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Ryan was annoyed. Maybe annoyed wasn’t the word, actually. Ryan was pissed off. He was usually good at regulating his emotions, often being someone who had to choose silence because if not, he would say something he could never take back. He was quick to anger, his feelings always clear by the lines etched on his face and the way his lips would curl into different shapes. It was part of the reason he was sent to PortBridge after all, his unsteady temper and violent tendencies started to be too much for his parents as he got older, and he was shipped away promptly with not so much as a glance his way.
But there were no rocks here to throw. Just a messy room, underwear strewn across his dresser and pens scattered as if they were dumped haphazardly on the desk. His shared desk. Which meant that 50% of the ownership belonged to him, and 100% of those pens were not his. He wanted nothing more than to come home and sprawl across his bed after class, let the soft mattress swallow up his sore limbs and welcome him to his afternoon nap with gentle hands. Perhaps his only time in this godforsaken school he actually enjoyed, when Naim was in class and he got a moment to himself to rest.
Nope. Now he had to spend several minutes of his limited time cleaning up the room, throwing Naim’s discarded clothes back on his side and sweeping the desk clean, the offending items in question clattering to the floor with a symphony of satisfying thunks. He’d probably get an earful for it later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Ryan’s not the one who left all his shit around the room, why should he take caution cleaning it up? Scoffing to himself, he finally takes the aforementioned sprawl across his administration assigned mattress, letting his backpack slide off his shoulders and fall to the floor.
His head barely hits the pillow. He is barely able to tuck himself under the comforter, (in his school clothes and all. Nobody was here to tell him to get outside clothes off the bed) before the front door was swinging open and banging against the thin drywall. Ryan jumps up immediately, groaning when he sees it’s just Naim, frazzled and running late as usual.
“Shit! Ryan, what happened to the pens?” His voice is screechy. Whiny. Ryan has to resist the urge to put the pillow over his head to block it out. He hates this guy’s voice almost as much as the rest of him.
“What pens, mate?”
“The ones that were on my desk! I need – for class! They were for class! Fuck, did you move them?” Naim was moving around the room in that frazzled way he often did. He reminded Ryan of a hummingbird, flitting from surface to surface in their shoebox room searching for them. A slight sense of guilt started itching in the back of Ryan’s mind. He did look really worried about these pens.
Ryan decided to throw him a bone. “On the floor. Next to the desk.” The pillow’s soft plush was calling to him again. His eyelids grew heavy as he watched Naim make his way over the floor, sigh, and start picking them up.
“Damnit, Ryan, these were a new pack of pens for Studio. They cost so much fucking money.”
That woke him right up. “If they were so expensive, why did you leave them all messy like that?”
The pens were packed up. Naim had managed to get them gathered in a cardboard box he’d pulled from his bag, pushed in and sticking out at awkward angles. He tucked them away and turned to Ryan with red cheeks.
“I was in a rush this morning. Sorry.”
“Was your underwear in a rush too?”
He flushed darker. “What?”
“Your underwear. It was on my dresser.” Ryan settled back against the headboard, crossing his hands in front of him in a way he hoped was nonchalant. With the mention of said underwear, his heart had started to beat faster in his chest. For some fucking reason. He tried to come off as totally chill and totally normal, but he had to look away from Naim’s piercing eyes to do so.
“Sorry. I was looking for something this morning and going a bit crazy.” Ryan watches as Naim’s eyes fall to them and start to inch backwards, his stance and the low dip of his head showing that he was embarrassed.
He looks cute when he’s embarrassed.
Ryan needed to put himself in timeout. He quickly turned from Naim and settled down into his mattress, putting his arm over his eyes to block any light from coming in. “That’s fine. Just close the door behind you, I want to sleep.”
Naim said nothing else. After a few more seconds of shuffling, footsteps trailed out the door with the soft thud of it closing. Then silence. Ryan carefully lifted his arm, checking that the coast was clear. The other boy was gone, and he was left in the room by himself. His heart clenched at the sight of the room now being properly picked up, with Naim having picked up the few things he had on the floor near his bed.
With his roommate gone, Ryan feels his heart start to slow back down to a resting state. It’s weird. Every time he’s around, he wants nothing more than for Naim to go away. He finds his presence utterly grating. Naim is messy, loud, he talks in his sleep, he even leaves day-old cans of soft drinks around for Ryan to find and crush in his grip from frustration. But when he’s gone, he’s bored. He’s just as frustrated by his solitude and wants nothing more than for him to come back around.
Ryan doesn’t have time to ponder upon it long. He falls asleep with Naim’s soft, embarrassed expression in the back of his mind, arms curled around his body to soothe his racing thoughts and growing confusion.
