Two the next morning
LANE HALF dragged, half walked Matt down the hall to their dorm apartment as he dug the keys out of his jeans pocket.
Matt giggled, hiccupped, and staggered as his knees gave out again.
“Damn, Matt, you weigh a ton.” Lane shifted his grip on Matt’s waist and lurched the rest of the way to their door. He leaned Matt against the wall, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
Matt started to slide downward, a goofy grin on his face. “Oops!” He waved his arms at Lane.
Lane grabbed him and pulled him up, then dragged him into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind him.
“Just one drink, huh?” Lane had never seen Matt drunk. Never. Not even graduation night at the senior party.
Matt stared into Lane’s eyes, and Lane couldn’t look away.
“Sorry, Lanie, but it’s the end of an era, man. You and me together. No more. No more.” Matt shook his head and, for one crazy moment, Lane thought Matt was going to burst into tears.
Instead, in an even crazier moment, Matt pushed Lane against the door, using his arms and body to pin Lane there.
“Lanie, I can’t believe our time is up. Five years.” Matt’s breath puffed against Lane’s face, and the smell of the whiskey he’d imbibed made Lane wonder what he’d taste like if they kissed. Matt, so serious, so sad, reached up and stroked Lane’s face with his fingers as he pressed his forehead against Lane’s.
Now Lane’s eyes burned with tears. The thought of Matt finally leaving, walking away from him, going to the West Coast and living out his dreams without Lane by his side, destroyed Lane.
“I know. It’s too soon.” For Lane, a hundred years would have been too soon.
“Too soon.” Matt nodded, then lowered his head. “You’re the best, Lanie. Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
Lane didn’t know what to say. All he’d ever done had been purely selfish, to keep Matt with him. Matt had done the hard part—passed the courses, worked like a dog to pay Lane’s parents back, excelled in his classes.
Matt’s intent gaze fell to Lane’s mouth. Lane’s stomach whirled away as the surety of what might happen next hit him. He froze, terrified to do something that might change this and terrified to let it happen.
Matt’s lips brushed his, just the slightest, most tender touch imaginable.
Lane closed his eyes and raised his face to Matt, letting him know it was okay. It would be fine. It would be the best kiss of his entire life, just because it was Matt.
“Lanie,” Matt whispered.
Lane thought he’d lost his mind; he heard such longing and desire in Matt’s voice. Man, Matt must be really drunk. Maybe Lane was the one who was drunk and imagining things.
But, selfishly, Lane didn’t care. He waited, pinned against the wall, his cock stirring in just the anticipation of a stupid kiss.
Matt came down hard on Lane’s mouth, and Lane’s cock stiffened in his jeans. When Matt ran his tongue over Lane’s lips, he opened them, and Matt bullied his way inside. Lane went wild as he stroked and caressed and tasted with his tongue.
Matt slid his hand up, twined their fingers together, holding him to the door, and buried his other hand in Lane’s hair.
He broke their kiss. “Lanie.”
“Matt, oh God.” Lane melted against Matt. And, oh my God, Matt’s dick pushed back into his belly, erect and demanding.
Now they kissed, open-mouthed, as Matt ground against Lane’s body, desperately pulling at his mouth, eating from it as if he were starving. Lane had never, not with David or any other guy, been so hot and bothered, so turned on, so ready to beg to be fucked.
If this is what happened when Matt got drunk, Lane wished it had happened more often. Wished he’d been with Matt every night since they’d started college.
What a waste of time, he wanted to cry out, frustrated and angry that they couldn’t have had this, this passion, until now. At the end.
Matt grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the door. They stagger-stepped toward Lane’s room. Matt reached around him and opened the door, then manhandled Lane onto the bed.
The back of Lane’s legs hit the mattress, and he fell back, Matt on top of him, their arms and legs tangled, their bodies still moving in the slinky dance of lovers.
“Fuck.” Matt’s breath exploded across Lane’s face as he tugged on the T-shirt Lane wore. “Sit up.”
Lane obeyed. If Matt had told him to jump off the Mississippi River Bridge, he’d have done it.
Matt ripped it off, then took off his own shirt, tossed it to the side, and began unbuttoning Lane’s jeans. Before Lane could blink or think clearly, his pants and briefs hit the floor next to his shirt, and Matt was shimmying out of his own jeans.
Matt had gone commando.
