Eastshore Tigers 01 - Strong Side (15 page)

In the locker room, Coach Garvey handed me the ball. Hours later, and I’ve got it at the Den. The guys are buying me drinks, and I feel like a goddamn hero. And all that for managing to catch a pass. It’s amazing, and it only gets better when Hawk nudges my shoulder at one point and, when the other guys are busy carrying on again, reminds me about our wager.

We don’t get back to his dorm room until late. This time, I don’t goad him and try to sneak him out. Post-game celebrations are always a big deal, and we both wanted to be there for this one. But as soon as we get back to McKinley Hall, my mind is fixed solely on one thing: Feeling Hawk’s lips wrapped around my cock.

Once the door is closed, he pushes me back against it and kisses me like he’s been waiting to do that all day. His hands are all over me, and I reach around him to squeeze his firm ass, pulling his groin into mine. He grinds against me and I feel the hard ridge of his erection rub against mine, earning a needy moan from me.

He starts to unzip my pants, though, and I stop him.

I’m panting, my heart is about to beat straight out of my chest, and my dick is already throbbing for attention. But I know this is a big step for a guy who, until just a couple weeks ago, thought he was perfectly straight. It’s one thing to jack off with another guy and even have your dick sucked by another guy. It’s another thing to have that guy’s dick in your mouth.

It’s not like college guys haven’t experimented before. I’m sure there’s a lot of curious blowing going on, even in these halls. But for me, it means more than that. I want Hawk to do this because it’s something he’s into. Not because he feels like he needs to pay me back for blowing him.

Because frankly, I could probably suck him endlessly and never demand anything in return. Just the sound of his moans and the way his body reacts to every little flick of my tongue is enough.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable with it,” I say breathily. “It’s really okay.”

Hawk stops, his fingers on the buttons of my jeans. He removes them, and for a moment I think he’s going to take the out I’ve offered. I can’t help but feel a little twinge of disappointment. Mostly that’s coming from my dick, though.

But instead of giving me a smile and going back to kissing me, Hawk just stares at me intensely. His eyes always seem to get just a little darker when he’s flushed with desire, and today is no exception.

“Shut up and take off your pants,” he says, right against my lips, in the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.

I shiver from it, feeling a new rush of heat light up my whole body. “I like it when you’re bossy.”

I do as he commands, and the clinking of my belt is the only sound as my pants drop to the floor, pooling around my ankles.

“Boxers, too.”

My fingers hook into the waistband and I pull them down, letting my fully hard cock spring free. I realize this is the first time he’s actually seen all of me. At least in this way, without my lower body being partially covered still by clothes.

I can’t feel self-conscious, though, because Hawk is looking at me like he wants to devour me.

“Go sit on the bed.”

I follow his command again, stepping out of my clothes. I can feel his eyes on me, and I give myself a little stroke on the way over there, mostly for his benefit. When I sit on the edge of the bed, he comes over to me with just a few short steps, and lowers himself to his knees.

His hands rest on my thighs, and I watch him, rapt, as he sizes up my cock. With just the slightest, testing touch of his tongue, I’m already lost.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

- Jason -

My confidence is a little bit of an act.

It always has been, from school to football to my personal life and everything inbetween. It’s the only way I can get through things, because I’m constantly second-guessing myself. Thanks to advice from my dad early on, I’ve definitely come to live the phrase “Fake it ‘til you make it.”

He probably never thought I’d end up applying it to this, though.

Griff’s body is intimidating. He’s made up of hard muscles and lines that flow into one another, pointing me toward my destination.

I’ve seen him before, and I know how he feels in my hand. But now his size is almost a little overwhelming. I think about the porn I’ve seen, and I wonder if it’s actually as easy to suck a big cock as some of the actors make it look. I also wonder a whole bunch of other things I shouldn’t be thinking about, like whether or not he’ll taste good to me, or what to do when he comes.

It isn’t until I draw in a breath of him that my mind settles. Or, I guess it’s probably more realistic to say I just blank out. That scent of light musk totally turns me on, rich and heady and
male
. It pushes all the thoughts and worries out of my mind, and I’m left only with desire.

Desire to taste him. Desire to please him.

Leaning in, I part my lips and push my tongue out, touching it to his shaft. I stroke upward from the base, toward the tip, the same way he did to me. At that first contact, he sucks in a breath, and I know I’m at least on the right track.

His skin is velvety smooth against my tongue, and his taste just reinforces the jolt that’s running through my senses as I explore him. I make it to the tip of his cock and start back down, getting acquainted with every inch of him.

He likes a lot of the same things I do. When I move my tongue underneath the head, his hands grip hard into the sheets, and I can feel his body start to tighten a little. He’s already fighting against release, and I haven’t even gotten a chance to take him into my mouth yet.

I decide to do something about that, and engulf him with my lips. I suck just the head first, and it takes me a few tries to adjust the pressure to the point where I can suck him vigorously without having to worry about teeth.

Once I get there, Griff is gone. He starts to thrust against my mouth, and I let him, wrapping my hand around the base of his cock just to help control him a little so he doesn’t push it too deep.

He fucks my mouth, uses me until he’s moaning nonstop, and it’s sexy as hell. I never thought I’d enjoy something like this, and as he thrusts into me, it makes me wonder what he would feel like elsewhere.

It’s the first time I’ve really thought about being fucked by another guy—by Griff—but judging from my own moans around his cock and the fact that my dick is rock hard in my jeans, I think it’s safe to say the idea is more appealing than I thought it would be.

As I let Griff fuck my mouth, I rub myself through my pants, and I can feel when he’s getting too close to hold on any longer.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” he says breathlessly, his voice almost a growl.