He slept through his afternoon class and dinner. Ryan wakes up at 10:16pm to the sound of the doorknob shaking and the sound of a key being pushed into the lock. He opens his eyes, hazy with sleep and confusion over how long he slept. Somehow in his sleep he had tucked himself under the covers after he had fallen asleep on top of them. His uniform is wrinkled with creases and his shoes left a dark spot of dirt on his white sheets.
There’s no time to dwell over that. The daze leaves his eyes immediately when he sees Naim coming in, towel wrapped around his slender waist and wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. Naim doesn’t see him. He makes his way over to the dresser with his back to Ryan and starts pulling out his clothes to sleep. Ryan is staring; he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s not like this is the first time he’s seen Naim in a towel either, he’s pretty sure he’s seen Naim naked more times than he can count on his hand.
But something about this time is different. Something about the feeling of watching him from his bed, his jeans too tight and his brain still half asleep is making his body work on overdrive, his eyes raking over every visible piece of bare skin that he can devour. Then, the towel drops and Naim goes to put on his boxers. Ryan turns his head away so fast he gives himself whiplash. Ryan turns his head away so fast, actually, that the momentum throws him off, and his limbs are still like jelly from his dormant state, so he slides off the bed and cries out as he hits the ground hard.
“Holy shit! Ryan?”
And then Naim is peeking over at him, half dressed and holding his wet towel and looking as if he just saw a ghost. The pearls of water falling from his hair are dotting Ryan’s comforter. He finds himself in a trance watching them cascade down. Then he realizes he’s been staring too long and jumps back up to his feet.
“Yeah! Yeah, sorry, didn’t see you come in.”
“Why are you on the floor?” There’s a hint of a smirk on Naim’s face, which Ryan doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. It quickly flashes over his eyes and then it’s gone.
“I was looking for something. I can’t find it.”
Naim, clearly, does not believe him. “Oh. Okay.”
And then the conversation is over. Ryan pulls his shirt and shoes off quickly, not trusting himself to change out of his jeans for the night. He can feel something brewing down below and he really doesn’t want to walk over to the dresser to change if what he thinks is happening is happening. Naim is back over at the dresser, pulling a gray cotton shirt over his maroon boxers. It’s like he doesn’t even know the effect he’s having on Ryan. The lights switch off and they both settle in their respective beds, Ryan still wide awake as he’s forced to listen to Naim’s breathing soften and eventually even out.
He finds the sound comforting. Him and Naim are not friends, not by any sense of the word. Since they moved in at the beginning of the year, they’ve been at each other’s throats constantly. They run in different circles, have different philosophies when it comes to being a roommate. Ryan likes the room to be clean, organized, quiet. Naim… doesn’t. And holy shit, does it irk him down to his soul.
And yet just like earlier, the silence that Ryan finds himself in now that Naim has fallen asleep is frustrating. As if that wasn't bad enough, what he thought was brewing down below he’s almost positive is exactly what is happening. With shaky hands, he lifts up his bedsheets. Sure enough, he’s hard. He shoots a glance over to the boy sleeping just a few feet away from him. Naim is facing him, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth slightly open with short, puffing breaths. He looks peaceful. He looks…pretty.
Fuck.
His cock twitches at the thought, uncomfortably tenting his boxers and making his abdomen grow hot with anticipation. It’s been a few days since he’s gotten off, between his constantly changing class schedule and lack of alone time. The communal showers are hardly ever empty, and he doesn’t get horny enough to take up any of his precious nap time. But right now?
Keeping his eyes on Naim’s sleeping face, Ryan lets his hand drift under the covers, using a feather light touch to palm himself. He has to use all the restraint in the world not to moan at the sensation. It feels so good, and his view is only adding to the desperation he feels. His mind starts to lay out the scene from earlier for him again, this time he imagines he didn’t launch himself off the bed and actually watched Naim fully nude in front of him.
Naim has always been small; his waist thin like a girl’s and his hands slight and graceful. He’s the polar opposite of Ryan’s broad shoulders and harsh demeanor, and the way they oppose each other has always intrigued Ryan. Right now, especially, it pulls him in and makes his dick leak and throb with excitement. He leans back against his pillows, removing the covers and keening at the cool air that tweaks his nipples and sends goosebumps across his thighs.
Ryan lets his mind continue to run with his fantasy. Naim’s lithe frame in front of him, stepping forward slowly and letting Ryan see all of him, his supple skin and the curve of his ass as he turns fully towards the bed and settles himself down. His eyes fall shut and he bites his bottom lip. He doesn’t want to admit to himself how often he’s thought about this very thing, even if it just flashes in the back of his mind whenever he sees Naim.
