It’s Complicated

It’s been almost two weeks since we got back from the cabin. Real life has turned out to be a real nightmare. Liza has started a new job, which is turning out to be super stressful so she’s needed a lot of Ethan’s time. Added to that, there’s no getting around it, Jess is being clingy. Honestly, I can’t say I blame her. I’ve been blowing hot and cold for months. The net result of all this, is that Ethan and I haven’t been able to hook up.

I’m beside myself. Absolutely beside myself. I’m so horny, I feel like there are ants crawling all over my skin. It’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to snap at Jess, so I’m relieved, if apprehensive, when the girls organize a night out. I’m not sure I want to see Ethan with the girls there, given how pent up I am. At the same time, I’m so desperate to see him I can’t stand the thought of not going.

We get to the club and it’s crowded and loud. Jess is wearing the dress she was wearing the night we met. It’s long-sleeved and black and so short it barely covers the curved shelf of her ass. She has her hair pinned to the side, cascading over one shoulder. She looks sensational, but tonight, I don’t even notice the leering male eyes on her, as I scan the room for Ethan.

There’s a split second of relief when I find him. There he is. Followed by bodily chaos - heart racing, head pounding, cock raging.

We get drinks and try to chat, though it’s a fool’s errand, if ever I’ve seen one, as none of us can hear a word anyone else is saying. Liza wants to dance, and drags Ethan off. I smile inwardly as I see the sweet way he twists his mouth to the side slightly, as he breaks out his dad-like moves. He’s so fucking cute. I want him. I want to tear his clothes off him. That’s what I want. I want them ripped. Tattered. I want to throw him over the bar and fuck him until he screams.

Jesus.

Get yourself together!

I’m out of control. Far from chilling me out, the drinks are making things worse. Liza has her arms around him and is whispering into his ear. He absentmindedly leans down and grazes his lips against hers. Dark green envy coils around my heart and squeezes tight, suffocating me. I can’t get a good breath, so I head out onto the balcony.

Get your shit together, I berate myself, as I lean against the railing, taking slow deep breaths. We are in public. The girls are here. Calm the fuck down!

I’m starting to relax slightly when I feel his presence near me. He stands next to me, leaning back against the railing, facing me. I keep my eyes forward on the view of the lights flickering across the city, a stark contrast to the black night sky.

“Damn, Irish,” he sighs wistfully, “why you gotta look like that?”

I drop my head and breathe in slowly, my hands gripping the railing so hard my knuckles turn white. When I finally flick my eyes up at him, I know what he’ll see. I’m not trying to hide it. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

“Oh, shit.” He murmurs. He understands.

“I need to fuck.” I whisper through clenched teeth. “I mean it, Ethan. I need it.”

He leans over to me, his shoulder pressing briefly against mine. “I get it.” He says quietly, “I get it, okay?”

-

The uber pulls up at my house and we pile out, fumbling with the keys in the door as we stumble inside, barely able to make it to my room, before we are at each other. He told the girls I wasn’t feeling well and that he’d take me home. We don’t have long, he said he’d be back.

I’m grabbing his pants, stupidly trying to pull them off without undoing his belt. He’s trying to undress, but my desperate tugging is hindering more than it’s helping. I manage to get my flies undone, before glancing around desperately. I need to use the bathroom.

“There’s no time.” He says urgently.

“I need more,” I whimper. “I need to fuck.”

“Ollie,” he says reasonably, “you’re too fucked up, okay? You can’t wait. We’ve just got to get the poison out.”

He kneels and takes me into his mouth. I want more, but the fight leaves me the second I feel the wet warmth of his mouth. I sigh with relief as my body rushes towards orgasm.

But then, there’s a sound at the door. We freeze, hardly daring to breathe. Hoping against hope, it’s just our imagination. But there it is again. It’s unmistakable. Someone’s unlocking the front door. Ethan’s eyes are open wide in fright.

“Who the fuck’s that?” He hisses.

“Baby, are you okay?” It’s Jess. Fucking Jess! She’s left the club and come home to check up on me. I frantically zip up, struggling to contain my painfully hard cock, as I quickly head down the passage to stall her.

“Are you okay?” She asks again. “You should have let me come with you.”

“You should go back,” I say tersely, “I’m not feeling well.”

She makes it clear that she’s not going anywhere, so I excuse myself to use the bathroom, glancing into my bedroom furtively, as I walk down the hall. The curtain is billowing out gently in the breeze. He must have ducked out the window.

Fuck!!

I jerk off quietly in the bathroom, my orgasm comes quickly and is so unsatisfying it’s almost painful. A single thought dominates - When the hell will I see him again?

“Are you okay, baby?” Jess asks again.

I look down at her concerned, caring face, and I honestly just don’t have the strength to lie to her again. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand anything getting in the way of me seeing him. Never again. I just can’t take it. So, I sit her down, and tell her that no, I’m not okay. Something has changed and I don’t feel the way I used to. I tell her that what we have, is not what I want anymore. She sits silently next to me, blinking hard before quiet, silvery tears trickle down her cheeks.

Oh, man, I feel like shit.

“I just don’t understand.” She says, over and over. I could explain it to her, make her understand. But the truth isn’t mine alone, so all I can manage is, “I’m sorry.”

And truly, I am.

