You end up staying in because it's supposed to rain, which Dom of course won't let you hear the end of, but whatever. You'd rather have Dom rag on you all night about how wussy everyone here is about rain than go out to some stupid club where you'll just feel nervous and awkward and probably jealous, too.
If you go, you know Dom'll dance with, like, twenty hot guys, and maybe hook up with someone. Or someones. And you'll just be having a drink and lurking over by the bar or something, and Dom will take pity on you every once in a while and say come on, Lij, you just have to put yourself out there, like it's that easy.
Everything's easy for Dom. He doesn't have to think about what "putting yourself out there" would mean. He doesn't get how fucking scary that is or how pointless, because it's not like you could hook up with some dude at a club, and Dom knows that. Or he should.
So you stay in, because of the rain. Because you suck. Because you really just want to hang out with Dom anyway, not spend the night being in the same building but not really interacting at all, because what's the fucking point in that?
But staying in involves going out, too, at least for a few minutes. You hit up the store for beer and Coke and chips and other snacks, and find Dom waiting on the doorstep when you get home. He's got a bottle of something in one hand and his phone in the other.
"I ordered pizza," he says, waving the phone at you.
"You told 'em to come up the back?"
"'Back house. Gate'll be open.' How many times've I listened to you order?" He hooks an arm around your neck, bonking your heads together. "You think I'm stupid?"
You elbow him in the side. "No comment."
After extracting yourself, you unlock the door for Dom and dump the shopping bags inside before going back and opening the gate. It wouldn't be the end of the world if the pizza guy went to the front door of the main house, but then your mom and Hannah would know Dom is here and Hannah would probably want to hang with you (or with Dom, rather) and you get along with Hannah a lot better than most guys probably get along with their little sisters, but even though she means well and is good about things 99% of the time, it's still too much of a reminder, especially with someone like Dom, who's never known you as anyone but Elijah. You just don't need that stress.
The bottle Dom brought turns out to be scotch, and the beer gets pretty much ignored in favor of scotch and Cokes. Which was maybe a bad idea, because even with like half a fucking pizza in your stomach, you're feeling way too woozy. You always drink more at home than anywhere else, except maybe at Dom's because that feels like home, too.
You'd never get this wasted at a club. God knows what you'd do. Probably make a fool of yourself on the dancefloor or some shit and try to get some guy to suck your dick and then have to be all these are not the genitals you are looking for when he gets in your pants. Here it's just you and Dom and no matter how touchy-feely you get or he gets, it's just friendly, no worries. Dom knows about you, so you know there's no chance.
You say as much when you're in the kitchen refueling. (You think you might barf if you have another slice of pizza, but it's never as good the next day, so the temptation is too great to resist. And of course you need another drink to go along with it.) You try to explain the catch-22. You can't flirt with guys who don't know, because what if it really turns into something and then they'll know whether you tell them or not and that'll be the end of that. But you can't flirt with guys who do know, either, because aside from creepy-ass chasers (and you get enough of those online), who the fuck would be interested if they knew?
"Me," Dom says.
"Fuck off. I'm trying to be serious."
"What makes you think I'm not serious?"
He leans in, crowding you against the kitchen table. There is a bit of pizza sauce at the corner of his mouth and wow, he is really close and there is nowhere to go and oh my, isn't that spot on the floor fascinating.
"Lij." He is really close now. Like lips touching your ear close. "I am totally serious."
And then his lips aren't on your ear but your mouth and he tastes like pizza and alcohol and he kisses you until you are both hard, though he probably can't feel yours through two layers of jeans like you can feel his. He sweeps the glasses and plates aside and pushes you back against the table. He undoes your fly and his hand is halfway in your pants when he stops, fingertips brushing the too-ticklish skin above your pubes.
"Is this okay? I can touch you, right?"
"Please." God, that sounded desperate, but you kind of are. There's, like, a fucking river between your legs. Your shorts are probably soaked through. It's usually embarrassing; getting wet sounds like such a girl thing. You actually get wetter more now than before, even though all the websites you read and videos you watched said the opposite would probably happen. Thanks a lot, body. Way to find yet another way to fuck things up.
But when your jeans and shorts are down around your knees and Dom's fingers slip and slide over your dick, you really don't care anymore. You wrap your fingers in his hair and kiss him again, thrusting into his hand. It takes about two seconds for you to come, and that should be embarrassing, too, except for how into it Dom is.
Dom wipes his hand off on his stomach, shoves his own jeans down so he can grind his dick against yours. He licks your ear and groans a little too loudly when you reach down and grab his ass. He doesn't last much longer.
Hours later you are both in bed and Dom is snoring, but you're still too keyed up to sleep. Your ass is pleasantly sore and your thighs are slippery and Dom's jizz is drying on the small of your back.
It feels kind of gross, but more in a need to take a shower kind of way than a hating yourself way. In fact, this is the least you've hated yourself after sex in maybe ever. You listen to the rain as it starts coming down harder and try to hold on to that feeling.