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Ransom is hunched over a textbook when he hears the familiar footfalls coming up the attic steps.

“Bro,” he says when the door opens, not looking up from the page he’s reading. “How’d it go?”

Holster half laughs, half sighs, and Ransom turns to see him stretching out on his back on the bottom bunk. “Bro. Brooooo.”

Ransom grins. “Dude. I told you.”

“You did. You honest-to-fucking-god did, but I was so not prepared.” He smiles at Ransom with flushed cheeks. Ransom crosses to sit on the edge of the bed, and Holster scoots back against the wall to make room for him.

“You wanna talk about it?” Ransom affects a serious expression. “Pussy like that can ruin your life, son. You might need, I dunno, emotional support and shit.”

“You asking for deets?” Holster’s eyes seem to glitter for a moment.

Ransom presses a hand against his chest. “I’m just sayin’ that I’m here for you, man. In case you need a sympathetic ear.”

Holster grins up at him, trailing the fingers of his right hand over his face. He inhales deeply, and sighs.

Ransom’s breath catches in his throat. He stares at Holster’s hand. “Bro, are you fucking kidding me?”

Holster extends his arm and Ransom pulls his hand to his nose, breathes in. The scent is musky, sweet, spicy, and he feels a jolt that goes straight to his balls. “Shit, son. That is…”

He wants to say it’s messed up, that it’s creepy and a little gross that he can smell Emily Burke’s pussy all over his best friend’s right hand, that he fucking recognizes it, because damn. But before he can say anything else, Holster sits up and leans against his back, hooking his chin over Ransom’s shoulder.

“She was so wet,” he whispers, his breath hot against Ransom’s ear. “My hand was fucking drenched. I had two fingers in her and my thumb on her clit, and she just rode my hand like it was the fucking rodeo.”

The image fills Ransom’s mind now, and his eyes fall closed. Holster’s fingers are still there, right under his nose, and he inhales again.

“She did this little thing with her hips, like rolling them or some shit. She was grinding that glorious pussy down on my hand. It was hot as hell, bro. And when she came, oh, dude — I almost came in my pants just listening to her.”

The rush of blood to his groin happens so suddenly that it catches Ransom by surprise.

Holster sucks in a breath. “Did you just… seriously, bro?” He snickers and leans back on his elbows, his thigh still pressed up against Ransom’s back.

“Shit.” Ransom winces and tugs his shirt down over the bulge in his sweats.

“Bro, if that’s all it takes to get you hard, you need like, an intervention. I’m getting worried.”

Ransom groans. He’s taking three lab courses this semester, and between that and hockey, he hasn’t had time to do much of anything else. His sex life has taken a big hit, and it sucks.

Holster twists around him to peer into his lap. “You should probably take care of that.”

“Since you’re so concerned for my sexual well being, how ‘bout you take care of it for me?”

For a fraction of a second, Holster stares back at him with an unreadable expression, but then his face splits into a grin. “You fucking wish.” He squeezes Ransom’s shoulder and wriggles out from behind him to stand. “Bits was pulling something out of the oven when I came in. Imma go check it out.”

Ransom waits until the door closes before he lays back on Holster’s bed and sticks a hand into his sweats. It’s quick and rough, and he thinks about Holster’s fingers under his nose, the smell of Emily’s pussy all over them, and the image of Emily riding Holster’s hand. If he gets a little spunk on Holster’s comforter, well — Holster doesn’t need to know.


“Where is Holster, anyway?” Bitty’s voice is slightly muffled as he rifles through a cabinet. “Y’all are usually attached at the hip.”

“Who knows? He’s taking a light course load this semester, so he has crazy free time, apparently.”

Bitty stands and places two pie pans on the counter. “I wonder what that’s like.”

Ransom snorts. “Says the boy who bakes continuously.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Hell no. Bake all you want, Bits.”

Bitty starts chattering about the new pie recipe he’s going to try out. Ransom leans his elbows on the table and props his chin in one hand.

The next thing he knows, there is a small, warm hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?”

Ransom looks up to see Bitty staring at him over a mixing bowl. He must have dozed off in the middle of the conversation. “Sorry, bro.” He’d been up most of the previous night studying for an exam, and it was catching up with him now. “What were you saying?”

Anyone else would have chirped the shit out of him for it, but Bitty just shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing important. Go to bed, Rans.”

“It’s still daylight.”

“And it was dark last night, but that didn’t stop you from staying awake.”

