Archive of Our Own

It was early. Too early in the morning to get up, too early for breakfast to even have started, too early for the sun to crest over the clouds and the maple trees outside the window.

Meeks could not sleep. He had finished his homework hours ago, so he decided to reread his notes and his lessons for the next day, in attempt to fatigue him into unconsciousness. Regrettably, nothing had lulled him into sleep like he had expected.

He was laying under his covers, fiddling with the hem of his button up as he tried to force himself to fall asleep.

The day before had not been too stressful. He aced a physics test, not that he was worried about it, and spent his afternoon after classes studying for their chemistry test the next week with Pitts and Cameron.

Cameron left to tutor sixth graders after a few hours, leaving the two of them to their own devices, literally. They fiddled with an old clock of Pitts' father's, spending the rest of the night trying to figure out why it had stopped working earlier that year.

By the end of the night, Meeks was seventy-percent sure he had found the broken part, though he would have been absolutely certain if Pitts had not spent the entire night nagging him to see what part he was examining.

They had to move their engineering escapades to a small Janitor's closet in the junior hallway, so Pitts and he had to squeeze close together to even try to get any semblance of work done. Meeks barely had any arm room as it was, and Pitts' stupid curiousity only succeeded in aggravating him further. For the hours they stood, bent over the clock, Pitts was continuously leaning his head over Meeks' shoulder and pointing his finger at random bits and breathing on his neck and stumbling into him, again and again and again.

Oh.

Meeks realised why he had not been able to sleep.

He had ignored it for the majority of the night, having to have been pressed against Pitts for nearly the entire night. But then they had to rush through their showers because they spent too long working on the clock, so he had not had time to deal with it then. He had genuinely forgotten about it when he buried himself in his homework and studies, but now he was tired, bored, and completely and absolutely horny.

Fuck. He was going to have to pull an all-nighter. There was no possible way he was going to be able to sneak to the bathroom to deal with it at such an hour.

There was no other way he could deal with it. Maybe he could just read over his notes until dawn and then go to the restroom then. God, that would still be three hours and he would be running without sleep.

He could... No. That was a horrible thought. He could never. Pitts was there! There was no way he could... there was no way he could take care of it there, in their dorm, in his bed, with his best friend sleeping less than ten feet away from him.

But if he kept quiet, Pitts would never know.

That was a horrible thought! What was he thinking? He could never do that. It would be a gross violation of trust, a horrible break in character, a disgusting act he could never allow himself to do.

But he would never be able to sleep otherwise.

Oh God, he was actually pondering it. He could... He needed to. Oh God. No. No. No.

He ran his hand over the crotch of his pyjama bottoms, inhaling harshly and biting his lip as he brushed over his clothed erection.

Shit. Well, whatever he was going to do, he had a feeling it would not take long.

He slid his hand under the waistband of his bottoms and boxers and wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock. Why such a small movement felt so good was a mystery to him, but he was thankful it was that pleasurable: it likely meant a hasty end was approaching.

He pulled his hand up and the spike of pleasure zapped up his body. Before he knew what he was doing, he gasped out a quiet but harsh "fuck!"

Upon realising he had spoken, he shoved his free hand over his mouth. Shit. He hoped he had not woken up Pitts. Shit. Shit shit shit.

After waiting a few moments to hear if the man in the other bed stirred, and receiving a negative to his inquiry, he brought his hand back down to the base of his shaft and almost began to squirm. God, he was hornier than he thought.

He knew he could not take this slow for many reasons, so he began to stroke himself with purpose.

He went faster and faster, muffling his noises in his clothed arm and trying his damnedest to stay as still as possible. His brain was throwing images at him, trying to get it over with as fast as possible. It was visions he had been familiar with for years, of unspeakable things being done to him by someone he never should wish to think of in this way.

He was nearing his peak when a noise startled him still. It was not simply a noise of someone outside, or someone rustling under their covers.

It was Pitts, saying his name: "Meeks?"

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck. He had heard him. Oh God. It was over. Everything was ruined. Meeks had fucked everything up. Oh God oh God oh God. Shit.

He stayed frozen, hoping Pitts would just roll over and go back to sleep.

"Meeks, I know you're awake." Damnit.

Releasing his strong bite on his sweater, Meeks brought his hand down to his chest. "No, I'm not."

Pitts laughed, fatigued and hoarse, in response. It should not have been possible to have a laugh that attractive, but here he was.

"Are you... Are you, um... Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

Meeks risked a glance over at Pitts, to see the other man staring at him. The moonlight from the window had illuminated his face to where Meeks could see a rosy glow adorning his cheeks.

Pitts never blushed. Meeks would be proud of himself in any other situation for flustering his best friend, but it was not any other situation.

"I feel like saying no would be redundant, at this point."

Pitts laughed again, and Meeks huffed out a snort.

"Are you almost done?"

Meeks tried not to die of embarrassment. Based on how his heart was palpitating, he was sure he was failing. "...I was."

"Ah." A pause. "Would you mind if I did it too?"

Meeks could not have heard him right. "What?"

"I... Um... Well I... I've been, you know, all day and we didn't have time in the showers earlier and... you can say no and I'll just wait till morning."

"You can. If you let me finish." Where did that boldness come from? Why was he agreeing to it?

"We can just do it at the same time, I guess."

Meeks was begging himself to stop the events before they happened, to say no.

"That works."

Unfortunately his brain and his mouth were disconnected, at the moment.

"I... Okay."

Meeks laid there awkwardly as he waited for some form of cue that it would be okay to begin again.

He heard clothes rustling, a blanket moving, and then a deep, sharp intake of breath.

Fuck. Pitts was doing it. Pitts was touching himself.

Meeks, against all logic and morality in his brain, wanted to look over. He yearned for it. To see Pitts' face, his eyes screwed shut and his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth clenched shut in pleasure. To see his arm moving under the blankets, the speed he was going, the tension in his bicep as he jerked up and down. To see the inevitable tent in the blankets, the motion and length and hell of it all.

Meeks was absolutely disgusting. What else was new?

Before he could even comprehend what he was doing, he was moving his hand, quickly, hastily, with a speed he doubted he had ever used before. Just being able to hear Pitts, his huffs and breaths and barely-stifled groans, was brewing within him a tightness in his stomach he had never experienced previously.

He was a horrible person, getting off to just the sound of his best friend. Again, what was new?

For being as close as he had been before, his climax should not have been as unexpected as it was. He had not really thought it could come so swiftly, pun fully intended, but before he knew it, his abdomen was clenching, his legs were tensing, and his back was arching just a little off the bed.

"Oh, fuck! I'm cumming. Oh God, Pitts, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck!" He genuinely had no idea what he said, having approached his end so fast. He just hoped it was not too embarrassing, considering he had not wanted to speak at all.

He had barely crested his high when he heard Pitts groan out, "fuck, Meeks, shit, fuck, oh my God."

That was a sound that was never going to leave his mind: Pitts saying his name when he came. Nope. It was burned into his brain. That was going to plague him during tests, he knew already.

Meeks was basking in the heat and looseness of his orgasm when Pitts broke the silence fully, which had previously been filled with only their quick pants: "did you just cum onto your clothes?"

Meeks looked down and noticed the large wet spot in his pyjamas. "Shit."

"I think I ran out of tissues, too."

Meeks laughed. "Of course. Well, we can just clean up in the morning."

"Yep."

The silence returned, but Meeks had not rolled over to try and sleep. He could tell Pitts was still awake. Though Meeks' brain usually ran at a million miles a minute, he suspected Pitts' was racing faster at the moment.

"Sorry for asking you to do this."

That was not what Meeks was expecting him to ask, or even think, about. "Wh- why are you apologising?"

"Because you probably didn't want to do this and I feel like I pressured you into it—"

"Pitts, you didn't pressure me into anything. I agreed to do it, same as you."

"I... Okay."

Meeks rolled over to face Pitts. "I'm serious."

"I know."

Meeks watched him for a few moments; Pitts was so damn beautiful when he was contemplating, and apparently in a post-orgasmic haze. His face took on an ethereal appearance, nearly fairy-like in its glow.

"This is a one-time thing, though, right?"

"Oh yeah, definitely."

It was not.

The next day was nowhere near as awkward as Meeks feared it would be. He thought they would not talk, or even look at each other, but it was as if their dynamic had barely shifted. In fact, it was as if they were even closer.

Aside from Pitts blushing enough that following school day to get Charlie to ask him if he was alright, nothing was different.

When they got back to their room that night, having decided to spend the rest of day studying and allot the next evening for working on the clock, it was normal.

Meeks was completing homework, and Pitts was reading something for Latin.

"Hey, Meeks?"

And fuck, his brain launched back to that morning. The memory of Pitts groaning his name out. Crap. Shit. Fuck. Great.

"Yeah, Pitts?" His voice was a tad horse from not using it for the last couple of hours, and the sharp inhale from the other side of the room confirmed that Pitts' mind was stuck exactly where Meeks' was.

"Can you help me with this Latin reading? I don't think I understand it."

It actually was a secret that Pitts was better at Latin than Meeks was, he just could not focus during tests. So Pitts, at that moment, was assuredly lying. But why?

"Sure." Meeks shrugged and got up, walking over to Pitts' bed. He kneeled onto the sheets next to the taller boy, looking at the Latin passage in question. It was one Pitts had translated for him last week.

Meeks was about to roll his eyes and say "nice try, Pittsie," but his lips became otherwise occupied when Pitts pressed his own to them.