I don’t move away, and he takes that as the all-clear. He buries his hands in my hair, and he slows his movements, letting me finish him with my lips and tongue. His release hits fast and hard, and I catch just the slightest taste of him as he pumps into me.

Most of my attention is focused on his groans, though, because he sounds absolutely amazing when he’s coming. And to know I’m the one to draw that sound from him? It almost feels better than winning the game today.

“That was amazing,” he says, his voice a little shaky, and his praise strokes something inside of me I didn’t know needed stroking.

He pulls me up for a kiss, and I can’t help it: I’m greedy. I want more. I’m craving something, and I’m starting to realize what it is, but I don’t really know how to ask for it, or even demand it.

Griff takes over and maneuvers me back onto the bed, and before I can think about it, he has my pants and underwear yanked off and he’s returning the favor. I close my eyes and let him work his magic, and once we’re both spent, I lay there, trying to bring my breathing back to normal while he takes a little cat nap.

I want more of this. I’ve never been all that sex-crazed before—I’ve always had too much other shit on my mind—but with Griff, it’s like I can’t get enough. He’s a drug, and I’m the guy who can’t quit buying. Can’t quit using.

But I’m starting to feel like there’s a little more to it than that. Like we’re more than just friends who like to get off together. I want him to do things to me I’ve never even thought about before.

I think I’m starting to have feelings for my best friend.

CHAPTER TWENTY

- Derek -

Hawk and I have spent almost every night together over the past few weeks, and it’s been absolutely amazing.

Sometimes we had legit reasons, like when I was trying to prepare him for another test in his psychology class, and then help him figure out the topic of his term paper. Other times we were just hanging out, playing video games or watching football or whatever.

But most of the time we ended up fooling around before the night was through, and I can’t say I wasn’t always thinking about it in one way or another. I’m twenty-one years old. My cock perks up at the slightest mention of Hawk. So when I have access to him, it’s hard to keep my hands off.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to mind. We spend hours on his bed, kissing and touching like we’re both in our teens again and we’ve never done this before. I know it’s mostly true for him, but for me it’s pretty mind-blowing. It’s not like I don’t know my way around a man’s body. But with Hawk, everything feels new. I want to commit every line, every little dip, every inch of skin to memory so I can play back the images in my mind when we’re apart and feel him on my fingertips, taste him on my lips again.

It’s… intense. More intense than I expected, but I can’t seem to take a step back to catch my breath. I don’t really want to. Hawk—Jason—gave me his trust. He’s asking me to guide him, and I have to jump in head first.

It’s more than just the physical, though. Sure, I remember the heat of his body and the way it feels against mine. I remember just how he shudders as he climaxes in my hand or my mouth. I remember the way he looks up at me when he’s pleasing me.

But I also remember his sometimes shy smiles. The way he laughs at my stupid jokes. Our not-very-heated arguments about NFL players. How he licks his lips when he’s concentrating on homework.

He’s my friend, first and foremost. My best friend. It’s easy to admit that now. But it’s starting to become almost painful not to see him. On the nights when we each have too much shit going on to get together—even just to hang out—I don’t feel right. I wake up feeling disoriented and less certain about the world around me.

It’s like Hawk is my anchor, and without him, I’m just sort of drifting.

I don’t really know how to tell him that, or if I even should. The season is ramping up fast, and we’re racking up enough wins to actually start really thinking about post-season. I know Hawk wants to be the top seed and get to the Citrus Bowl, and we’re actually on track for it. Ranked #4 in the country, #2 in our division, we’re the team that, according to all the sportscasters, “Came out of nowhere and may have a real chance at a national title.”

A lot of it hinges on our next game against Tennessee. They’re sitting high at the top spot in the SEC right now, but not by a huge margin. If we bump them off in this game, we’ve got a real shot of pulling ahead.

So I can’t really think about what I may or may not feel for Hawk, or what he may or may not feel for me. I have to focus on the game, and I know he feels the same. He’s been laser-focused at practice, settling back into the groove he was in when I first met him. Only this time, he seems a little more willing to compromise. He’s examining his own play just as much as always, but not analyzing everybody else’s. For once, he’s actually leaving that to Coach Garvey.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to step it up. When Coach tells me I’ll be starting the game, I’m equal parts pumped and fucking terrified, because I know letting the guys down this time is going to count for a lot more than it would have in my first starting game.

On Friday night, we fly up to Knoxville. The airport is only a little bigger than the one back home, and it takes a puddle-jumper from Charlotte to get there. By the time we drag ourselves to the hotel, everybody’s pretty much ready to fall into bed. We’ve been practicing all week, it seems like, and Coach had us reviewing footage of the Vols while we were on the plane, so none of us got any shut-eye.

I’m rooming with Hawk, by some miracle, and it’s a blessing and a curse because as soon as we set down our bags and I look at him across the room, my dick—who never seems to get tired—reminds me that we’re alone here. Mostly.

Sure, the walls are paper thin, but how often are we going to have this chance on the road?

I can tell he’s thinking the same thing, but when he flops onto the bed, my whole body seems to tell me that’s exactly what we need. I change into clothes that don’t smell like an airport and climb into bed with him. It’s just a twin, so we barely fit. My ass is hanging off the side and I’m pretty sure parts of him are hanging off the other side.

But he doesn’t tell me to move. In fact, he seems to relax more, pulling me closer. A now-familiar tightness fills my chest, and I rest my head against him.

“You nervous about the game?” I ask.

“Hell yes.” His voice is a soft rumble that I can almost feel vibrate through him. I smile as the sensation tickles my cheek. “Coach had me watching hours of footage of the Vols’ defensive line grinding QBs into dust.”