Ransom starts to protest, but he yawns, which sort of proves Bitty’s point.

“Go,” Bitty says.

“Save me a piece?”

“I will, but right now it’s bedtime.” He points toward the door with a wooden spoon.

Ransom sighs. “Yes, Mother.”

Bitty rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as Ransom pushes to his feet.

Ransom trudges up the stairs and changes into pajama pants and a t-shirt. He’s asleep within a minute of his head touching the pillow.



Ransom opens his eyes to see Holster peering at him over the edge of the bunk, his hair silhouetted by the dim light of the desk lamp across the room.

“It’s not even nine pm. What are you doing in bed?”

“I barely slept last night, is what. I finally crashed.”

“Wuss,” Holster says, and Ransom flips him off. His eyes fall closed again. God, he’s so tired. “Well, let me at least tuck you in,” Holster continues in a simpering tone. He pokes the blanket under Ransom’s side a little more roughly than necessary, then tugs the blanket up to his neck.

Ransom is about to tell him to fuck off, but Holster’s fingers brush his chin and… oh. He opens his eyes and turns to stare at him. Holster’s shit-eating grin is fucking textbook.

Ransom sighs. “Come to rub it in?”

“If that’s what you’re into.”

“Fuck, bro.” Ransom grabs his hand and pulls it against his face, breathing deep. “That’s not Emily.”

Holster’s eyebrows shoot up. “Damn. You’re good.”

“Have fun?”

“You have no idea.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to enlighten me?”

“Cause you know me. Okay, so I was in the library, right? And this girl was looking at me all sly for half an hour. She finally walks past me and like, drops this note on my book.”

“You are a fucking liar.”

“Swear to god, it was like some grade A porno shit. Anyway, the note has a lipstick print on it and that’s it. So I follow her back to the stacks.”

“What floor?”

“Third. Back where they keep all the bound journals and old magazines and newspapers from the 1800s and shit.”

“Bro, I love that floor.”

“I know, right?”

“I still think you’re making this shit up.”

Holster ignores him and plows on. “So I walk up to her and say hi, and she just grabs my shirt and pulls me in and kisses me. And she’s wearing this little short skirt, right? So I grab her ass and I realize that she’s not wearing anything under it.”

“Shiiiiit.” Ransom groans and slides one hand down his side to cup his dick through his pajamas. He tightens his grip on Holster’s wrist, keeping that hand close to his face.

Holster’s voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. “So I slide a hand under her skirt and she’s got this perfect little bare pussy. Softest thing I’ve ever felt, I swear. And I just slide a finger in and she fucking purrs, bro. And I push her up against the stacks and finger her, really get it up in there, and she’s saying the dirtiest shit in my ear.”

Ransom’s dick is hard now and he doesn’t even care if Holster knows. He slips a hand under the waistband of his pajamas and squeezes.

“She’s all, come on, finger me, fuck my cunt, and I’m like grinding my dick against her thigh. And then she wants three fingers, so like, I’m basically all up in her pussy at that point. And you know how it feels on the inside, all hot and sticky and there’s that one rough spot that some girls—”

“Oh god,” Ransom says, shameless now. He slides his hand up the shaft, circles his thumb over the head.

“So I work that spot on the inside and I’ve got my thumb on her clit on the outside, and she like, convulses around my hand when she comes.” He leans in closer, and Ransom can feel his breath against his ear. “And I start to take my hand away, right? But she pulls it back between her legs and fucking comes again. She left teeth marks on my shoulder, bro. I’m gonna have bruises.”

“Jesus,” Ransom says, and then realizes that Holster’s gone quiet. He opens his eyes to see Holster watching the shift of the blankets as he strokes himself. Holster’s cheeks are flushed now, and shit if that isn’t… Ransom stills his hand. “Bro. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Holster grins at him.

“Seriously, can I whack off in private?”

Holster pats him on the cheek and laughs, then steps away.

Ransom waits until the door closes before he starts jerking himself again. He replays Holster’s words in his mind and imagines the scene, Holster with his hand up some random girl’s skirt, and he comes so hard he sees stars.

God, that was… what the fuck was that?


Ransom is nursing a beer and watching Shitty and Lardo battle it out on the Rainbow Road when Holster comes through the door.

“Yo,” he says, leaning his head back against the couch to look at him upside-down. “Class run late?”