Meeks, in shock, pulled away. "What are you doing?"

Pitts seemed as surprised as he was. "Shit, I'm sorry, oh God—"

"No, don't apologise. It's okay."

Pitts' eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just ask next time."

"Okay." Pitts set his Latin book to the side before refocusing his attention on Meeks. "Can I kiss you?"

Meeks should say no, should pretend none of this was happening, that the past morning was a fever dream and this was a mistake.

"Yes," was the answer that came out of his mouth. Great. Nice going, brain.

But all forms of internal monologue shriveled away and died when Pitts pressed his lips to Meeks' again.

Meeks was prepared this time, though he was not entirely sure for what. Instinct did not seem to be as reliable as he had predicted it would be. He pressed his head forward, moving his lips and opening them a little, hoping it was what he was supposed to do.

Pitts seemed just as clueless as him, not frozen but not exactly advancing much, either.

But it did not seem to matter, really. Because they were still pressing close, mouths tugging and pulling and delving into each other like they were made for each other's kiss.

When Meeks realised the burning in his chest had started to be from a lack of oxygen instead of the fact that his heart was positively ablaze at the prospect of kissing his best friend, the man he had loved for far too long, he pulled away, gasping.

"Fuck." Pitts was the first to speak, again.

"Fuck," Meeks agreed.

"I was thinking..." Pitts trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"We could... do what we did this morning. Again."

Meeks quirked an eyebrow. "Now?"

Pitts shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "I mean, yeah. As long as you're quiet—"

"Me? And who nearly shouted my name from across the room last night?"

"Who woke me up with his moaning and then practically screamed when he came?"

Fucking Pitts and his stupid fucking retorts and how stupid fucking hot he was when he said that sentence. If Meeks had not been beyond turned on from their kiss, he would have been then. "Fine, fine. I'll be quiet."

"Good." And then Pitts pulled him in for another kiss and Meeks lost his train of thought once more.

His mind came crashing back into him when he felt Pitts' fingers untucking his button-up from the waistband of his pants. No one had ever even dared touch him like this before, and somehow Pitts just knew what he wanted, knew what he needed, without him even saying it.

"Fuck, Pitts, wait." Meeks pulled away, grasping onto the hands that had begun to unbutton his shirt from the bottom.

"What? Did I do something wrong? Do you want to stop?" Pitts' words poured out of his mouth frantically fast.

"No, no. I'm just... If you keep that up, this is going to be over before it starts." Meeks felt his face heat up even further at the admission.

Pitts' mouth dropped in realisation. "O- oh. Okay. Um. What do you wanna do?"

"Maybe I can... I can, um, sit here and, um, you know..."

"On my legs?"

"What?"

"You want to sit on my legs and do it?"

"Um, no, if you don't want me to?"

"No, no, I do! It's easier to kiss you... And all."

Meeks giggled. He fucking giggled. He was such a goner, it was not even funny.

"Can I kiss you?"

Pitts likely did not expect Meeks to ask, because he dumbly nodded in response. "Yeah, yeah. Sure."

Meeks leaned in and kissed him, their noses accidentally bumping into each other on the way which was quickly laughed off before their lips met.

He skirted a hand to his pants, undoing the button and loosening the hem so he could slide his hand down. He palmed his straining erection, gasping against Pitts' lips and exhaling deeply at the abrupt tingle that ran through his body at the touch.

Pitts tilted his face back up to meet his lips again. God, this had to be the most arousing thing he had ever done.

He rubbed himself through his boxers again, his hips actually jerking and sliding a little on Pitts' lap. The taller boy made a noise into the kiss, something along the lines of a groan mixed with a whimper. It just pulled Meeks closer and closer to his end.

Meeks continued rubbing himself, trying to prolong the feeling, the kissing, before he got serious and rushed to an orgasm.

Pitts pulled away, and Meeks regretted how needy he seemed when he chased Pitts' lips with his own to continue their locking.

"Can I touch you?"

Meeks wanted nothing more. But it was a bit close, a bit rushed, and Meeks was already so dizzy and dazed that he feared another addition to the situation would cause him to never be sober again.

"Not... Not yet," he replied, stammering as he finally began to pull on his cock with purpose.

Meeks plopped his head on Pitts' shoulder as he drew closer and closer to his end. Not fair. Absolutely not fair. He was so close to cumming and he had barely even done anything.

"Oh, fuck." The words were quiet, bitten out from between his teeth as if an afterthought.

"You close?" Pitts' voice rumbled through his collarbone, which Meeks felt vibrate against his cheek.

"Yeah," he mumbled, stroking faster. He wondered if Pitts could feel his hand moving, his pace and his grip and his trembling. He wondered if he was unconsciously moving his hips at all, rutting minutely into Pitts' leg or hips or something.

"Meeks?" The noise broke him from this thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Can I, um, can I... Nevermind."

Meeks detached himself from his place on Pitts' shoulder, stopping his hand as he straightened up. "What's wrong?"

"No, no, nothing. I just—" Pitts flushed a bright red, and Meeks was surprisingly he hadn't been blushing like that before— "I wanted to know if you'd be okay if I... If I touched myself. While you were right there."

Meeks wanted nothing more at that moment. His desires kept switching rapidly in his mind, apparently.

"I'm fine with it." Thank you, courage with no slim idea of its origin, for getting the words out of his mouth.

Meeks pressed a loose kiss to Pitts' lips once more before sliding back to his place against his shoulder and resuming his ministrations.

Same as that morning, he knew when Pitts started touching himself by the sound be made: it was a cut-off hiss, originating deep in his chest, that Meeks practically felt while he heard it.

Then he felt it: Pitts' arm brushing against his, the shaking of his opposite shoulder as he moved his arm, the occasional bump of their hands together when they moved at the same time. The heat that had been building within him was about to collapse.

"I'm close," was practically the only warning he could formulate. It took the form of a groan against the hollow of Pitts' throat, who in turn moaned at the vocalization and perhaps even the feeling of it.

"Me too."

And if that would not have tipped Meeks over the edge, he doubted he would have any idea what else could. He came with a wordless cry, bucking his hips pitifully as he released into his pants for the second time that day.

"Oh God," Pitts groaned, which was quickly followed by an expletive as he climaxed. Though his name was not a part of the words that came out of Pitts' mouth then, Meeks still found himself stifling a yelp at the sheer startle of arousal that coursed through him at the array of noises.

Meeks could taste the sweat on Pitts' skin, damp against his lips. He wanted to lap at it, to bite down on his neck and drag his tongue down the hollow of his throat and over his collarbones and suck little marks into his skin that would get him to jump and grab hard at his arms and his back and his hips.

He despised his hormones, sometimes. Right then was one of those times.

"So much for Latin homework, huh?" Pitts joked, and Meeks snorted softly.

"You translated that page for me last week," Meeks retorted, mustering enough wherewithal to pull himself off of Pitts' chest. 

"I did? I... Oh I did. I'm an idiot." His smile was so beautiful, even if it was sourced from embarrassment.

"Eh. I was trying to figure out how to charm my way into this with my math homework, so..." Meeks trailed off, and they both laughed.

"You still have some to finish, right?" Pitts tacked on as the silence returned.

Meeks shrugged. "Unfortunately."

"You should... You should get to that."

"Yeah."

He peeled himself off of Pitts' lap, grimacing at the cooling stickiness at the forefront of his pants, and situated himself back at his desk.

He managed to complete his homework, but it was certainly a struggle from that point on.

It became a part of their routine. They would wake up, do school, come back to their dorm, finish their work, and then make out and get off in each other's laps.

Pitts had thankfully gotten tissues the next day, under the guise of worsening allergies, and they used those to clean each other up, even though they still finished in their clothes.

It was the following Saturday when their routine shifted again.

After plowing through revision for their upcoming physics exam, Meeks found himself yet again Pitts' lap.

Most of the time, about halfway through, Pitts would roll them onto their sides or flip them over, so Meeks could be pressed against the bed and Pitts could kiss him with ease. Meeks would know he was about to move them because Pitts would lock his arms around his waist.

When he felt Pitts' hands grasp at his hips, Meeks could not hide the smirk that was pulling at his lips as they kissed. Pitts pulled at his side just a tad and Meeks rolled onto his back easily, smiling as Pitts pulled away.

"God, you're so beautiful." Pitts had begun to intersperse their times together with compliments like that one. No matter how many times Pitts said them, they never ceased to make Meeks blush.

"You're not too bad yourself."

He always managed to make Pitts snort with his retorts. He would forever be proud of that fact.

Pitts connected their lips again before eventually trailing his lips down Meeks' neck. The other boy had gotten more adventurous as their times together continued on, beginning to venture his kisses elsewhere as of two days before.

Meeks shivered as Pitts pressed a kiss to his pulse point. He was so delicate, so tender with his actions; Pitts would make an amazing engineer with such care and precision.

Pitts' lips continued down his neck, before he dragged his tongue back up to Meeks' carotid and did something unexpected: he bit down.

Meeks, in his shock, released out a shaky, "fuck, Gerard, fuck."

And if Pitts' biting down on his neck was unexpected, then what he did next was downright shocking: though a completely involuntary move, as Meeks quickly recognised, Pitts pushed his hips into Meeks', their clothed cocks unexpectedly brushing against each other.

Meeks' back arched up at the feeling. "Oh my God, Pitts, please." He did not know what he was begging for, but Pitts moved his head down and bit on the junction of his neck and shoulder, and he moaned again. "Ger- Gerard, please."

