Page 62 of Diamond Ring
Jake doesn’t know who moves first or if it’s both of them. Alex’s lips are at his mouth, his thigh an intractable weight between Jake’s own, Alex kissing him like he wants to win an argument.
Another kiss. Alex’s tongue pushes into his mouth. His hand keeps Jake’s head from banging against the door. Because Alex is careful with him in a way that makes Jake feel precious or fragile, and he doesn’t have time to examine which, not with Alex pulling back to strip off his own shirt.
“You got rid of the nipple ring,” Jake says.
“Disappointed?” A tease, something meant to rile, and it works. Jake’s shirt is an irritant, his pulse a parade, his cock—
He doesn’t want to think about it, though it’s increasingly unavoidable, with Alex palming himself through his pants like an offering.
Alex doesn’t wait for him to answer. “This place have a bed?”
Jake nods, though at this point he’d fuck on the couch, on the hard tile of the kitchen floor, if his body let him. He yanks off his shirt, tossing it somewhere.
They make their way toward the bedroom, a process slowed by a frantic mutual striptease. Alex kicks off his pants in the hallway, and he starts in on Jake’s, fingers at the waistband, though he stops when Jake shakes his head.
“You good?” Alex asks.
“I should let you know.” Jake pauses, because this part is never dignified. Theexplaining. The asking for patience. The possibility of annoyance or, worse, pity. “The meds sometimes make me take a while to get hard. But we can do whatever. Or don’t even worry about it. It’s fine.” He says the last in a rush, fixing his vision slightly over Alex’s shoulder.
“Jake”—Alex’s voice is rough, his eyes a soft brown in the hallway light when Jake finally turns his head—“I’ve waited ten years. I can wait a few more minutes.”
“It might take longer than that.”
“I can wait a few minutes.” Alex steps closer to him. “Or hours. Or days.”
Something else they haven’t talked about. Because this hasoncescribbled all over it. Jake and Alex were friendsonce. Jake and Alex lost a championshiponce. Jake and Alex kissed under fireworksoncewhen they were too naive to know what it meant. This shouldn’t be anything but another entry on their list ofonces.
“I don’t know if doing this again is a good idea,” Jake says.
Alex gets a look like he might just put his clothes back on and leave, a flash of the same expression he wore ten years ago in Jake’s parents’ kitchen before he called a cab. It resolves a second later, Alex squaring his shoulders. “If that’s what you want.”
“Just for now,” Jake confirms.
Alex nods, slightly gravely, then returns his attention to Jake’s pants. “We can leave these on. Either way.”
Jake shoves them down like he’s trying to prove a point; he’s about to go for his shorts when Alex puts a hand on his wrist.
“You look...” Alex’s voice is gravel, his stubble a friction at Jake’s neck like he’s been thinking about this since Jake sent him that picture. Especially when Alex follows with his mouth, sucking hard enough that Jake will probably have a mark the next day.
Too much, with the way Alex is looking at him, so Jake drops to his knees, a descent that puts his eyeline at Alex’s waist. Alex’s hand finds its way to Jake’s shoulder, and it’s easy to tilt forward, to kiss Alex low on his belly and avoid the possessive look in his eyes.
“In retrospect, it’s obvious it was you.” Jake taps his hip, at the freckles now covered by a scar Alex must have gotten on a bad slide. “You had this patch of freckles right there. I spent that first year thinking about them.”
“I thought about you rookie year”—Alex gasps when Jake applies his mouth to his stomach—“and after.” Words that sound torn out of him, that dissolve into a noise when Jake kisses him, tongue a sweep, uncomplicated, unlike the rest of this.Once. A promise he makes himself, that they’ll drain whatever this is and move on, even if Jake feels uncorked, like everything is pouring out of him.
Jake bites him, gently, then less gently when Alex makes an encouraging sound. From there, it’s easy to hook his thumbs into the waistband of Alex’s shorts, to shove them down and let him step out of them, to push Alex against the wall and not think about anything but the weight of Alex’s cock in his mouth and the heavier one of his hand on Jake’s neck.
Alex makes another noise, long and low. “Yeah, get me wet, that’s it.”
Jake does, hasty, without finesse, but it doesn’t matter when Alex’s hips pump, a thrust that leaves him choking slightly, and he pulls back, wiping his mouth and then, slowly, daringly, looks up.
Alex’s eyes are closed, tense lines around them. “Sorry,” he says after a second.
“If we’re gonna do that, I want you on top of me.”
Alex gives an acceding nod before easing himself off the wall.
Jake’s bedroom is a carefully tended mess. He leaves his clothes out as a dare to himself not to pick them up. His bedspread is unwrinkled, though one corner is rucked up where he deliberately put it that morning. He resists the urge to straighten it, especially when Alex backs him onto the bed, laying him down.
