Autumn Fire (10 page)

Dustin swirled his fingers around the tiny wrinkles and over the tight opening. He tensed and relaxed his muscles, puckering his hole like he’d felt Kyle’s do. It tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed.

He pressed firmly against his anus, opening his mouth as he slowly forced his finger in up to the first knuckle. He fingered himself the other day, but it’d been months since anything substantial had been up his ass. For once, it felt really good. If he concentrated hard enough, he could imagine the head of Kyle’s dick probing his hole, though the stretch would certainly be more if it were his massive meat.

Dustin pulled his finger out and quickly pushed it back in. He repeated it again and then slowly forced it into the second knuckle. The pain felt a bit more acute, but the pleasure made it hazy.

If he really wanted to imagine Kyle entering him, he needed to shove another finger in there. Dustin pulled the one out, then pressed two together and up inside him.

He gasped loudly. There was pain there, somewhere, but the pleasure of stretch and friction made any hurt inconsequential. As he fucked himself with his fingers, Dustin became aware he stopped masturbating. It took a force of will to get his fist moving.

Dustin lay on the bed, writhing. He worked up a rhythm of fingering and masturbating which brought him overwhelming pleasure. He moaned and gasped.

More.
He wanted more. Moving nowhere near as cautiously as before, Dustin shoved a third finger inside of himself. He pushed deep, digging in. The tip of his middle finger brushed against his prostate, sending an electric jolt through his core. A fat drop of precum leaked out of his cock, intertwining with his lube slicked dick and hand.

“Fuck,” Dustin muttered between gasps. “Fuck. Shit.”

He fingered his prostate, a tiny ball of pleasure. Quivers rippled through him as all conscious thought ceded to the intensity of the moment.

“Fuck. Fuck, yeah.” Dustin brushed his prostate quicker, pumped his cock faster. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Kyle. Fuck.”

The ecstasy overwhelmed him, like water breaking through a dam. Dustin scrunched his eyes shut and grunted like an animal in heat as his cock sent thick cum flying in the air. His hot seed splattered all over his chest, stomach, legs, and dabbled across the sheet beneath him.

Unmoving, he struggled to catch his breath. Carefully, he slipped his fingers out of his ass and straightened his legs. He opened his eyes, blinking several times to adjust to the light and the diminishing orgasm.

Fuck me, Kyle.

Dustin couldn’t evade it any longer, couldn’t hide from it, or deny it. He wanted Kyle to pound him. For the first time in his life, Dustin truly and deeply wanted to bottom for another man. He wanted Kyle to bury his cock deep in his ass, to take it to the hilt, to be connected at the most intimate of levels.

He groaned when he glanced at the clock next to his bed. Tutoring started in less than twenty minutes. Dustin pushed himself to his feet, being careful not to get too much lube on his sheets. He’d made a mess—his flesh and bed splattered with semen, parts of him lubed and glossy.

Dustin put off dealing with his sheets and went straight to the shower. He scrubbed quickly and mercilessly under the hot water, eager to get off all the various fluids and odors. Grabbing a towel, he dried himself, fixed his hair, and returned to his bedside.

In no more than a minute or two, he’d fully dressed. He checked himself out in the mirror. His ass was accentuated, as were his pecs and biceps, and he achieved the balance of sexuality and masculinity he’d strived for.

A look at the clock told him he had five minutes to get to the cafeteria. Dustin tossed his blanket over the sticky sheets, cringing at the thought of having to clean it all later.

Dustin’s damp head felt instantly frozen as he ran through the frigid afternoon air between buildings. The nagging voice of his grandmother echoed in the back of his mind, something about the surest way to catch a cold, but reaching the cafeteria two minutes early silenced the voice. Feeling like a living popsicle meant he wasn’t sweaty from his quick jog and his cheeks were probably just a touch rosy, all the better to...to what?

Fuck me, Kyle.

Dustin walked through the cafeteria, doing his best to imitate casualness. He quickly found Kyle and locked eyes with him from across the room. As Dustin neared him, he tried to discern the meaning behind the man’s gaze.
Friendliness? Desire? Ambivalence?