Meeks caught it the second time as Pitts groaned and their hips made contact again: he used Pitts' first name. He called him Gerard. That was what got their hips and everything between to jut together.

"Gerard, please, please," he pleaded. His wants were met moments later when Gerard rutted his hips into Meeks' again.

It worked. Okay. First names were good. First names got him the contact he had only experienced in dreams.

He repeated the word, his name, over and over at the realisation: each time got him another grind of Gerard's hips, another grind of his cock, against his own.

"Fuck, you're doing that on purpose."

Meeks felt like Gerard was scolding him. That should not have been as attractive as it was.

Meeks chuckled. "And if I am?"

"Well, two can play that game." Gerard rammed their hips together with much more force that he had before. Meeks whimpered.

"Fuck, Stephen." It was not a natural moan, wholly and totally rehearsed just for some form of payback, but it did not matter to him; it was the hottest thing he had ever heard.

Stephen felt his thighs shake as Gerard rutted into his hips again, and again, and again, punctuating each movement with a groan of his name.

He did not want it to end. He tried thinking of whatever he could to get it to stay away, to let Gerard rut against him for hours and hours. But with each grind of their hard cocks together, even through several layers of clothing, Stephen felt himself grow tenser and tenser, until one particularly hard jolt into his hips and one soft grumble of his name into his ear had him falling off the edge.

He tangled his fingers in the sheets, his eyes squeezing shut behind his glasses as his hips inched off of the bed. "Oh, fuck, Gerard, Gerard, Gerard, God, fuck, fuck, fuck."

"God, fuck, Stephen, shit—" His words tapered into a whimper as he thrusted his hips two more times into him before reaching his own end.

Gerard buried his face in Stephen's neck as he tried to catch his breath, hyperventilating against his skin.

"That was new." Stephen broke the silence this time.

"Yep."

"I liked it."

"Me too." Gerard pressed a kiss and bite to his skin before pulling himself off of him.

Stephen was relatively shocked that simply grinding against each other had spelled such quick ends for the both of them. But he guessed close contact with another person, and specifically another person's crotch, drew an orgasm much swifter than other modes of masturbation. Could what they were doing even be classified as such a term anymore? They had not touched themselves this past time, instead using the other's body, the other's dick, to get off.

That was not masturbation. It was not even mutual masturbation. It was dry humping like the two horny teenagers they were. It was no longer a solo act, but rather a sensual duet.

"Trying to figure out the cure for cancer, there, Stephen?" And, shit, the use of his first name had his body wishing it had a quicker refractory period, even without care to the context.

"Sorry, just lost in thought."

"It's okay. You're cute when you're thinking."

Stephen still blushed at the statement. He was such a goner for this boy, it was not even funny. He doubted it, his longing, his yearning, could get any worse.

He was wrong. He was proven so the very next day, in fact.

Sunday mass and meeting came and went, and they were back in their room by sundown. After reviewing the formulas for their final the next day three more times, they were once again necking on Gerard's bed, mouths connected and tongues practically down each other's throats.

Stephen had utilised his first-name trick once again, receiving quite a few quick, rough grinds for his efforts.

But Gerard, ever the game-changer, employed differences yet again.

The furthest they had gotten to undressing before was a few buttons on their shirts. Other than that, everything remained covered by clothing.

But apparently Gerard's hands had a mission of their own, because they took it a step farther than they had before. Stephen's button-up was unexpectedly and completely undone after only moments of it beginning to be taken apart.

Stephen pushed Gerard away in haste.

Gerard quickly realised what he had done, his eyes widening apologetically. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't even think—"

Stephen's fingers went to the top button of Gerard's shirt before he could finish. He undid it before looking back up and meeting his eyes. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah." Gerard then surged forward, resuming their kiss.

He tugged Gerard's tie out of the way and off as he worked the buttons of his shirt through the holes. It was an odd experience, unbuttoning a top that was not being worn on his own body, but it was enticing as all days.

Even though Stephen had seen him in all manners of undress and even naked in the past, seeing the skin in such a different light lit new desires within him. He did not just want to see Gerard's bare chest. He wanted to see all of him.

They both pulled away to shrug their shirts off and Stephen leaned forward to resume their kiss, only to be pushed back onto the bed before he could lock their lips once again.

He was still, frozen in place, as Gerard leaned down and kissed the hollow of his throat, then the knobs of his collarbones, then the tip of his sternum.

He inhaled deeply as his lips trailed further down, over the three segments of his breastbone and the cavern between the edges of his rib cage. He eventually came back up, but Stephen knew the center of his chest would likely be littered with inexplicable marks for the next week; Charlie would have a hell of a time guessing their origin in the showers, he could already predict.

Gerard's lips moved to caress the skin at the edge of his jawline, where it transitioned into the rest of his skull under his ear, as his hand came to rest on the button of Stephen's slacks. "Is this okay?"

Stephen was surprised he could formulate a thought, let alone a proper response: "please."

Gerard undid the button and slid his hand against his stomach, down under the waistbands of his pants and boxers, gliding against the trail of hair that resided there before wrapping around his cock.

Stephen could not help but throw his head back, thankfully smashing into only the pile of pillows at the head of the bed.

Gerard used his hands to tug the rest of his garments down, sliding them past his hips and eventually to his knees. Which meant he was exposed, all of him.

After a few moments of stillness, Stephen risked a glance downwards. Why would Gerard not be touching him?

He was greeted by the sight of an absolutely enthralled Gerard. He was not completely entranced by the newly-displayed organ betwixt his legs, though, as his brown eyes seemed to rove over the rest of him several times.

"Wh—" Stephen cleared his throat— "what is it?"

Gerard met his eyes, and a smirk adorned his face as he chuckled lightly. "It's just that I can't believe that I know you. That we're best friends." He pulled himself back up and over Stephen's body, before continuing. "That someone—" he pressed a kiss to his lips— "as beautiful—" another kiss— "as you—" yet another kiss— "exists."

Stephen felt himself smile. He pulled away, absolutely awestruck by the man above him. "Shut up."

Gerard's grin widened. "I would say 'make me,' but..."

Stephen tilted his head. "But what?"

He received an answer in the form of Gerard's hand finally wrapping around his cock and stroking up.

Stephen could not control the way his hips canted off the bed, how his chest curved inward as his back ached to arch the opposite, or how his mouth gaped open and his vocal cords produced the shakiest moan he could muster.

"F- fuck, that's not- ngh- not fair," Stephen attempted to scold the taller boy as he continued to move his hand up and down his cock.

Gerard laughed before apologising, and Stephen did not doubt for a second that he truly meant it, even considering their situation.

Their lips connected once more, only to detach again when his angle changed and he focused on rubbing his palm over the head of Stephen's cock, a hoarse whine slipping from the ginger's throat.

Stephen could not stop keening and moaning, each movement drawing pleasure out of his body he did not know was possible to be drawn. His stomach was clenching with each twist of Gerard's hand over his dick. He despised how close he was but embraced it at the same time.

Then Gerard changed his grip, tightening and twirling his wrist as he came down and swiping his thumb over Stephen's slit when he came up and he was gone, so, so gone.

"Oh Gerard, Gerard, Gerard, Gerard, Gerard, oh please, fuck, oh... God." He threw his head back again as his body clenched up, tipping over the edge. He felt a couple spurts of cum land on his stomach, the rest flowing onto Gerard's hand and pooling along his thighs.

When he felt his entire being stop throbbing, he languidly lifted his head up. Gerard lifted his fingers gently off of his spent cock and met his gaze before breaking it to look at the mess strewn across his fingers.

"Sorry." Stephen kept his eyes on the ceiling. Gerard was probably disgusted. Ejaculate was never the prettiest thing, especially when it was on you. Stephen never should have agreed to this. He had ruined everything, had he not?

"Don't... Don't apologise. It's fine. It's... You're—"

"Beautiful?" He would never stop with that compliment, Stephen knew, as he finished his sentence for the taller boy. Reluctant joy filled his body at the idea that Gerard was, in fact, not staring at his hand in abject horror, but rather some odd form of fascination.

"Yep," Gerard answered, before looking at his fingers for a few more moments and hesitantly wiping then on the blanket next to Stephen's leg. He climbed back up his body, smiling down at him before kissing him again.

Stephen absolutely melted into it. Gerard... Gerard treated him like he cared about him, like he loved him. He knew best friends did not typically engage in such lewd acts, but they did at times, and Gerard was the only person he could ever imagine doing this with. If only the love was mutual, returned to him as deeply and purely and romantically as he felt; but their friendship, their love, only extended as far as the plateau of platonic reached. This was just two hormonal teenagers being idiots, exploring and experimenting and releasing tension.

And as if an angel had spoken the topic in hopes of summoning the devil, the hormonal tension manifested itself again, this time in the form of something stiff pressing against Stephen's bare leg.

Stephen pulled away, pressing his palm against Gerard's pectoral to hold him in place. "Do you wanna get off?"

Gerard's eyes squinted a smidge as if he were confused, before opening wide with realisation. "Oh! Oh, no, I'm fine. You're probably tired and I don't want to wear you out. We have to study for our final tomorrow, anyways."

"We've studied enough for that exam."

"Yeah, but—"

"Gerard." His tone was harsh, and it snapped the brunet out of whatever argument he was attempting to fathom.

"Yeah, Stephen?" This was one of the first times they had used each other's name out of the usual context. And even though his body buzzed with it, it also felt like something was snapping in place, completely and totally right for the first time ever.