Holster doesn’t say anything, though; he just smirks and heads upstairs. Ransom watches him go, and just before he vanishes from sight on the steps, Holster wiggles his fingers under his nose and grins. Ransom sits very still and stares at the spot where he disappeared for ten full seconds. The impulse to get up and follow him is so strong that it freaks him out a bit. He already knows what will happen, or at least he thinks he knows. It’s been four days since the last time and he’s had a chance to think about this weird… whatever-it-is that’s going on between them.

So the thing is, he’s always liked the smell of pussy. And Holster knows that, has known it since their frog year when he called him Pussy Freak for a solid month after he found out Ransom kept one girl’s panties under his pillow for when he needed a little something extra to jerk off. He just likes it and he knows it’s weird, but whatever. He doesn’t kink-shame anybody else, fuck you very much.

And Holster’s his best friend, abso-fuckin-lutely. They’re as close as two dudes can get — well, almost — but this thing they’re doing — he’s not sure if it’s violating one of the Ten Bro Commandments or not. Maybe it is, but maybe Holster’s just helping his BFF out. He knows it’s been weeks since Ransom’s gotten laid, and he’s throwing him a bone. So to speak.

And he’s ready to do it again, apparently. Ransom thinks about that for a moment: Holster getting off with some random girl just so he can come home and let Ransom share the experience. Well, not just, obviously.

Ransom is suddenly really fucking horny.

He drains the beer and heads upstairs, anticipation building in his gut. He pauses for a moment at the top of the attic stairs and takes a deep breath before he pushes the door open. Holster is sitting cross-legged on the bottom bunk, stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt. He has his glasses on and his phone in his hand. He looks up and grins when Ransom closes the door.


Ransom shakes his head. “You’re killin’ me here.”

Holster scoots over to make room on the bed and Ransom settles beside him, leaning back against the wall. Holster doesn’t look up from where he’s tapping at the screen of his phone with his left hand, but he holds his right out. Ransom takes it and pulls it to his nose.

He makes a sound like a moan before he even realizes what he’s doing. His dick is swelling already, and Holster hasn’t said a word. It’s all Ransom can do not to lick Holster’s palm.

Holster sets the phone down. “That rugby chick, you know, the redhead I dated for a couple of weeks last spring? I caught the end of their practice on my way back from class, and I ended up talking to her. She was really flirty, which I thought was weird at first, considering how we ended things. But it turns out she just broke up with her girlfriend — you know, the one Lardo hangs out with sometimes?”

He’s rambling, which Ransom finds kind of adorable. He chuckles against Holster’s palm, brushing his lips against skin, and Holster’s breath hitches.

“And then she says she’s looking for a revenge fuck, like out of the blue. She’s all, are you up for it? And I was like, chyeah.” Holster’s tone is positively gleeful. “So anyway, we end up under the bleachers with our hands in each other’s pants. And she’s all sweaty from practice, right?”

Ransom inhales again, exhales shakily. He can smell that too, the mingled scents of arousal and sweat. He presses a hand against his dick over his track pants.

“And… and uh…” Holster swallows audibly and shifts on the bed next to him. Ransom hears the soft rustle of cloth. “Anyway, she was really into me just flicking it, right? I thought my hand was gonna go numb, but then she’s basically climbing in my lap and begging me to fuck her… but we didn’t have a… a condom.”

Ransom can hear the unmistakable sound of a hand on skin now, and he opens his eyes just enough to peek. Holster’s got his dick out and he’s stroking it. The head is dark red and disappears into his fist over and over, and Ransom feels an intense jolt of arousal. He wriggles his track pants down enough to get his own dick out.

Holster makes a strange sound beside him, and it’s all Ransom can do not to look. He strokes himself with his right hand and holds Holster’s hand over his mouth with his left, and keeps his eyes closed.

“So I finger her and she… she says she wants it rough…” Holster’s voice is shaky now, his breaths in time with the strokes of his hand. “And she’s so fucking wet, man. She was jacking me but… she was so far gone with me fingering her that she couldn’t even do it anymore… it was so fuckin’ hot. Like, my dick was just hanging out and I… I didn’t even care. She was riding my hand like, god… I don’t even know.”

Ransom drops Holster’s hand and sinks back against the wall. He’s close now, so close that it doesn’t even feel awkward that he’s sitting next to his best friend while they’re both jerking off. He just wants to come and he’s almost there. He just needs a little more. “So… yeah?”