That was another reason his parents sent him away. The flashes. The intrigue. The sheer arousal and lust that he’s been feeling for other boys around him since he started high school. It never went this far; never was something he had to worry about physically acting on. His wrist twists lewdly on the upstroke, thumb sliding over the slit at the thought. There was something wrong with him – something that was so bad in the eyes of others wasn’t supposed to feel this good.
But it did. He can’t help the whimper that comes from deep in his throat, Naim’s face floating around the corners of his eyelids and begging him to open his eyes, to let his gaze fall upon the real face snoring lightly just a few feet away. He keeps them shut anyway. He doesn’t think he could handle that yet.
One revelation at a time. Amen!
He has his boxers pushed down, not even bothering to take them fully off, waistband cupped under his balls and providing a friction that only adds to the pleasure. His hips move on their own accord, thrusting up into his hand and chasing the rough pull of his hand. Slick leaks from the head and spills down over his fingers. Ryan loses his grip a bit on it, the sheer wetness making a mess of his lap and the sheets under him. It’s filthy, it’s noisy. It’s too noisy in the quiet room, but he can’t stop. He can’t open his eyes. He won’t.
Over the sound of the blood rushing through his ears and the ringing from how hard he has his eyelids squeezed shut, he hears it. The dip of a bed, the soft sound of bare feet padding on the floor. He freezes in place, covering the head of his dick with the circumference of his hand, as if that would make it any less obvious what he was doing.
Ryan prays to God. He prays to God for the first time in years that he’s making it up, that he didn’t hear what he thought he did.
“Ryan?”
He swears he could die right now. He could fucking die right now, cock in hand. RIP to Ryan, he was a pervert and deserved this.
Regardless of his much deserved death, Ryan stayed alive. He hesitantly pried a blue eye open. In the dark room, he could barely make out the silhouette in front of him. But he knew it was Naim. Naim, in his maroon boxers and bare legs and gray cotton shirt that clung crudely to his chest. Ryan swore if he squinted he could make out the points of his nipples reacting to the air.
In not his proudest moment, he says the one thing that comes to mind. “Naim?” As if he didn’t know it was Naim. Moron.
“What are you doing?” His voice is hushed. Ryan isn’t even sure his mind isn’t playing tricks on him.
“Nothing. Go back to bed.”
Neither of them move. Naim does not go back to bed, which makes a flame of irritation lick up into Ryan’s veins.
“Go to bed.” He says again.
The silhouette moves across the room towards Ryan’s bed. He’s so taken aback by this that his voice fails him, and he watches as Naim’s shadow settles itself on the bed in front of him. Looking eerily like his fantasy.
It’s his turn to ask now. “What are you doing?”
Naim’s hand comes over his own, fingers grabbing at his wrist and moving it from where he had covered himself. Ryan’s cock bounces back up into both their eyelines, springing almost comedically against his bare chest and making both of them gasp. He holds it in his loose grip, Ryan’s jaw immediately dropping with the feeling of warm, dainty fingers now wrapped around him.
“Fuck.” He breathes. Naim doesn’t respond, focusing on moving his hand up and down and gathering up the pre-cum that has been steadily dripping down since he started this whole miserable endeavor a few minutes ago. Naim’s hand feels so much better than his. He can hardly believe what he’s seeing in front of him. A cute, small muscle pokes out from between his lips. Ryan tries not to put his mouth on it and taste it.
He can see Naim’s face better like this. The moonlight coming in through the windows dimly illuminates half of his face, his dark eyes and dark features seemingly growing blacker the longer that he’s holding Ryan’s dick. He has his legs tucked underneath him, sitting awkwardly between Ryan’s legs. His thighs open up automatically to let him in. They shift closer together, the sheets sliding together noisily beneath them. Naim’s hand perches itself behind Ryan on the headboard, holding himself up and adjusting the angle so he can start to jerk him off faster.
In this new position, Ryan has a view down Naim’s shirt, the front of it drooping slightly and showing off his chest. He marvels over how taut he is, the way his hips sway with the rushed motion of his elbow. Ryan reaches out to slip his hand up the bottom of Naim’s shirt. He can see his whole hand resting on his stomach. His skin is warm, the flesh dipping under the grip of the pads of his fingers.
Naim doesn’t pull away, instead glancing down so their eyes meet and they pass several words through the gaze. They breathe into each other’s space, unable to tear their eyes away once they’ve fallen on each other. Lost in the trance of his presence, Ryan cranes his neck upwards and tries to kiss him. His lips are chapped; dry and cracked with sleep, their mouths press together and he sighs, relieved. Ryan’s touching him all over now, the kiss acting as the barrier between them breaking and now he’s free to hold and squeeze and grope and explore.