"I know I'm going to do well tomorrow on our final. In fact, I know so to the point where I want to propose a game."

Gerard leaned back, confused, falling into a normal seated position. "Wha- you're never this confident with exams. What do you mean?"

"I—" God, pretty boys could be so infuriating, especially if they were as entrancing as Gerard Pitts— "I'm just saying that I'm fairly ready for the physics final, and if you wanted to, say, recite formulas while I... Did something for you when you got them right, then..."

"What do you mean?"

Stephen examined his face and it was true: Gerard was genuinely puzzled. They were geniuses in so many senses except the common one.

"I mean, that, like, um..." Great, he was blushing. Nice job. "Um, if you get a question right, then I could, um, make it worth your while?" His pitch rose to horribly effeminate heights and cracked with nervous embarrassment.

"Are you... Are you trying to seduce me?"

Stephen felt the blush deepen on his face in rolling, red waves. "I mean, not seduce, but try to, you know, make it even."

"It's not a competition." And that was a thought he was going to reserve for later down the line, because could they make it a competition? To see who came the quickest? To see who could stave off their orgasm the longest?

He shook his head as if to physically dispel the thoughts.

"I'm just saying that, well, I want you to, you know, not be frustrated during the final tomorrow. I mean, unresolved frustration is what got us into this mess..." His words trailed off into a chuckle as they both laughed.

"Fine. As long as you want to."

Stephen raised his hands emphatically. "I do! I do... Want to. That's a bit too excited to talk about handsies with your best friend, huh?" Keep it casual. He was keeping it casual. He could not let his feelings show.

But Gerard's face fell at the mention of their friendship status. Did he... Did he feel the same way? Did he want this to branch out of friendship?

He was projecting: there was no way Gerard had any semblance of similar feelings. He was just too caught up in his feelings to properly decipher facial expressions at the moment.

"It's fine." Gerard's smile was taut, pushed out as if it were forced.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Hey, it's okay. I... I like the idea of a game, but only if you're up to it."

The topic was switched. They would have to circle back to it later.

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm up to it." He leaned in and kissed him again, and Gerard took the opportunity to loop his arms under him and roll them over, so that he was no longer on the bottom but now rested on top, straddling his thighs.

Stephen moaned into the kiss, some stupid reaction to the fact that Gerard was as agile as he was strong and could pick him up and move him without a second thought. He probably could hold him in the air and do so many vile, horrid, delectable things to him. He regrettably craved to see just how far his strength could extend.

But that was a thought for another time, preferably one where he was in the showers, alone, after their whole tryst had ended, because there was no frank way it could continue going on much longer. He would take his sorrows and drown them in water and the thoughts of being hefted into the air and done against a wall.

"You okay?"

How badly had he zoned out? He must have stopped moving or pulled away.

"You still want to do this?" Gerard was genuinely worried. Damnit.

"Yes. Yes. Absolutely." He pressed a kiss to his lips. "One hundred percent." He moved his lips to his jawline, and the taller boy's breath hitched at the action.

He mimicked how Gerard had kissed him, pressing his lips softly against his throat, his jutting skeleture, his breastbone and heart.

"You know, you call me beautiful—" Stephen ventured lower, pressing a kiss against Gerard's hip and the seam of his boxers, which were peeking out from above his slacks— "but I'm not like you."

Gerard lifted his head up. "Stephen—"

The ginger cut him off by yanking his slacks down. "I'm not being self-deprecating." Per usual.

"I'm just saying that I could probably spend years—" Stephen hooked his finger under the waistband of the boxers and tugged them down a little, exposing the skin of Gerard's left hip. It was pale, off-white in a sense that could only be described as celestial, only decorated by the blood vessels showing through the transparent skin and two tiny moles smattered on the upper corner of his leg.

He brushed his lips against the outermost edge of Gerard's hip. "—looking at you."

"At every plane." He kissed the peeking prominence of his pelvic bone.

"At every mark." He closed his lips over the two moles, and he felt Gerard shudder.

Lifting up, Stephen moved his head to the opposite side of his body, pulling the other side of his boxers down a smidge with his free hand. "I could find the formula for each curve of you." He kissed the inner muscle working in the crest of his right pubic bone.

"And it would only show me that you—" a kiss against the fold of his groin and thigh.

"Are the most amazing person I could ever know." He could feel the love teeming from his words like an oversaturated sponge. So much for keeping it casual.

Gerard appeared to bask in the compliments for a bit, a crimson glow adorning the apples of his cheeks as he seemed to radiate surprised happiness at Stephen's words. "You—" he cleared this throat, attempting to compose himself— "you are, too."

How could the response equivalent to a "ditto" make him feel more alive than anything else likely could? He doubted he could keep pushing his feelings, his heart, his love to the side if Gerard continued to exist, continued to smile at him and be his best friend and compliment him and touch him like he was the most important thing in the world.

Stephen felt his mouth begin to admit it. He felt his jaw drop and his tongue move as he went to say it. What was he doing?! Those three simple words would ruin his life. Thankfully, his brain managed to catch up to his heart and clamp his mouth shut before any vibration exited his vocal cords. Distract, distract, distract.

He pulled the middle of Gerard's briefs down, finally exposing the cock that had struggled so terribly against its plaid confines, to the outer world and his eyes.

It was absolutely against every rule written by God and man himself for someone to be as beautiful in every aspect of himself like Gerard Pitts was: it had to be.

The fact that Stephen was assigning the word "pretty" to describe the male reproductive organ would have repulsed him if it belonged to anyone else. But it did not.

It was long, unfairly so, a tad longer than the distance from his thumb to his pinky finger. It was pale, like the rest of him, but tinged a soft pink that transitioned to a reddish-purple at the head. There was one prominent vein pulsing down the middle of his shaft, a stark cyan against the rosy backdrop of skin. There were a couple moles dotting the skin under the curly black hairs at the base, but other than those blesmishes, nothing else decorated his cock other than a thick sheen of precum.

Without truly meaning to, he lifted a finger to trace the vein, which was reflecting a new angle of light with each minute pump of Gerard's heart.

The brunet hissed, abdominal muscles jumping erratically. Yet another noise of his was logged into Stephen's brain, to remember indefinitely and horridly.

He waited until till relaxed again, his legs gradually stilling, before asking his first question: "what is Gauss's law?"

"Hmm?" Gerard was content to just lie there, naked and happy, with him, apparently. But he promised a game, and a game he would deliver.

"What is Gauss's law?"

"Going straight for the complex ones, huh?" Gerard teased, before straightening his neck out a bit. "It's the law that states that the flux of the electrical field through a closed surface is inversely proportional to the electric charge within the surface."

Stephen smirked. "And the formula?"

Gerard glanced down at him. "There isn't just one."

"Name two."

"I—" Stephen shot him a raised eyebrow and began to lift himself up, hopefully communicating that he was completely fine with stopping their activities then if he so chose.

"Fine, fine. Um, with the electric field, you can say the electric flux is equal to the total charge in the volume of space over the electric constant; with the electric displacement field, the flux of that is equal to the free charge contained in the volume."

Stephen skirted his fingertips against the moles tangled in the earthen curls, causing the taller boy's legs to stiffen and jolt.

"And how do you calculate it?"

Gerard groaned, a mix of frustration, exasperation, and desperation. "Stephen—"

"We can stop this and you can study if you don't know it! I'm all tuckered out for the evening. I'm fine." Stephen lifted his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

Gerard quickly responded: "no! No! I know it! It's just," he laughed, "didn't know you were such a tease."

He shrugged. "Neither did I. Must be the afterglow endorphins and everything."

They both laughed, and he felt warm. Warm, in love and sex and grandeur and adoration and joy and pleasure.

"Now, how do you calculate it?" He asked again, soft, with such love in his tone it felt disgustingly saccharine.

"The flux equals the surface integral of the dot product of the electrical field and vector area of the thing, or the electrical displacement field flux equals the same thing but with the dot product of it and the vector area."

Pleased with the answer, Stephen smiled before grabbing the base of his cock and stroking him fast five times.

Gerard's hips literally jumped off the bed at the contact and he released a grumbled squeal; it was as hilariously endearing as it sounded.

They continued like that for the remainder of the formulas in the unit that Stephen could recall: right answers were rewarded with five jerks of his hand, along with the occasional deviation of movement and placement, and wrong answers were given an eyeroll and as many chances as it took to get it right.

Gerard only missed one, but swiftly corrected it and was given a loose, sloppy kiss and an extra seven strokes in return.

After answering one that even Stephen was shocked he nailed on the first attempt and receiving his due reward, he began to do something that neither of them know he was capable of doing.

"Fuck, Stephen, please, please, I'm, fuck, I'm right there." He was begging. Although it was through clenched teeth, he was begging.

If Stephen had it in him, he would have came on the spot. Unfortunately, he was relatively empty and his refractory period was still processing.

"Just one more, Ger. You think you can do that for me?" He did not like giving the orders all that much, the domineering aspect of it not mixing well with his personality; if this ever happened again, he would prefer to be on the receiving end of it much more. But right then? Right then he could take it. He could spit and choke and demand and Gerard would give it all to him. He knew he would.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ngh. Wh- which one?" He was actively squirming in his grip, then, trying to both stop and start any stimulation he could get on his practically-fried nerves.

"Faraday's Law."