“Yeah,” Holster says, “and… and then she came and it was amazing, but then… oh god…”

Ransom looks then; he can’t help it. Holster’s head is back against the wall and his eyes are closed, blond eyelashes against his flushed cheeks. His mouth is open and his hand is a blur, and it’s… it’s fucking hot. Ransom lets himself stare, his own mouth open as he jacks himself, matching Holster’s rhythm. “Don’t stop,” he says, and his voice is lower than he expected.

“She licked my hand clean… like sucked my fingers and I… I fucking came on the spot… She didn’t even touch my dick, just… ahhhh, fuck.”

Ransom watches as Holster spurts over his hand, and a moment later he’s coming too, white-hot with his jaw clenched, eyes wide open.

They slump against the wall, shoulders not quite touching, and catch their breath. In the space of a minute, it goes from incredibly hot to extremely awkward.

“Ummm,” Holster says, and Ransom replies, “Yeah.” They both stare straight ahead for a long moment. Ransom glances down at the cooling puddle of semen in his palm, and a laugh bubbles up.

Holster turns to look at him, then he laughs too. And just like that, it’s all fine again.

“Dude, do you know you sound like a dog being tortured when you come?” Holster chirps, and Ransom snickers.

“I did not need to know your O-face looks the same as when you’re tryna take a dump, Bro.”

“Hey, you should be thanking me. I’m getting all this amazing pussy and I’m sharing it with you out of the goodness of my heart.”

Ransom rolls his eyes. “I’m touched.”

“Only by yourself.”

“Says the dude whose bed I’m holding a handful of spunk over right now.”

Holster looks horrified. “Bro. You would not.”

Ransom tilts his hand slightly. “Oops.”

Holster scrambles for a box of kleenex on a nearby nightstand and throws a balled up tissue at his chest. “Dude, that’s like a fucking gallon of jizz. How long has it been, anyway?”

Ransom mimes looking at a nonexistent watch. “Three minutes. You were there, bro.”

Holster’s face flushes and he looks away, laughing, and then it hits Ransom: he just implied they had sex. That what they did just now, that it was like a fucking hookup or something.

He wipes off his hand and forces a laugh, but the thought whirls in his brain. He’s jerked off almost daily in Holster’s presence for the last few years, usually lying just a meter above him. He’s heard Holster do the same more times than he can count. But it occurs to him that the last few times, the ones that were really good, have directly involved Holster.

Well, shit.


The week gets busy. Ransom’s always resented the fact that the start of hockey season coincides with midterms, but this year it seems especially bad. Their season opener is Friday night, so of course he has two exams on Thursday and one Friday morning. It sucks massive donkey balls, but he powers through. Sort of. Everyone in the Haus avoids him except for Bitty, who magically makes baked goods and cups of coffee appear on his desk at the moments Ransom needs them most.

They win both their home games. He gets shitfaced at the afterparty on Saturday night and sleeps until mid-afternoon on Sunday. He wakes up to a quiet attic and the smell of something baking downstairs, and he finally feels like he can breathe again.

He takes a long shower and heads down to the kitchen, still yawning. Bitty and Jack are there, working on something for that class they’re taking together. Jack is wearing an apron and a ridiculous amount of flour, and Ransom can’t help getting a few chirps in as he settles at the table. Bitty winks at him and slides a nearly-empty pie tin across the table before he gets back to supervising Jack.

He scarfs down the pie and watches Jack utterly fail at making pie crust. It’s kind of fun seeing Jack be all awkward for once, considering how much he seems to dominate everything else in his life.

“I’m screwing this up,” Jack groans.

Bitty steps in with a calm and authoritative tone. “You’re doing fine, look. Flouring the surface is all in the wrist, okay? Just sprinkle it in sweeps, like this. Then roll, quarter turn, roll. You got this, Jack.”

Bitty turns back to the cutting board and Jack’s gaze lingers on him like a goddamn heart eyes emoji. Ransom scrapes the last of the pie into his mouth and smiles. Jack must really want to learn to bake.

“Bro,” he hears, and turns to see Holster standing in the doorway. “You’re finally up.”

Ransom grins at him. “I’m so fucking glad last week is over.”

“Oh Captain, My Captain!” Holster crosses to the fridge, pulls out a beer, and opens it. He pats Jack on the shoulder and a cloud of flour rises into the air. “If I were an asshole I’d make a cocaine joke right now.”

“You are an asshole,” Jack replies with a smirk. He wipes his forearm across his forehead and smears flour into his hair. Bitty stifles a laugh.

Holster rounds the table to stand behind Ransom, then leans down to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Ransom twists up to stare at him, because seriously, what the fuck, and then he realizes: Holster’s face smells like pussy.


