automatically every night at sundown. Their glow was blue-white and glaring, but it didn’t reach past the first three rows of parking spaces. Lawson backed the Le Sabre in against the fence for a hasty getaway, put it in park, but left the engine running. They could warm each other up, sure, but there was only so much body heat could accomplish on a night like tonight.

He dragged his stocking cap off, tossed it onto the dash, and attempted to rake his hair into some semblance of order. He propped one hand on the wheel and slouched his upper body around, a smirk he thought was seductive – but which Tommy had laughingly told him looked like a bad Rodney Dangerfield impression – already in place. He put on a fake voice to match.

“Hey, baby, waddya say we…” He trailed off.

Usually by this point, Tommy was grinning, eager, and already clambering into the back seat. Tonight, he sat with his hands knotted together in his lap, breath pluming white despite the heat’s best efforts, stuttering audibly in the quiet.

“What?” Lawson said, worry spiking. “What are you do–”

Tommy moved in a sudden flurry. He whirled, grabbed Lawson by the face, and yanked him into a kiss that was immediately fevered and clumsy.

Lawson lost himself to it for a moment, because it was Tommy, and he was never going to turn down kisses, even if their teeth were clicking together like it was the first time.

But Tommy was mauling him, so after a minute, he put his hands on Tommy’s face in return and tried to gentle him. Angled his head so his kisses were deeper, but slower, easier.

Tommy fisted the front of his shirt and yanked, whined against Lawson’s mouth and scrambled half-over the arm rest.

“Babe,” Lawson said, drawing back and getting chased. Tommy’s teeth snapped in the air where his lips had been a moment before. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Tommy said, and his voice was desperate. “Just–” He kissed him again, slippery and savage.

Again, Lawson got hold of his face, the sharp little points of his jaw digging into his palms, and held him back. “You wanna get in back?” he panted, dazed by all this ferocity. It was exciting, but he knew something was wrong, and his dick was getting less and less interested in the proceedings.

“No, just…” Tommy tugged at him again. “Fucking –kiss me.”

“I’m trying to, but it’s like kissing a wolverine,” Lawson said with a laugh – one that rang hollow.

Tommy bit at his lip, and looked like he might cry, fingers wound tight in Lawson’s shirt and stretching out the collar.

“Here,” Lawson said, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Chill out, dude. I’ll kiss you.” He kissed his ear, and the soft skin beneath it. “But you gottalet me.”

Tommy sighed, and deflated. His hands loosened.

“There you go,” Lawson encouraged, and pressed kisses down the side of his throat.

Tommy sighed again. “I’m not a child.”

“Nope. Definitely not.” Lawson shifted back up, kissing his jaw, his temple, his forehead. He snuck his hands inside Tommy’s open jacket and petted soothingly over his chest, his stomach, his waist.

Tommy made a low, encouraging sound and arched in closer.

This would be better in the back, but Lawson was determined to make it work. He levered up higher in his seat and got one hand on the armrest so that he was hovering above Tommy. He kissed his mouth again, slow, deep plunges of his tongue, and skated a hand down to press at the front of his jeans, where Tommy was already impressively hard and bulging against his fly.

Lawson was surprised – Tommy’s strange mood meant that he himself wasn’t all that aroused yet, but he could get that way in a hurry, stroking over the bulge in Tommy’s jeans, kissing his mouth soft and pliant.

Slowly, he ducked his hand beneath the hem of Tommy’s sweatshirt and palmed the thin skin below his navel, the soft line of hair there, and then worked the button of his jeans open one-handed. He’d gotten very good at doing that over the past year.

Tommy broke away from the kiss and pressed his face into Lawson’s throat, panted raggedly, hot breath fanning over Lawson’s pulse. “God,” he murmured, as Lawson dragged his zipper down tooth by tooth, a slowclick-click-clickbzzzt. “Please, oh, Lawson, please, please, Law–” He made a choking sound, and then, pained: “I can’t.”

What?Lawson stilled his hand, because he thought he heard…

Tommy shoved him. “Lawson, Ican’t!” he cried, and then he shoved again, harder, and Lawson fell back into his own seat.

“What? Tommy, what are you–”

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