"Okay, okay. Faraday's law is- it's how the electromotive force around a, fuck, a closed path equals the- the– ngh– the negative time rate of change of- of the- of the path's flux."

Stephen answered him by rapidly running his hand up and down his cock, squeezing just a bit tighter, without care to the number of movements: Gerard had finished reciting the formulas, and his arm was getting tired, anyway.

"Oh God, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, God, fuck, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, ye-es," his voice cracked in the middle of the last syllable as he came, eyes screwed shut and torso convex.

What followed was a complete accident. Stephen, who had been panting with exertion and arousal, opened his mouth to try and catch his breath as he continued jerking him, trying to wring as many drops of pressure out of him as he could.

His jaw was not agape a large amount, not enough to comically drape his tongue out of his lips, but enough to catch the tail-end of the first jet of cum in his mouth.

As he felt the hot liquid touch his face, he immediately shut his mouth and shot back a few inches. The rest of Gerard's release landed elsewhere on his shaking body, but it was too late.

There was cum. In his mouth.

It was not an unpleasant taste. It was salty, but not overbearingly bitter. There was a twinge of sweetness in it, faint but present within it as the thick substance ran across his tongue. It did not taste like any thing he had ever tasted before, incomparable to all known flavours he knew but relating to them all simultaneously.

"Steve? You good?" What a time to employ a new nickname.

He shivered upon hearing it. "Um, yeah? I guess?"

"What happened?"

He laughed confusedly. "Um, I, um, I got your, um, stuff, in my mouth."

"Oh God! I'm so sorry! Oh god, shit, fuck, I'm so sorry. Shit, where are the tissues?" Gerard went to turn his body towards the nightstand, but Stephen stayed rooted on his thighs.

"No! Don't freak out. It's, um, it's fine."

He fixed him a questioning look. "Really?"

"It, um, it tastes good." What kind of response was that? He was an idiot, through and through.

"I- thanks? Um, I- I wanted to taste yours, too, if it's any, um, help."

Was that why Gerard kept looking at his hand earlier, when it was laden with his mess? He was debating whether to lift his fingers to his mouth and lick them clean? That was unsurely and unfairly hot, and he could feel heat bubbling within his stomach once again.

"It—" he was blushing so hard his cheeks hurt— "it is."

"Cool."

A moment later, Stephen looked down at him and, with his arousal only fueling his twilight bravery, asked, "can I clean the rest up?"

"Uh, sure."

He leaned down and swiped his tongue across the warm pool of white settling in the lines of Gerard's abdominal muscles.

"Fuck, I thought you meant with tissues!" The brunet's voice was high, caught in his throat.

The ginger could not help but snort, rising up again. "Did you not want me to...?"

"God, no! I did not say stop!"

The humour was so normal, so average, so them, it almost hurt. Even if the romantic love was not mutual, their friendship was pure love incarnate. Well, as pure as love could get before it crossed into the territory they were in.

He cowered back down and licked the tiny well of fluid up from his abs before following the lines of semen with his mouth down to his soft cock.

Gently, oh so gently, as he knew just how much any unnecessary feeling could sting, he slid his flattened tongue up the underside of his shaft, gathering the remaining cum that resided there.

"Fu-uck!"

Apparently it was an unfortunate bout of extra stimulation, based on the sharp tone that entered his ears, but the way Gerard's fingers immediately tangled in his hair and grabbed at his scalp made up for it entirely.

He swallowed whatever remained of the milky fluid in his mouth before lifting himself back up.

Gerard's grip instantly loosened, gliding from his curls to cup the side of his face. "Did I hurt you?"

He rolled his eyes, jovially aggravated. "Are you ever going to stop asking me that?"

"Nope."

He huffed out a laugh before Gerard tenderly brought him down and kissed him.

Pulling away after a few minutes, Stephen rested their foreheads together. "Ready for our exam tomorrow?"

"Ready for our exams this week?"

"I hate finals."

"I know. I think I'll hate them less if we do this after studying each time, though."

"Maybe even waking each other up this way, too?" Stephen leaned back to gauge the look in his gorgeous, grey eyes.

"Ha, are you sure we're going to get any studying done?"

"I'll make time," he stated simply before wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing their lips together once more.

They passed their physics exam with flying colours. The next day would be their chemistry one, then English, then American history. After that, they would be done for the year.

After they actually completed their first exam, they practically ran to the dorm, almost barreling down Neil and Todd in the process.

The other two boys had just finished their civics final, as Gerard and Stephen came to know following their extensive apologies. They were heading to lunch, which the best friends had completely forgotten about, but gleefully sacrificed in the face of their studying habits.

After getting into their dorm, Stephen could barely lock the door before Gerard was against him, pressing their lips together passionately as they practically fell onto his bed.

"Made a 96. You?" Gerard fumbled with the buttons of the other boy's shirt as he talked.

"98," Stephen answered as he returned the favour, pulling the brunet's shirt out of his pants and undoing it.

"Always trying to one up me, huh?" He was tugging the ginger's shirt off as he said it, his smirk evident in his lips.

"Guess you just had to study harder."

"I think I studied hard enough." The emphasised word had them both separating with laughter.

"You're ridiculous."

"But you love me."

And Stephen did not mean to startle, did not mean to freeze, but he did. Did Gerard know? Or was it a platonic reference? Was that in the sense they always meant when they said or in the sense that he had been stewing in for years that had been boiling to dangerous levels over the past month?

Play it cool. "Regrettably." He pulled him down by his tie and returned to taking off his shirt before he could have the chance to respond.

They were undressed within minutes, rutting against each other's hips as they kissed, uselessly attempting to prolong the experience. Stephen was the first to detach their lips.

"Fuck, Ger, I want to—" he swallowed— "I want to taste you, again."

The taller boy groaned into his cheek. "Fuck, God, do it."

Damn, he did not beg. It was better than nothing, though, as the sentence still made his insides dance with pleasure.

He hastily scooted down Gerard's body to his legs, pushing him flat on the bed as he did so. And then, there he was: completely clueless with a cock mere inches from his face.

He licked it last time. Gerard seemed to like that. Should he do it again?

Repeating his movement from the night before, Stephen dragged his tongue up the underside of the shaft, from root to tip. Thankfully, this action also was one without too harsh of a flavour, the salt of sweat and precum and the simple taste of skin all that met his pallet.

"Fuck, Steve." It was a low and hearty groan, and he felt his chest constrict at the noise.

He raised up a little, unsure. "Was that good?"

"Yes, fuck, God, yes."

"Ooh, how vulgar," he teased before licking another stripe up his cock, then another, then another. Each action had Gerard biting back some debauched noise or spitting out a deep, forceful expletive.

Stephen moved his tongue to slide over the head, the point of his tongue dipping into the divot of his slit as he did so.

Gerard's hand shot down and was clenching in his hair mere milliseconds later, catching against the copper curls as pleasure overwrought his body. "Oh God, please, don't stop doing that."

And since when could he ever deny him anything? Excluding the touch during their second escapade, he did not think he had said no to anything: he had not wanted to say no. The thought never even crossed his mind. Well, the thought to actually commit to his irrational fears, that is.

He dragged his tongue back over the head before sliding down to the base. He rose again, lapping over the head and laving his tongue around it in circular motions before going back down. And the cycle continued.

Gerard's short nails dug into his scalp with each extension of his tongue, but he could not care in the slightest. Sometimes, when he pulled his glossular muscle just right and hit the perfect nerve ending, Gerard tugged his hair as if he was attempting to ground himself in existence through the wiry strands of hair encircling his digits.

It was more arousing than it ever should have been. His hair must have been yet another one of his erogenous zones; he was not truly surprised.

When he came up to roll his tongue over the head again, he felt the urge to pull it into his mouth.

It was some form of instinct acting as he closed his lips over the swollen tip. He drew his teeth away as much as he could, hollowing his cheeks as the volume of his mouth changed to accommodate his movements and the new addition.

Gerard moaned. It sounded melodious, gorgeous, like heaven in a soundwave.

Stephen needed to hear that noise, as rare as it was, again. He sucked the air out of his mouth, lips tightening around the cock as he twirled his tongue over the slit and under the bloom of the head and around and around and around the smooth, scarlet skin.

"Fuck, Stephen, fuck, shit! I'm gonna—" he moaned again, rewarding Stephen with the noise he wished to hear.

It only occurred to him after the fact that he could have pulled off of his cock before Gerard hit his orgasm. In retrospect, how hard the taller boy was tugging at his hair was likely to avoid accidentally choking him with it all, instead of to arouse him.

He still would not have done it, though.

He felt the cock pulse against his tongue before the familiar taste of cum filled his mouth. It was still sweet, still salty, just in more copious amounts than the previous day.

He swallowed it all, relishing in the feeling of the silky liquid moving down his throat, before sucking once more at the sensitive head to ensure it was all gone and pulling off.

Gerard was harshly panting, fingers combing through Stephen's hair as the brunet steadied himself. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"I try." Was he a little smug? Perhaps. But who could blame him? He got a 98 on his physics final and managed to make Gerard sound like he was the accompaniment to a gorgeous symphony, all in the same day.

They kissed again, and Gerard rolled them over so he was on top and Stephen laid against the bed.

Gerard detached their lips to press against his neck, sucking at his pulse point. He remembered. That fact did more to his body than anything else that afternoon had.

"Ger, please." He was pleading for a million things in that moment, for another kiss, for his hands, his mouth, on him, in him, any and everything he could imagine.