The squelching sound gets louder. Naim is furiously moving his hand now, as if egged on by the feeling of Ryan touching him. A symphony of moans and whines are falling from their lips, glued together in one long kiss, more like just brushing against each other and spit swapping than actual kissing. He wants to stick his tongue inside, lick the back of Naim’s teeth and taste the flavor of the back of his throat, but before he can, his mouth is gone and Ryan is left whimpering like a dog, desperate for a bone.
“Can I suck you off?”
God? Is that you?
Naim has shuffled down to sit between his knees, his back arched and his hands settled on Ryan’s lap. His eyes are sparkling, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth for him to nibble on while he waits for a response. Ryan thinks he looks beautiful like this. He nods, running a hand through his brown hair and struggling lightly.
“Can you take off your shirt?”
Ryan is then blessed with the sight of a shirtless Naim sucking him off, kitten licking the head and slurping up the wetness that has gathered at the base of his cock. Their eyes lock every time Naim looks up, tongue tracing circles around the heavy underside. Ryan has never felt anything like this before. He can barely steady his grip, both of his hands grabbing at the brown locks in front of him and guiding him loosely down his length. He can tell Naim has never done this before, and the pride blooms deep in his chest.
He’s not really sure how to give a blowjob either. It’s something that he’s only heard about in passing, only recently discovering it was something that could be given to him by another boy, which is all he’s ever really wanted. And he’s here, Naim’s awful, annoying presence choking on him and drooling into his lap. He’s finally quiet. He’s finally listening. He’s making a mess, yes, but this is so much better than any fucking pens.
“Thank you, Naim. Feels – feels amazing.”
Naim looks a little sad at that. He dips his head back down and continues his slurping and sucking and choking. Ryan doesn’t understand, but he pushes Naim back down anyway and lets him finish. It feels too good to argue. The slender hips between his thighs start to rut down into the mattress, so he slides his leg over for Naim to use, which he does. Every part of their bodies are touching now; it’s as hot as a furnace in here and Ryan throws his head back to gulp several deep breaths in.
His orgasm takes him by surprise and he doesn’t have time to warn Naim. He tries to pull his head off to make sure he doesn’t spill down his throat and choke him, but Naim keeps his head steady, wrapping his lips around the tip and creating a suction to swallow it up. Ryan comes harder than he ever has in his life, feeling from the inside how it fills up the space under Naim’s tongue and makes his mouth even hotter. He grows sensitive to it quickly, but he stays still, letting Naim lick up as much as he wants and pull off with a choked sob.
They’re kissing again before Ryan even realizes it, tasting himself on Naim’s tongue and letting the spend pass between them, mixing with spit and snot and sharing everything disgusting. Naim wraps his arms around Ryan’s neck and settles himself on his lap, brushing their cocks together, one clothed and one not, over and over and chasing his own finish. He’s crying out loud now, head thrown back and showing off the untouched skin of his neck. Ryan is overcome with the urge to mark him up, but he swallows it and just curls his fingers around the skin to hold him closer instead. He wonders if he’ll ever get the opportunity to again.
“I’m sorry – Ryan, I’m so sorry! Please, please,” Naim’s face is buried in his neck, he can barely make out the garbled words. He soothes a hand over Naim’s back, rubbing gentle circles and trying anything he can to tell Naim he forgives him, even though he has no idea what he’s forgiving him for. They hump like that for so long Ryan is afraid he’ll get hard again, but then Naim freezes up and starts to shake, so he assumes he finished in his jeans.
Naim goes limp; Ryan holds him up and nuzzles their cheeks together.
“Why did you say sorry?”
“Just… I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
They stay wrapped like that for a minute while Ryan tries to think of a response. For once in his life, he has no idea what to say. With everything that has just happened between them, every touch, every grunt, every moan and thrust and swallow. And he’s still sorry? Ryan doesn’t understand. This is all new for him, the first time he’s actually sat and come to terms with the way he feels for the boy in front of him. The innate sense of protection. The urge to consume, to listen, to be around him. How does he communicate that in a way that’s not scary?
“I wanted it.”
It’s probably not enough. His voice shakes on the final word, sounding uncertain and not convincing whatsoever. But it seems to do enough for Naim, who is still tucked into Ryan’s body. He feels deft fingers start to play with the curls behind his neck. He sighs in relief, letting Naim stay there as long as he needs. He smells good, like the leftover soap from his shower and the essence of toothpaste still lingering behind from when he brushed his teeth earlier.
Even though he’s not sure what to say next, he’s sure he’ll figure it out. He just wants to stay with Naim. He doesn’t care if he never says anything again.
Maybe they can even kiss again. Later, though.