Lane stared at the cock he’d seen for the first time so many years ago. But it had changed, become longer, thicker, even more beautiful than when Matt was sixteen.
His own cock, just as long but thinner, rode his belly, ready to do whatever Matt commanded of it. Lane would do whatever Matt ordered; he had only to speak the words.
Matt never said a word; he just fell back down on Lane, devouring, biting skin, sucking up marks on Lane’s neck, his fingers twisting the hard points of Lane’s nipples. Lane thought he’d come just from those hot, desperate touches.
But the best, sweet Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, the best was the scrape and rub of their cocks together as they did the dance. Matt’s big body overpowered Lane’s just as he’d dreamed it would, and Lane gave into it, didn’t fight it, let Matt take what he wanted.
Matt’s hands glided over Lane’s skin, traveling up and down, over and around, covering every patch he could with their width and hard calluses. It had to be the most glorious thing—having Matt’s hands on him—Lane had ever known.
Lane shifted under Matt, spreading his legs, and Matt snuggled down between them. He clamped onto Lane’s nipple and sucked it. Lane cried out, arching into his mouth, wanting more.
“Harder,” he begged.
Matt obeyed, and Lane’s eyes rolled in his head at the sound of Matt slurping at his nipple, sucking and licking it, sending sparks of arousal shooting straight from it to his dick.
Matt pulled off, grabbed Lane’s cock in his fist, and pulled it upright. He knelt on the bed between Lane’s legs, and Lane’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he watched Matt open his mouth and swallow Lane’s dick.
“Holy fuck!” Lane gasped and fell back on the bed, his head hitting the headboard. The only thing he felt was the pure pleasure of having Matt’s warm, wet mouth on him, just like in his fantasies. Just like in his dreams.
That was it. This had to be a dream. It was the only explanation Lane could think of to explain Matt’s behavior. Drunk and dreaming, oh yeah, that had to be it, because a man like Matt never looked twice at a dork like Lane.
Matt groaned, and the vibration shook Lane to the core. Matt splayed his hands open on Lane’s thighs, worked them like a cat’s paws, kneading his skin as he milked Lane’s cock. His dark-haired head bobbed up and down, cheeks hollowed on the pull up, mouth open on the stroke down as he took the entire length in. God, it was all Lane could do to keep from coming, but he didn’t think Matt wanted him to do that, not in his mouth anyway.
Shocked, Lane could only experience Matt. He’d always thought he’d be the one on his knees in front of Matt, giving him head, not the other way around. Matt had taken Lane’s dreams and exceeded them.
“Matt,” Lane warned as his arousal built to ball-blowing heights. Any more and he’d shoot like the virgin he was, and that would be too fucking embarrassing.
Matt pulled off with a sloppy kiss, and Lane’s spit-soaked prick slapped against his belly. Inside, Lane died a little knowing Matt didn’t want to swallow his spunk. Why would he?
Instead of getting Lane off with his hand, Matt reached past him and jerked open Lane’s nightstand drawer. Lane held his breath. Matt rummaged around in it, grabbed the slick Lane kept there, popped the top, and squirted some out on his hand.
Without a word, no questions and no asking, Matt pushed Lane’s legs wider. He covered Lane’s cock with the gel, spreading it out, using that same fisting motion Lane had watched all those years ago as Matt jerked off in the clubhouse. Matt’s eyes closed as he stroked, then he opened them, stared into Lane’s eyes, and ran his slick-covered fingers up and down Lane’s crack, from balls to his hole.
Lane shuddered, closed his eyes against what he saw in Matt’s heated gaze, and whimpered like a slut begging for it.
He didn’t have to beg for long.
Matt ran his finger over his hole, teasing. Lane pushed into the touch as the rough fingertip danced over his opening, begging Matt without words to slip the finger in.
Matt pushed in, just a bit.
They both groaned.
Lane spread his legs even wider and tried to relax. He’d fucked himself with his own finger, and if Matt had searched a little harder in the drawer, he’d have found the rubber butt plug Lane used when the need to be fucked got so bad he couldn’t stand it.
“More.”
Matt slid his finger in farther, and Lane took it. His body seemed to suck it inside, and Matt gasped. He lowered his head against Lane’s thigh and rested, shoulders shaking.
Lane reached out and petted Matt’s shoulders. Matt had to be sober by now; maybe he’d realized what he was doing. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”