He felt him smile against his skin as his lips trailed further down his body, against his shoulder, his ribs, his stomach, his hips. It was when he pressed a kiss to the sparse trail of ruby hair that travelled from his navel to his cock that Stephen's voice returned to him: "Ger, Ger, please."

"Please, what?"

The ginger could sense his smirk without having to feel it. "Please, Ger. Please, agh."

The taller boy wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. "Please... touch me? Kiss me? You have to use your words, Stephen."

Since when did Gerard know so much? Was this instinctual or had he been doing some research into the carnal aspect of life? He did not really care at that moment, though, mind a tad reoccupied as he bucked pitifully up into his grip. "Who's- who's seducing who, now?"

"I wouldn't call this seducing. More like... I have no idea, actually."

The ginger snickered. "Of- of course not. I'm the smart one in this relationship, anyw- oh!"

Stupid pretty boy. Gerard had intentionally said something that would end in a response, because he chose the moment he started retaliating to engulf his erection with his mouth.

His mouth was hot, slick and wet and the best thing Stephen had ever felt. His tongue felt... Odd, but not in a rough, painful way. The texture was bumpy like sandpaper but pleasantly soft and absolutely perfect.

Rather than simply only lick and suck, as he had done, Gerard also leaned down and drew even more of him into his mouth. He felt his nose nudge along his groin as he took him down to the base.

The wet warmth that was now wrapped all around him was enough to nudge him terrifyingly close to his peak.

Gerard came up for air, but the action had them both breathing heavily.

"How are you doing that?"

"No gag reflex."

Stephen knew that would come in handy one day. Not for swallowing batteries and remotes, as Charlie typically utilised his for, but for something far more intriguing.

But before he could ask another question, Gerard had him stuffed back in his mouth and was doing this thing with his throat that caused the ginger to choke on air.

"Oh my God, fuck, agh, Gerard, please please please."

Gerard asked "please what?" but not audibly; instead, he asked it while his mouth was still in use, so all Stephen could comprehend was the vibrations of the words around his cock, a sensation that was damn near transcendent.

"God, Ger, please, I'm so close. I'm almost there. Pl-please let me—" the taller boy swallowed again, as that was the movement he was doing with his throat along the tip of his dick, and Stephen felt his calves tense— "ah God, please let me cum."

Gerard swallowed again and hollowed his cheeks, breathing in all the air from his mouth; it was so tight and prickly and shocking that Stephen was long gone before he could even realise it.

He grabbed at the brunet's cropped hair and yanked it as his body cramped up in orgasm, his cock releasing as his back arched and his toes curled and his neck strained backward.

He was whimpering and shaking when he finally pulled off his overstimulated dick, absolutely spent but not caring in the slightest.

"God, Gerard, you're fucking amazing," he said to the boy as he laid next to him.

"Who's being vulgar now?" He grinned.

"Shut up." The eyeroll was implied but was not done as he instead leaned forward to kiss him. Gerard tasted different than usual, a bit more sweet than he typically was, which Stephen previously thought had to have been impossible.

He was sweeter because of him. He was tasting himself on his own tongue, mingled with the familiar chocolatey sugariness of Gerard's existence.

They mixed so well. Their personalities, their tastes, their beings, their souls, all combined to create perfection in its truest form.

He... He had to tell him.

Apparently Stephen was not alone in this revelation, to utter something to the other, because the breaking of their kiss was mutual.

"Gerard, I—"

"Stephen, I—"

They would have blushed and giggled at their synchronicity before going on to say whatever they were going to say, for him, to admit to the world and each other the truth that had been lingering in his heart for six years.

Unfortunately, someone had chosen that moment to be the perfect one to rap harshly on their door.

They bolted apart several inches, the moment shattered and the truth reburied under the soil of anxiety and pain.

"Guys? Are you studying in there? You missed lunch!" It was Knox.

Stephen was the first to speak. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. We just got caught up doing chemistry."

"Only you two could get distracted doing work."

He was not wrong, just not totally right in this case.

"Did- did you need us for anything?" Gerard asked loudly as he grabbed their shirts and handed Stephen's to him while throwing his over his shoulders.

"Yeah. Charlie is planning to sneak out later this week to grab stuff for his 'penultimate graduation party,' as he's calling it. All hands on deck to make sure the plan doesn't get us caught."

Their sigh was simultaneous.

"Okay, we'll be out in a minute."

"Alright! Meet us in Neil and Todd's dorm."

"Got it."

Their chemistry final went off without a hitch the following day, as did their plan to sneak into town and obtain party props and décor.

They were able to suck one another off and study for their English final before having to rush out of their dorm, distract the watch dog, tiptoe out into the night, and shop.

Unfortunately, their stealthiness cost them a decent amount of the night, and they did not arrive back to their dorm until a couple of hours to dawn.

"You wanna review the poems for class?" Gerard asked through a yawn.

"Ger, if I'm not sitting down and studying right now, I don't think anyone else will be." Stephen took off his coat and proceeded to collapse onto his covers.

"Fine, fine." Gerard laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "I don't think I'm gonna wake up easy tomorrow."

The ginger lifted his head off of his pillow, concerned. "You want me to wake you up tomorrow?"

"You usually do."

"Then what?" He took his glasses off and folded then up, placing them on the nightstand as he waited for an answer.

"If I don't wake up like normal, you can... Do what you wanted to do that one time to get me up."

His brain divulged the memory of earlier that week, in one of their post-orgasmic blisses. They had been kissing. Stephen honestly never felt happier than when their lips were together. It was pure. It was intimate. It was real. It was love.

Afterwards, they threw a couple of teases back and forth, before he suggested they practice some consensually unconsciousness deeds.

He received a laugh in return, so he ignored his own remark and pushed it to the back of his mind.

But Gerard had apparently considered it. And then he had actually suggested it.

"Seriously?" Stephen had to ensure his best friend meant what he thought he meant.

"Duh. I mean, you do know how to work wonders with your tongue, so I don't doubt I'll wake up."

His face heated up. Why was he blushing at that?! Why did he always need to flush upon receiving any sort of compliment? He was so aggravating, sometimes. Most of the time.

"Shut up," he retorted before laying back on his pillow.

Unfortunately, he did not know if Gerard responded at all, because the next thing he remembered was waking up a few hours later. The sun has begun its ascent over the blue clouds in the sky, signaling to him that it was a little after six o'clock.

Breakfast would be beginning at seven sharp, as usual. He hoped Gerard would wake up before quarter till, as that was when he usually awakened anyway, so he would not have to wake him up. He was not opposed to the method, rather slightly nervous. Would be be good enough to wake him up with only two practice runs in his storehouse of knowledge?

He genuinely had no idea.

Stephen sluggishly meandered through his morning routine: cleaning his glasses and pulling them on; changing out of the clothes he slept in, which were regrettably not his pyjamas, and into his uniform; and preparing his notes to review before class, or in that case, the final.

He was reading over his analysis of the assigned Barret Browning sonnets when the clock struck six forty-five.

Gerard had not moved in the past thirty minutes. Other than a leg twitch at six oh-seven, he had remained relatively still while the ginger prepared himself for the day.

Hopefully Stephen and his miniscule experience would suffice for what was going to occur in the next few minutes.

He was hopping onto Gerard’s bed when he realised he had surpassed clueless into confounded: how in the hell was he going to do this?

Okay. Simple. He could not overthink it.

He scooted down the bed until his hands hooked on his pants.

Gerard had worn a pair of sweatpants when they snuck into the town, justifying his choice as one made for comfort and stealth.

Whatever the true reason was, all Stephen could decide was that they made him look delectable; he had to remember to write the inventor of gray sweatpants and thank him exuberantly. The fact that he had not pulled his best friend into an alleyway outside the store they bought the party supplies from and showed him just how good he looked was a feat in and of itself. 

He softly pulled the elastic down his hips, huffing a mute laugh at the skin, and only skin, that was revealed as he did so. The "wake up tactic" was absolutely and totally planned. The ginger could not gather it within himself the ability to frustrate or care.

Gently grasping the shaft of his cock, he held it loosely in his fingers as he pressed a soft kiss to the base before licking a stripe from the midline of his scrotum up to the head.

Gerard's right knee twitched, but otherwise there was no response.

He swirled his tongue around the tip and continued downwards, slickening it with saliva as he felt it harden against his lips.

Other than the uncontrollable physical reply to his actions, the brunet was mute. He would have to step up his game.

He tightened his grip and pulled up.

No response. Seriously?

He kept stroking before wrapping his lips around the tip. He sucked.

Gerard's hips canted up into his mouth. Finally. He was seeming to begin to stir.

He took more of his cock into his mouth, drawing in length he had not done in the past. His tongue was able to trace one of the bends of the vein on the underside of his cock when he reached his limit, the head tickling the edge of the roof of his mouth as he exhaled through his nose and sucked.

A confused groan spilled out of the taller boy's lips, signaling his awakening. Finally.

Stephen sucked again, harder, and the boy below him groaned again, dragging his fingers through his curls.

"God, fuck, you look so beautiful like that, you know." The first words uttered all morning had to be some silly compliment. Of course.

He was tempted to roll his eyes, so he did, before moving his lips just a little further down and dragging up slowly and returning. He started bobbing his head up and down, adjusting the pressure in his mouth with his cheeks and his tongue.

Gerard moaned, doing exactly what he was seeking for.

He was about to suck again, when the hand in his hair curled farther down and yanked him off. Thankfully the grip was low enough that the pull did not hurt, rather making the burning in his stomach increase threefold.