Holster winks at him and leaves, and Ransom’s dick is suddenly rock hard. He puts both hands on the table and takes a deep breath. When he looks up, Jack and Bitty are both staring at him.

He hears Holster’s footsteps going up the stairs, louder than they need to be, and his cheeks heat. It’s been days, and god, he needs this. But he can’t stand up without Bitty and Jack seeing the tent in his sweatpants, so he’s sort of screwed.

“Jack,” Bitty says, and there’s a strange note to his voice. “Can you get that baking pan off the top shelf for me?”

Jack blinks at him for a second, then dusts off his hands and turns toward the cabinet. “Yeah, sure.”

Ransom looks at Bitty, and Bitty’s cheeks flush pink. He nods his head toward the door, then turns away.

Ransom exhales in relief and stands, pulling his t-shirt down over his erection. He’s up the stairs, down the hallway, and opening the attic door before he’s had time to think about what he’s going to do.

Holster is standing in the middle of the room, shirtless now, and he turns to look at Ransom. Ransom closes the door and leans back against it, and doesn’t flinch when Holster’s gaze slides down to the bulge in his pants. His eyes widen and his mouth opens, and Ransom closes the space between them in two steps.

He plants his hands on either side of Holster’s face and leans in close enough to press their foreheads together. Holster’s breath shudders out in little gasps, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. Ransom brushes the tip of his nose against Holster’s cheek, down around his mouth, across his jaw, inhaling sharply. The scent is everywhere, and he’s nearly overwhelmed.

Holster’s hands grasp his biceps, warm and rough, then slide down to his sides. Ransom can’t move; he just stands there, breathing, feeling Holster’s fingers dip under his t-shirt and settle on his waist. They breathe in tandem, mouths open and noses pressed together, and Ransom feels like he might burst. Holster shifts, tilts his head just a little, and Ransom mirrors the motion without even thinking. He feels lips brush against his own, soft and hesitant. He tilts his head more, opens his mouth again, moves even closer. Holster’s fingers press into his skin under the shirt, firm and hot. The first brush of tongue is electric, thrilling, and Ransom feels something melt inside him.

Holster makes a small, desperate sound and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Ransom’s sweats, pulling their hips together. Ransom is vaguely aware that Holster is hard too, but all he can focus on is the scent and the heat and the wetness of Holster’s mouth. He slides his hands around the back of Holster’s head and loses himself in the kiss.

They stay like that for what seems like an eternity before Holster’s fingers dip tentatively into Ransom’s pants. It’s like a switch is flipped in Ransom’s brain: he moans and pushes up into Holster’s hand, fucking begging for it. Holster moans into his mouth and strokes, and god — it’s a rough, quick handjob, but it’s somehow the hottest thing he can imagine. His mind is spinning because this is Holster, and it’s so fucking fantastic he has to touch, to push back. He presses a hand against the front of Holster’s jeans, cupping what feels like a huge erection. He’s too far gone to do anything more than hold his hand there while Holster ruts against him, but it’s so hot it doesn’t matter.

“Fuck, Rans,” Holster whispers, and then he makes a strangled sound. He’s coming, Ransom realizes a moment later, just from the pressure of Ransom’s hand and their mouths pressed together and, oh god, maybe even having his hand on Ransom’s dick. He’s jacking him erratically now, but still, it’s so, so good. Ransom presses his face into Holster’s neck, mouth open against the pale skin there, and holds on tight.

“Ah, fuck, I’m—” he says, and then he’s coming, shooting hot into Holster’s hand.

They stand there for nearly a minute afterward, breathing heavily and clinging to each other.

“I…” Holster says, and then stops.

Ransom closes his eyes: reality is starting to sink in, awkward and wobbly and weird. Did they just…?


“Um,” he replies, and then huffs out a laugh. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Holster says, and then pushes away. His face is so red it’s almost comical. “I didn’t… I mean…” He takes a deep breath and scratches at the back of his neck.

“Bro,” Ransom says, and Holster finally makes eye contact. “It’s cool.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean…” He swallows and looks up at the ceiling. “I think I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Good idea.” Ransom meant it as a chirp, but it falls flat. “Hey—”

Holster looks down and his expression shifts to something like panic: his hand is covered in jizz. Ransom bites his lip and reaches for the box of kleenex. He holds it out and Holster takes one, wipes his hand off and crumples the tissue in his fist.

