Riley barely spared Andres a thought over the next few days, caught up in a whirlwind of classes, orchestra rehearsal, running club practice, and the myriad social events accompanying his first month at Harvard. Only for a few minutes before falling asleep each night did his mind stray to Andres’ strong hands and big cock and friendly smile.
He blew one of the violinists in a supply closet after rehearsal, fooled around with his resident advisor who was on the DL, got spitroasted by two guys from Boston College at the afterparty following an intercollegiate LGBT mixer – all of it satisfying, but not quite what Andres had given him. Yet Andres didn’t call, didn’t text. Okay, yeah, it might not be fair for Riley to expect Andres to make the next move, but a tiny hint of interest would have been nice.
“You’re coming with us to Ignition tomorrow, right?” his friend Austin asked as they were walking back to their dorms late Friday night – early Saturday morning, really. “They’re gonna be 18+.”
“Yeah, definitely.” Riley had already been planning to go back to the club. It didn’t have anything to do with the chance that he might run into Andres again.
Andres wasn’t at Ignition, but Riley wasn’t disappointed. There was no shortage of men willing to buy him drinks despite his under-21 wristband and grind up on him on the dance floor. Riley tossed back a few shots, exchanged blowjobs with a hot guy in the bathroom, and passed the night in a pleasantly tipsy haze.
He was woken the next morning by the chime from his cell signaling a text message. Groaning, he rubbed his dry eyes and glanced across the room. Tim was still asleep, buried under his comforter with no parts of his body visible. Riley flopped onto his back, grimaced at the gross taste in his mouth, and picked up his phone.
The text was from Andres. Sorry, baby, I was working a night shift yesterday. Sobered up yet?
“What?” Riley muttered, confused, and then his eyes widened with horror. He unlocked the phone, displaying the full conversation history.
Sure enough, he'd sent Andres a text at 1:17 AM. Miss ur cick. Wanna suck ittt y u no txt me???
“Oh my God,” he said. “Oh my God.”
“Huh?” Tim popped his disheveled head out of his blanket nest, his eyes bleary, his cheek sporting a large red pillow crease. “What’s wrong?”
Riley clapped a hand over his eyes. “Drunk-texted.”
“Ugh. Been there, man.” Tim burrowed back down. “You should get that app that'll stop you.”
He was never going to speak to Andres again. He’d just… he’d delete the texts and Andres’ number and call it a day. There was no coming back from this kind of humiliation.
No, shit. That was so cowardly. What if he did run into Andres again?
He lifted his hand from his eyes and texted Andres back. I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I drunk-texted you. I don’t even remember doing it.
Don’t worry about it. Gave me a smile during my shift.
All right. Damage controlled. Riley sat up, flung back the covers, and paused when his phone chimed again.
Want to go out next weekend? Andres asked. We can get something to eat and go back to my place. My roommate spends most weekends at his girlfriend’s.
Riley blinked, then quickly scanned his calendar. His first concert of the season was next Saturday night, but Friday was free.
Sounds good. I can do Friday if that works for you.
No problem. What time should I pick you up?
I can take the T.
You’d have to take two trains. Easier for me to come get you.
Smiling, Riley typed, Six?
K. See you then. A few seconds later, a second text popped up. Don’t touch yourself beforehand. I want to work that hole open myself.
Riley stared at the phone, slack-jawed, his cock swelling in his sweatpants. He cleared his throat and jumped out of bed with a sudden urgent need to hit the shower.
That wasn’t the last time Riley heard from Andres that week. Lunchtime on Tuesday, Andres sent him a text that read, So you like dirty talk huh?
Just planning. ;-)
On Wednesday afternoon, while Riley was studying in the library between his math lecture and running practice, Andres followed that up with, How about rimming? Me to you, not the other way around.
Riley glanced at the girl nearest him; she was engrossed in her laptop, typing furiously. He smirked and picked up the phone.
I don’t know, how good are you?
Good enough to make your knees buckle and those beautiful eyes roll back.
Riley breathed out slowly through his mouth and shifted his chair closer to the table. You sound pretty confident.
There was no immediate response. By the time the phone chimed again, Riley had returned to his problem set, his head bobbing along to the music playing through his earbuds. He looked at the phone and dropped his pencil with a squeak.
That’s because I love eating out twink pussy, Andres had written, especially when a boy keeps himself nice and smooth like you do. I’ll get my tongue up inside your hot greedy hole and make you whimper for me. Lick you out all sweet and filthy until you’re crying and shaking and begging me to fuck you.
Holy shit. Riley pressed his legs together and fumbled for his water bottle, taking a long drink. When the initial rush of arousal had lost its edge, he texted back. I guess we’ll see.
Andres’ response was an emoji of a smiling face with its tongue sticking out.
Friday morning, keyed up in anticipation for the evening, Riley left his Life Sciences lab section to find one more text from Andres.
Can’t wait to get those clothes off you tonight and give you a real fuck. I can go at you even harder in a bed.
Riley plopped down on a nearby bench, covering his lap with his computer bag as a preemptive measure. You know, I ran a 5K the morning after you fucked me. Not my best time but not my worst.
You won’t be running anywhere after I’m through with you, gorgeous. That ass is mine and you’re gonna be feeling it all weekend. That’s a promise.
I’ll hold you to that, Riley typed, and couldn’t keep a silly grin off his face all through lunch.