"What's up?" Stephen asked as he wiped his mouth.

"Nothing. Just didn't want this to be over yet." His thumb stroked over his cheek and the ginger pulled himself up to kiss him.

Their tongues intertwined as they lazily woke one another up, energizing each other with their lips.

Gerard's fingers began to unbutton his pants, and he slapped his wrist away.

"I'm already dressed," he scolded. He was not going to get undressed and then redressed before rushing to breakfast.

"You can get redressed," the other boy retorted. He had a point, but still.

He pecked his lips gently. "Too time consuming."

"Even if I said I wanted to try something new?"

Damn him and his curiosity. "Fine, but make it quick."

They had peeled him out of his pants and boxers in five seconds, and he was on his back in the next.

"What are you gonna do?" Stephen asked, staring into his eyes with interest and adoration.

"Just—" the brunet leaned down and kissed him, before raising up and glancing down— "this."

And that was when he felt it. Gerard's hand wrapped around his dick; but that was not all. He felt something else, something hot and slick and sturdy beside him, trapped between his fingers as well.

It took him a moment to realise what it was, and he whimpered at the realisation: it was the other boy's cock pressed against him, still wet with his spit and dragging against his skin in ways he did not know could feel that way.

"Oh my God, Gerard!" he moaned as he thrusted his hips up into the feeling, into his hand and his hips and his everything.

He moaned louder as the hand around their shafts began to move. It had to be one of the best things he had ever felt.

"You're so good, Steve, you know that? You're perfect." His strokes sped up, and he knew he kneed some part of the other boy with the shock of pleasure that chased up his spine.

"Sorry." The apology came out as a whine.

"'s okay. You're still perfect." Gerard tilted his head and kissed his neck.

He softly laughed. "I'm not even doing anything."

"You don't need to. You still are. I- oh shit." He bumped his head against his chin as he straightened himself up, resting his face in the pillow next to him.

"What's up?"

"I'm- fuck, fuck, shit, I'm gonna cum. Oh shit, fuck, Stephen, fuck," he groaned directly into his ear, voice thick and beautiful like a cello concerto.

Stephen felt his cock spurt against his groin, jerking onto his stomach and legs, and the molten heat tossed him up and over the edge of a peak he was not close to.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna- oh fuck, Ger, oh God, oh God!" he keened as his climax rushed over him, ejaculating onto Gerard's hand and cock and skin and bucking weakly into him. His hand had thankfully stopped moving, giving Stephen a moment of loose repreive.

Gerard rolled off him once their pulses and respirations regulated, kissing his skin lightly beforehand. Whether it was love or just tenderness, it still warmed his heart. Their calming was synchronous, which the ginger did not have nor want the mind to truly acknowledge.

Stephen watched him as he brought his fingers, which were sticky with their fluids, to his mouth and licked them off. He must have been staring, because when Gerard looked over, he blushed.

"I told you I wanted to do that!"

"I know! It's just... Wow."

"Hot?"

He snorted, leaning in for a kiss. "Shut up."

They kissed for a bit, and he could taste both of them on his tongue. It was, frankly, hot, and the arousal that bashed through his system at the flavour was astounding. That should not have turned him on as much as it did.

They swapped cum around on their tongues until the ginger pulled away, startled. How could he have forgotten? They were never going to make it punctually! "Breakfast!"

"Oh shit!"

They got to breakfast on time, thankfully. As well as to their final that day, and Charlie's party that night. He was very tempted to pull Gerard away from the celebration several times that night, but with each opportunity they managed to sneak off, one of the poets was pulling them back into the crowd or some stupid conversation.

They got back to their dorm at some ungodly hour, and had barely changed into their pyjamas before falling into the same bed and sleeping in the others' arms.

The next day was when everyone would be leaving. Graciously, Gerard's parents had decided to drive up and would arrive in the evening, versus in the morning, when everyone else would be leaving, meaning they had more time to sleep in, and much more time to themselves.

Stephen woke up to Gerard running his hand through his hair, his other hand stroking his lower back.

"Morning, sweetheart."

He smiled into his skin. "Morning. How'd you know I was awake?"

"Breathing changed." He kept dragging his hands over his skin before halting suddenly. "Is this okay?"

"Mm hmm," the ginger mumbled tiredly, relaxing into his touch as he began moving once more.

"I got us breakfast. Biscuits, baked apples, and blackberry jam."

Stephen pulled his head up. "You left?"

"Yep."

"And I slept through it?"

"You were tired. And you're cute when you're sleeping. Why would I wake you up?"

It was too early to be blushing, yet he was. He rested his head back down, and Gerard's fingers resumed combing through his curls.

"Still can't believe you remembered the blackberry jam."

Gerard chuckled. He felt the vibrations from his chest against his cheek.

"Of course I did. It's your favourite." He leaned down and kissed the crown of his head.

Stephen had never felt more loved than in that moment, he was sure. He did not mean to make that fact known, but he could only blame his tired brain for not catching it.

"I love you," he murmured as if it was the easiest sentence he had ever uttered. He froze, but Gerard did not, leaning down to press another kiss to his hair.

"I love you, too."

"I— you do?" The ginger lifted himself up hastily, nearly bonking heads.

"I— oh shit, I said that out loud?" He seemed just as shocked as Stephen.

"Yeah?!"

"And you did, too?"

The shorter boy grimaced. "I- yeah?"

Gerard huffed out a laugh. "I can't believe that's how I said that. I didn't mean to tell you like this!"

He sat back, in complete shock. "You... You love me?"

"Um..."

His heart was pounding. There was no way. No. He could not love him. He could not. He had to be lying, be faking.

"I've loved you since I met you."

Well, shit. He surged down and kissed him, needing to feel him, to convey himself in touch over words for the first time.

Gerard kissed back immediately, cupping his head in his hands and leaning up to where they were both sitting, lips connected and completely and totally in love.

The brunet pulled away quickly. "I'll take that as reciprocation?" 

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Duh." He wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him again.

It felt so much more electric, so much more romantic, so much more real. They were in love. They were love.

As the taller boy slipped his tongue into his mouth, Stephen ground his hips down. Gerard groaned, deep and low in his throat.

"Stephen, sweetheart—" and that was a nickname he was sure he would love until the day he died— "I need to be inside you."

And that was a step they had never taken before. Not saying he had not experimented with it in the past, with only himself as a partner, but they, together, had done nothing of the sort.

"Fuck, please, Ger. I need to feel you in me."

What a response. Thank you, instinct. He had no idea where it came from, but it was helping him nonetheless. Speaking of instinct, they had managed to rid themselves of their pyjamas quickly after, and then somehow he was on his back again, with Gerard's lips wrapped around his cock and tongue lolling over him languidly.

"Oh, fuck, this is not what you said you wanted." His fingers were caught in the brunet's bedhead, but he could not care any less.

Gerard pulled off, smiling amusedly. "I know," he teased, using his left hand to stroke him swiftly as he reached under the bed with his right. What was he getting?

Stephen was still clueless, even as he heard something pop and felt cool, syrupy liquid drip onto his thighs. "What- what're you doing?"

"KY jelly. Picked it up from the store when we were shopping for Charlie's party."

So that's where he snuck off to during their escapade! He disappeared for five minutes and he almost started panicking before he popped up out of nowhere, seemingly normal, if not a little out of breath.

"What does it do?"

"Lubrication. Makes it easier. Not hurt."

"Oh."

"I think girls use it during sex if their boyfriend absolutely sucks."

Stephen snorted. "Yep, definitely," he paused, "wait, how do you know?"

"Read books. And also tried it out, to make sure they weren't lying."

He was flushing as red as his hair, he could tell. "And were they?"

"Nope."

The ginger dragged his hand through the fluid on his legs. "When did you have time for that?"

"You were still taking your history exam. I kind of... Rushed through it on purpose, to have time."

He snorted. "You still did better than me!"

The taller boy laughed. "Yep. I tried the lube out thinking of you, if it's any consolation."

It was. His back snapped taut and the image of the brunet, naked on their bed, fingers slick and stuffed inside him, thinking of him, practically possessed him. Stephen moaned, as expected.

"God, you're so beautiful. Wait, I can call you that all the time now, huh? Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful." Gerard pressed a kiss to the side of his cock. "Beautiful."

"Shut up." His scolding failed, as he got called beautiful three more times before his dick was down the brunet's throat again. He was lovingly distracted, though, by wet fingers pressing against his hole.

"Fuck!" It was cold. Very cold. Goodness, why was lube so cold?

Gerard pulled off, concerned. "Is this okay?"

The ginger ferociously nodded his head. "Please. Yes. Please." He needed to know how it felt. He had thought of it, hours and hours and hours spent dedicated to the thought, but now he could know, and he eagerly yearned to.

The tip of Gerard's finger slid into him, and he released a whine. It felt delicious, better than all the times he did it to himself. The digit slid farther and farther in, until it was all in and he was practically squirming at the feel.

He sighed when he pulled the finger out and pushed back in, and reveled in the pleasure when the one finger turned into two, then three, then four.

"Gerard, Gerard, I'm close." The fingers were hitting something inside him, and Stephen was wishing he paid closer attention in sexual education class to know just what was being prodded that was flooding him with such heat.

The taller boy only responded by placing his mouth back on his dick and sucking hard.

Apparently he wanted him to cum. Well, his mission was thoroughly accomplished, as he was spurting into his throat moments later with a groan of his name.

