Bad Case of Loving You

He chuckled, this deep warm sound, and a matching warmth spread through my belly. “There’s always the chance I’ll be in far too good a mood tomorrow to want to listen to presentations.”

“Do you want to come over?” I asked. “You could relive your student days, admire our beer can tower, meet my scummy housemates.”

There was a pause and Dr. M said, “Um, might not be such a smart move. I could come and pick you up, go grab food, and we could eat at my place.”

Fuck, of course. He was worried I was sharing with someone like Nevins. “That sounds good,” I said. “But you don’t have to worry about my housemates; they’re all disgusting engineering students.”

“Okay,” he said. “Text me your address, and I’ll come over.”

I couldn’t think of a diplomatic way to ask if he had condoms, not with the way the guy sitting opposite me was perving at me, so I said, “Bye,” and ended the call.

* * *

I sat on the front steps and waited for Dr. M to arrive. If I went upstairs and tried to tidy my room, either no one would answer the door, or someone would, and they’d forget my name and that I lived there, too. I’m sure the seven or so people who lived in the house were all academic high achievers, but you couldn’t tell.

A decrepit Morris rattled down the road and parked. Dr. M climbed out and walked back toward the house. I waved and stood up, watching him. He was wearing jeans, still, and a white shirt and leather jacket, and he looked so fucking good it was painful.

He climbed the steps, and when he spoke, I became aware of exactly how much noise was rolling out of the house. I think he said, ‘Hey,’ but I couldn’t be sure, not with the volume at which Nine Inch Nails was being played.

Not that this was a time for conversation anyway. I’d only got to feel his cock briefly in the bar, but it had certainly been promising.

I slid a hand around his neck and pressed my mouth against his.

First kisses, first times, always had so much potential, and, God, this one just exploded. We both groaned. I felt his as a rumble through my body, and he pushed me against the doorframe, then kissed me utterly and completely. I clutched at him, got my other hand under his jacket, hung on for dear life, and we were fucking on the doorstep, but we both still had our clothes on, and it was only with our mouths.

I had no idea that kissing could feel so amazingly good, all hot and slippery and full of promises, leaving me breathless and dazed, and so fucking turned on that coming right there and then was looking more and more likely.

I wasn’t the only one; I could feel Andrew breathing hard as his mouth pressed against my ear. “Your room,” he said.

His hand was strong in mine, the skin smooth from endless washing, something I loved about medicine, the way it made hands feel. I led him into the house and past the door to the lounge room. There really was a beer can pyramid in one corner, and pizza boxes piled on the floor, and a mattress behind the couch, where Clive lived. Jeff was asleep on the couch, despite the noise, Geoff number two was playing PlayStation, and Clive was sucking on the bong. Just an ordinary student household.

We stepped over the looping ropes of ADSL cables that snaked up the stairs, the noise easing a little at the landing as we moved out of direct blast range of the speakers in the kitchen, and I pushed my bedroom door open.

Chapter Eight

The noise was reduced to a muted pounding through the floorboards, and Matthew locked the door. I recognised his room from my own student days; the teetering mounds of textbooks, pages of scrawled revision notes drifting across the floor, sheets of paper covered in sketches of muscle groups pinned to the wall.

He flicked his reading light on, and I turned off the overhead light.

This time we kissed slowly. He tasted of beer, and I threaded my fingers into his curls. When he pulled back and began to unbutton my shirt, his lips shone slickly and he licked them, swiping his tongue across them, sending my imagination spiraling. How could I have had doubts?

I shrugged off my jacket and shirt, and he ran the flat of his hand across my chest, then pulled his T-shirt over his head.

The sight of his skin, so smooth and young, the way his nipples puckered in the cool air, and, oh, God, the bars through the tender skin, just about undid me there and then.

I bent forward, took one bar and the surrounding flesh into my mouth, and sucked.

Matthew groaned, I twisted the bar gently, and we staggered backward and down onto his lumpy futon. There was a book or something under my knee, and I found the bar again with my mouth, wondering for a moment if I could identify the book without looking at it. Would it be Davidson’s Principles and Practice? Forbes’ Atlas?

Then Matthew dragged his nails up my back, hitting the spot just under my shoulder blades that sent all thought skittering from my mind, and made me bite down on the bar.