“Hi.” Dustin sat his bag down on the table.

“Hey.”

Dustin pulled out his books and bent over to place his bag on the floor next to the chair, careful to angle himself to best accent the curve of his butt. He tried not to look like he’d been practicing the move for half the morning. When he discreetly noticed Kyle’s gaze slide over his ass and his eyelids widen ever so slightly, Dustin felt that familiar fire in his loins.

Seated, Dustin could better assess Kyle’s expression. He appeared uncomfortable, uncertain.

“And how is the math hunk today?” Dustin immediately bit his tongue, regretting his choice of words.

“Um...I’m fine.” Kyle shuffled some papers in front of him. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” Dustin forced his tone to a less perky—less desperate—register. He silently thanked Kyle for letting the hunk comment slide.

Dustin rearranged his books and opened his notebook. He diverted all of his attention to the workings of his hands. His actions slipped out of his control, he acted without thinking, and no good could come from it. If he didn’t play it cool and careful, Kyle would scurry out of the cafeteria, refusing to see him again.

He took a deep breath and picked up his pencil.

“Let’s start with a review of what we worked on earlier this week.” Kyle pulled question sheets out of the back of his binder. He continued to avoid eye contact.

Dustin put his pencil to the paper and set to work. Focusing on the minutiae of mathematical operations helped to keep his mind on less dangerous topics and off Kyle.

With the basic review out of the way, Kyle brought out some new problems, taking them further through course material. Dustin tapped his pencil as he forced the numbers to line up in his mind. He hesitantly scribbled a few of them on the page, encouraged when Kyle gave him a subtle nod.

He wrote in a few more digits and things started to flow easier. The calculations came with less intense concentration, until Dustin inhaled and caught a deep whiff of Kyle’s scent. He breathed deeper, hoping it wasn’t obvious he smelled the man.

By indulging his senses, he made an error on the page. Dustin caught it before Kyle pointed it out...even in distraction, his skills were improving. He grabbed the eraser and rubbed out the mistake. Dustin eyed Kyle discreetly, running his gaze along the defined lines in his arms, over the curve of his biceps.

All hope of making it through this session intact were now gone. The urgings of his loins took control of his body. He put the eraser down and shifted in his chair, the metal legs scraping loudly in the half-empty cafeteria. His right knee rested firmly against Kyle’s. The other knee didn’t move...it didn’t flee, but it also didn’t seem to find comfort there.

He picked up his pencil and wrote the correct values down. Dustin shifted the question sheet closer to Kyle, allowing him to look at both the paper and the man’s incredibly well-defined arms. Proud of his own arms, Dustin worked on them extensively, but Kyle’s were almost model-perfect. The hem of his sleeves stretched near to the ripping point over the rounded biceps. He took a brief moment to glance up—the thin blue fabric of Kyle’s shirt stretched tautly over his pecs, outlining the shape and highlighting the hard points of his erect nipples.

Dustin almost grabbed his head to direct it at his messily-written numbers, but he managed to return his gaze to the paper. He dared not move his knee. Intense warmth and an electrical current buzzed through the contact. Dustin yearned to slowly move and rub his knee against Kyle’s, to cause friction. That would be overdoing it, though—he should be thankful he still touched the man.

“So for the next few steps,” Dustin said. He looked up and caught Kyle staring at him. The man quickly blushed and glanced at the paper. Dustin hid his smile and continued, “I need to first reduce this row, and then the coefficient of this one should be obvious when I get to the next step?” He pointed at each row with his pencil, gently brushing his knuckles against Kyle’s fingertips. The other fingers flinched away quickly. The contact, though brief, sent goose bumps up Dustin’s arm.

Kyle cleared his throat. “Yes. I personally find I overthink problems like this. If I analyze the steps too much, too far in advance, I end up missing the obvious ones that appear halfway through.”

“Don't think too much. Got it.” Dustin knew the rule applied to these math problems, but it seemed to explain how’d he’d been acting all day.