Gerard released his cock from the clutches of his mouth, but kept his fingers moving deep within Stephen.

His orgasm went on longer than he thought possible, until he was stupidly oversensitive and could feel every knob of his knuckles rubbing against his insides, every ridge of his skin and fingerprints against him and whatever spot he kept caressing. He wanted to pull away, but at the same time, he wanted to melt into it and never let him stop moving, ever.

Everything they were doing felt as if it escalated past carnal, past hormonal: it was spiritual, it was transcendent, it was love, and it was mutual love.

His hand stopped moving within him and slowly slid out, and he immediately missed the feeling, though his fraught nerves were thankful.

"Are you okay?" Gerard asked as he hoisted himself up his body, watching him concernedly.

Stephen took a moment to inhale and exhale deeply, trying to calm his trembling body, before answering: "I'm fine."

"Okay. Do you want to... continue this or are you all done for the day?"

Why was he so stubbornly sweet? It was not fair.

It was because he loved him, was it not?

Oh God, he loved him. He loved him! He loved him! Each time his brain shouted it at him, he felt his joy spark and increase tenfold.

"Yeah. I wanna keep going." He smiled up at him, and their lips met once more as if drawn into each other.

It felt as if their actions had been infused with the honey of love, the nectar of life itself. If he could, Stephen genuinely believed he would be glowing a golden red out of the pure radiance of joy that was thrumming through him.

He did not have to hope Gerard was feeling the same way. He knew he was.

When they pulled away, the brunet leaned over him to grab something off of the nightstand. He knew what it was before he heard the cap pop off: it was the KY jelly.

The ginger watched, enraptured, as Gerard sat back onto his haunches and dripped lube onto his hand. The stream was steady, likely to ensure he would have enough, before he closed the container with his thumb and tossed it somewhere on the bed.

His hand came down and ran over his cock three times, and Stephen saw, more than heard, the groan he muffled as he did so. He could only imagine how aroused the other boy must be, after doing what they had done that morning and paying no attention to his own self.

He loved him enough to care about only him first. Stephen wanted to blush at the sentiment, but was distracted by Gerard gently placing his hands on his hips.

"I'm going to pull you down a little bit, okay? Just to line up better."

He did not need to tell him: they were so in sync they often did not need words to communicate. But it was tender and loving nonetheless.

He felt himself slide down the sheets a couple of inches, and then the blunt, slick heat of the tip of Gerard's cock pressing against him.

It took everything in him not to roll his hips back and take it in prematurely: as much as he wanted it, he knew it would hurt more than the small action was worth, even if he had been adequately stretched and prepared before.

"You ready?"

He nodded. "More than."

Gerard chuckled. "Okay, okay." And then he pushed in. It was just the beginnings of the tip, but even then it was different than fingers, and no matter how much the brunet's digits had rocked around his insides just minutes before, it still burned. Nothing too much, nothing too unpleasant, but it remained fiery.

He inhaled sharply, and Gerard stilled. "Tell me when I can move, okay?"

Stephen nodded, teeth clenched around the inner flesh of his lower lip.

The burn eased after a few minutes, though the feeling remained relatively neutral to him. Not pleasurable, but not painful either.

"Okay," was the only word he felt capable of speaking

"Okay?"

"Okay."

And then he was sinking further in. The stretch continued, burning again, but it was not unbearable. At least, it had not been, until he had stretched around the entire girth and then the length started pushing in.

Regrettably, that became overwhelming aggravatingly quickly. He gasped and clenched a hand in whatever he could grab, which thankfully was just the sheets below him. "Gerard, Gerard, stop."

The brunet immediate obeyed, gazing at him with worry. "Are you okay? Do you want to stop?"

Stephen inhaled quickly a few more times before responding: "No. Just, give me a minute, okay?"

He grinned down at him. "Of course."

A minute came and passed. Then two. Then three. And finally his nerves relaxed, pain ebbing once more. Why sex cost so much of his sanity yet gave him such an embrace of glory was an enigma to him.

"You can move."

And he was sliding in again. He was thankful the ache he was feeling was not due to a lack of lubrication, but just virgin sensitivity. Praise go to God and Gerard Pitts for loving him enough to bless him with this experience.

But the pain crested again and he was pressing a hand against his chest to still him.

"Love, are you almost in? I don't know how much more I could take." It was meant to be a tease, but the way Gerard grimaced had him puzzled.

"I'm about... Halfway?"

His eyes widened in shock and he jerked his head down to see. Sure enough, he was assuredly not almost in.

"Oh God, you're going to kill me." His tone was jovial, but the boy above him seemed genuinely remorseful. That was not his intent.

"Ger, hey—" he reached his hands up to cup his face and drag his gaze back up— "it's okay. I love you. I want this. Just..."

"What?"

"Kiss me and- and go."

"What?" He sounded even more confused.

"Kiss me and go the rest of the way. I can handle it." Stephen was lying: he had no idea if he could handle it. He loved him, though, and he wanted to know how it felt to be connected in the most physical way to the boy he loved. So, screw his overactive neural system: he could take it.

"Are you sure?" Thank Gerard for being the kindest soul ever.

He nodded, making a sound of approval as he did so.

"Okay." His voice was resolutely more sure, and he leaned in and pressed their lips together once again.

Stephen reached for one of his hands and pried it off the bed, interlocking their fingers and squeezing once for reassurance.

He felt the taller boy smile into the kiss before swiping his tongue into his mouth. He must have done it as a distraction, because as soon as their kiss delved into something more passionate, he felt him start to sink farther in.

His back arched as he felt him go deeper and deeper, chest pressing to the other's chest as his fingers clenched tightly around Gerard's.

He whimpered into the kiss, and he felt Gerard stop moving. He rolled his eyes, closed though they were, and, wrapping his legs around his hips, urged him on with a soft press of his ankles against the base of his spine.

Gerard slowly shoved the rest of the way in, and when the ginger felt him finally press entirely in, he moaned at the feeling of fullness spreading through his veins.

The brunet reluctantly pulled away. "You okay?"

Stephen shifted his hips, testing the feeling. It was... It was nice. Finally. Thankfully.

"Yep."

"Am I good to go?"

"Gerard, please stop talking and please start moving." What could he say? He was a horrendous mix of stubborn and impatient. Gerard could regale tons of tales regarding that poor aspect of his personality.

True love, he guessed.

He shifted his hips back slightly before pressing in shallowly, gently, and he gasped at the flare of pleasure that bloomed within him.

"Good?"

"Mm hmm." Why was he already fumbling for words? They had not even done much of anything, outside of finally being fully seated within him.

He started thrusting with a bit more purpose, and Stephen felt a groan bubbling out of him before he could stop it. It felt inexplicably good, deep and pressing within him, and he absolutely loved it.

He hoped he would not get addicted to the feeling.

Then Gerard brushed that cursed spot within him, and his entire body jolted as he keened out some wretched expletive.

"There?"

"Oh God, yes, Ger, please."

The taller boy pulled the ginger's hips up into his and adjusted his own legs on the bed and when he shoved back in, he hit the spot dead-on.

Stephen yelped. Thank the Lord everyone had already left and the staff were up at the office, as usual at this time of year, since he doubted he could control his decibel count at all.

Gerard continued thrusting into the spot, eventually pulling his hips back far enough and pushing in with enough force that he was ramming his entire cock into it with all the strength in his body.

Stephen was mewling and moaning until his voice was hoarse and his vocal cords broke all sound off into weak whines and cries. He was surprised his eyes had not rolled so far into his head they got stuck. He was beyond pleasured, beyond coherent, beyond overstimulated, beyond overwhelmed: he was barely existent.

With what was left of his mental capacity, he could not care less.

His orgasm hastily crashed over him and he released a crackly scream at the flames that shot up his spine, over his axons and dendrites and glia and neurons, boiling his blood and contracting his entire body, his fingers clenching into Gerard's shoulders and nails digging into his pale skin and and occupied hand tightening around his own and muscles pulling taut over his cock as he rutted into him again and again.

"Fuck, Stephen, sweetheart, fuck, fuck, fu-uck," he grumbled lowly before stilling, and the ginger weakly felt thick heat spill into him.

That was insanely hot and he could barely comprehend it. He would have to ponder over it more later, when he was mentally together again.

Gerard collapsed next to him, panting, a smile plastered on his beautiful face.

"You okay?" He asked, running his hand through his lover's sweat-plastered curls. Stephen felt his heart quicken at the title his brain assigned himself: lover. That was what they were: lovers; people in love; lovers in love.

He breathed out a shaky "yep," the both of them snorting at how squeaky his voice was.

"I love you." Gerard muttered softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Stephen squeezed their still-intertwined hands. "I love you too." He kissed his throat.

The brunet pulled him into his arms, twisting their sheet over their damp bodies as they relaxed into each other's comforting touch.

It was with his head pressed under his chin that Stephen caught the scent of sweet berries, a different aroma than usual in their rooms. Typically the hot chocolate, wintry smell Gerard emanated and his pie-like, cinnamon smell permeated their room. But berries...

Damnit. It was becoming a thing for them, huh? "We forgot breakfast."

Gerard laughed. "Yep."

"Want to eat it?" the ginger asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Nope."

He tucked his head closer into Gerard's throat. "Me neither."

A minute of comfortable, comforting silence passed and he could already feel himself drift off, riding the high of orgasmic bliss and complete and utter love.

"I love you," Stephen whispered softly into his skin.

"I love you, too."