She asks to stay the night and after everything I’ve done to her, I can’t deny her. She sleeps in one of my old t-shirts, as I lie stiffly next to her. I don’t know how to comfort a person when I am the very thing that’s hurting them. I sleep badly, woken every now and then by the muffled sounds of her crying.

When morning finally dawns, I help her pack a bag of the things she’s left at my place; her toothbrush and expensive shampoo, a small bag of make-up, a couple of changes of clothes. Her face is pale and her eyes are red and puffy. I feel like human garbage. Why did I do this to her? I should have broken up with her months ago. I should have left her the first time I was with Ethan. Then it hits me. I stayed with her, so I could get close to him. That’s the bare-faced truth of it.

I’ve been using her.

I am a steaming pile of shit.

-

A few hours later, she must have called Liza and told her the news, because I get this text from Ethan:

What happened, dude? Want to come over?

Hell yes, I want to come over.

-

When I get to his place, his concerned expression causes a new wave of guilt and self-loathing to flood over me. My dick, however, knows nothing of such things, and so, with a non-committal shrug, I pull my sweater off over my head. I see him taking me in. His eyes travelling down my chest, like molten lava. Warming me, making me burn. I walk over to the dining table and without looking back, I unbuckle my belt, unzip, lower my pants and bend over, bracing myself on my elbows, palms flat on the table.

“I need to fuck.” I say matter-of-factly.

“What the hell’s got into you?” He asks.

“Fuck me.” I snarl, my voice has a husky, desperate edge to it and doesn’t sound like my own.

He reaches for me, caressing.

“Not like that.” I want it hard. Sensing my urgency, he works his fingers into me quickly. He’s taken to carrying travel-sized lube and condoms in his back pocket, so he’s prepared. Still, he’s going too slow. When he eases his fingers out of me, I roughly replace them with my own. Quickly, crudely stretching myself.

“Jesus.” He mutters under his breath.

I look back at him hungrily, I know what he can see in my eyes. But I don’t care. I want him to see. I reach back and gripping a cheek in each hand, purposefully spread my ass wide open.

“Jesus.” He says again, though my sluttish behaviour must be having the desired effect, as his breath has become ragged. I hear the quick rip of the condom wrapper and within seconds, he’s at my backdoor. One hard thrust of his hips all that it takes to flood my body with the familiar, tense shock of accommodating something so large.

“Uunnnnngg.” I moan, as he starts to move. He’s still going slow, being gentle. That’s not what I want.

“Harder.” I plead.

“Slow down,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt you.” As he says it, I realise that’s exactly what I want. Exactly what I deserve.

“Harder!” I say again, though this time there’s an edge in my voice and it’s more of a command than a plea.

“Shhh.” He says, pulling my head back by my hair and clamping his hand over my mouth.

“Do it harder.”

“Stop it,” he hisses, his voice fraught with tension, “you’re going to make me lose control.”

Given that that’s exactly what I want, I let my head lol back slightly, my eyes meeting his, as I say, “Do it. Do it harder.”

I see his jaw clenching, so I say again, “Fuck me harder. Harder!” My words are garbled into the palm of his hand, but the meaning is clear and suddenly, like the flick of a switch and with a low grunt, he erupts.

He shoves me down onto the table roughly, pinning me down by my shoulders as he thrusts into me with unimaginable fury. He unleashes such force, I have to use my own hands to muffle my cries, as his body slams into mine over and over again. It’s exactly what I wanted, exactly what I deserve, but bloody hell, that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard to take.

When he finds himself again, he slows, pausing, before setting a new, slower pace. Long strokes that are so deep and so thorough each one forces a stifled cry from my lips. His stamina is unbelievable and my body gives way long before his. I grunt and spasm as my body arcs and finally relents.

As soon as it’s over, I want to leave. I need to go. I don’t feel I can look him in the eye.

“You okay?” He asks. I guess almost injuring me at the cabin and the fact that he’s bottomed himself now, has made him a little more aware of my wellbeing.

“I’m fine.” I say, before adding quietly, more for myself than for him, “It’s nothing I don’t deserve.”

He looks at me with something resembling dismay, “You don’t deserve to get hurt, Oliver.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say with a wry smile, “you didn’t see how Jess looked when she left.”

“Just sit for a while.” He says.

“Nah, I need to get going,” I say, as I move unsteadily toward the door.

“For fucks sake!” He exclaims, “You can’t even walk straight. Just sit down and chill.”

Reluctantly, I stretch out on the sofa, as he makes us coffee. As we drink it, he asks about Jess.

“She okay?”

“No,” I say quietly.

“What happened?” He asks.

I run my hand through my hair, shrugging my shoulders in defeat, “I guess I just couldn’t do it anymore. Just couldn’t keep lying to her.”

“Did you tell her about…?” And there it is. This is what he’s concerned about. He can’t even say it. He just gestures vaguely between us.

“’Course not,” I say, after a beat. He sighs audibly, weak with relief.

“Thank you.” He murmurs softly.

When the last of my coffee is finished, we sit in comfortable silence for a while. His shirt is still off, and the button of his jeans is undone. The seasons are changing and it’s cool today, and now, I can see tiny gooseflesh form on his chest. I nudge him playfully with my foot.

“Hey, you got any fuck left in you?”

He rolls his eyes slightly, shaking his head, bemused, “Christ, Irish.” He laughs, “You’re an animal.” There is not a single ounce of judgment in his voice, because you see, he and I, we are the same.

If I’m an animal, he is one too.

-