As the session reached its eventual end, desperation filled Dustin. It ended too soon. Kyle’s knee would disengage from his at any moment—their connection would be lost. He needed to keep the link. He wasn’t sure he could make it through the rest of the day without it.

“Would you want to, I don’t know, grab a coffee or catch a movie or something? You know, as friends?” It took almost all of his willpower to refrain from babbling, from saying something he’d regret seconds later.

Kyle’s eyes widened, fear evident. Immediately, he chewed on his lower lip. Still, Kyle’s knee pressed against his underneath the table and still did not move.

“Can I, uh, can I get back to you on that? I’ll email you tonight or something.” Kyle avoided eye contact again.

“Sure. Sure, that’ll work.”

Dustin felt pain in his chest. Obviously a no, but Kyle didn’t want to reject him face-to-face. A glimmer of hope remained. Maybe he would cave and say yes. An unlikely hope, but it did exist.

“What about our next tutoring session?” If he couldn’t have what he really wanted, more tutoring allowed him to try again...or eventually work the man out of his system.

Kyle hesitated, then reached for his bag and dug through it. “Damn. I seem to have left my planner in my room. How about I send you a text or an email later with some tentative study times?”

“Yeah, that would be good.” Dustin smiled, trying to appear genuine...and not as desperate as he felt.

They packed their bags and Dustin watched Kyle walk out of the cafeteria. His ass, hugged tight in denim, was round and full, pert and firm. Dustin casually held a textbook in front of his crotch as he exited, concealing his hard-on.

Even if they could just be friends, Dustin would learn to live with it, but he wanted to have Kyle in his life somehow.

A while later, Dustin sat in the back of a large lecture hall—linear algebra finally started to make sense. The professor’s matrix on the screen, and the operations he did to it, no longer confused him. Dustin didn’t get it all, but could piece together enough of it.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he discreetly pulled it out. He opened the email from Kyle.

Hey Dustin,

Thanks for the offer of a movie, but I think it would be best if we kept our relationship strictly professional. I’m sure you understand.

On that note, I have Monday at 1 p.m. free again. Does that work for you?

Kyle

Dustin’s buoyed spirit sank a bit. Kyle retreated from the edge of friendship and back into a formal tutor-tutee relationship. At the same time, he hadn’t cut him off completely. Dustin struggled to keep his emotions in check for the rest of the class.

At least he could still have Kyle for eye-candy. No, it wouldn’t do. Salivating over the man and then whacking off in private would still affect their relationship, still make it uncomfortable. Out of respect for Kyle, Dustin accepted the strictly professional approach.

If he truly cared for Kyle, he would give him what he wanted. As of this moment, Kyle would be his tutor and nothing more.

Eight

Saturday

Dustin grunted and brought his quivering arms together. Thundering electronica music in his earbuds beat a soundtrack to his workout, pushing him to go harder. The metal brace arms of the pec deck clattered loudly as he finally brought them together. He winced. The sound overpowered his music, meaning it had been very loud.

That had been about the twentieth time in the past forty-five minutes he’d abused the machinery. A quick glance around found no staff members stomping over to kick him out. Normally, Dustin hated jocks that couldn’t treat the machines properly, now he’d become his pet peeve.

Dustin stood up and shook out his arms. He kicked his head from side to side and stretched his chest out before he sat down for another set of ten. A bass beat pounded through his head.

If he couldn’t get over Kyle, maybe a kickass workout would sweat the obsession out. If nothing else, it might exhaust him enough for a full night’s sleep. After the emotional whirlwind of his day, he needed a good, long rest.

He took a swig from his water bottle before he wrapped his fingers around the padded handles and pressed on into another set. Dustin scrunched his eyes closed and concentrated on the burn.

The handles were slippery. He grasped tightly to keep them from slipping between his fingers. With the padding, the warmth from his hands, and the dampness from the sweat, it almost felt like he held Kyle’s dick.

“Fuck.” He managed to hold back a shout, as he abandoned the machine and stood up. It clattered loudly again as the weights fell back into place. He stared at the puddle of sweat on the seat with furrowed eyebrows.