“Hey… Come here.” Ransom holds out one hand. Holster hesitates a moment before stepping forward and allowing himself to be enfolded in Ransom’s arms. He drops his forehead to Ransom’s shoulder and sighs. Ransom inhales, exhales, his mind whirling. He decides to try for levity again. “So was it good for you?”

Holster half-laughs and wraps his arms around Ransom’s waist. “Fuck, bro. I mean…”

“I know, right?” Ransom closes his eyes, squeezes him tighter. It feels good, being pressed against him like this. “We cool?”

“Yeah.” He feels Holster smile against the taut fabric of his t-shirt. “I really do need a shower.”

Ransom pushes him away and grins. “You up for some Call of Duty after?”


Ransom holds up a fist and Holster bumps it, and laughs. They hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds before Holster ducks his head and heads for the door.


The next week goes by like it never happened. Neither of them mentions it, and nothing changes between them.

Well, except for the fact that Ransom catches himself watching Holster at odd moments, his gaze lingering on the back of his neck or the way his fingers wrap around his stick at practice.

He wakes up three times with his dick hard and aching, wrenched out of a dream that featured Holster on his knees.

“I hooked up with my best friend,” he whispers once in the shower, then jerks off thinking about it.

Bitty watches the two of them more closely than usual. Ransom catches him every now and then, and Bitty just smiles at him. He never says a word, never asks, and Ransom is pathetically grateful.


They have a roadie that weekend. He sits next to Holster on the bus, as always. They chirp each other and fall asleep on each other’s shoulders, and everything is the same.

Except that when Ransom wakes up, Holster turns away quickly, like he didn’t want to be caught looking. And later, when their hands brush together, they shift apart, put a few centimeters between them.


They win the game. It’s a shut-out, and Ransom knows he and Holster had a lot to do with it. They were flawless on the ice tonight. If they cling to each other a little too long when the final buzzer sounds, no one says anything.

Most of the people waiting outside want autographs from Jack, as usual, but a woman in low-cut jeans and an even lower-cut shirt makes a beeline for them. They exchange a grin when she stops before them, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger.

“You two make a great team,” she says, looking up at them through eyelash extensions.

“Thanks,” Holster says. He nudges Ransom with his elbow; they’ve had their share of attention from puck bunnies over the years, but this chick is hot.

“You ever team up off the ice?” Her tongue darts out over her red-painted lips.

“Hell, yeah,” Ransom says.

They tell her the name of the hotel and their room number, and she swings her hips as she walks away.

“Shiiiiit,” Ransom says, shaking his head. Holster holds up a fist and he bumps it without even having to look.

They’ve done this a few times before, so it doesn’t feel awkward. They both know what to expect. It’s sort of a relief, in fact, to know they’re going to have sex that involves a third person, and Ransom won’t have to think about what it does or doesn’t mean. They don’t even have to talk about it; they set condoms out, down a liter of water between them, and put the TV on ESPN while they wait.

Half an hour later, she knocks on the door, and they all get down to business. They strip without prelude, and Ransom and Holster take turns kissing her mouth and her tits, and keep her carefully positioned between them. She moans and tells them what she wants in no uncertain terms.

Ransom slides down the bed to part her thighs, and oh. It’s been a month since he’s been this close to actual pussy, and even longer since he’s gotten his tongue on any. He takes a deep breath, drinking in the scent of her arousal. She’s wet and dark pink, and god. His dick is so hard it hurts.

She gasps and arches her back, and he pushes her thighs further apart. He dips his tongue into her, flicks at her clit lazily, and pulls out every trick he knows. She’s panting, moaning, and it’s amazing, but…

But. Holster is lying alongside her and kissing her. His dick is hard and flushed and it’s right there in Ransom’s face. He would only have to turn his head and… and… Ransom closes his eyes and tries to focus, but suddenly all he can think about is Holster: Holster’s fingers pressed against his face while he jacked himself, Holster kissing him with a hand down his pants, making him come and then laughing against his shoulder.

And suddenly, he wants… not this. Something else. He pushes up on his arms and looks down at Holster, who stares back at him with a startled expression.

“Hols, I—”


They lunge at each other, right over the girl’s torso. Their mouths crush together so hard their teeth clack.

“Holy shit,” the girl says, and slides out from beneath them.

Holster kisses him like he’s trying to suck his soul out, and Ransom is actually kind of down with that. They both go up on their knees and grab hold of each other. It’s rough and intense and so hot Ransom’s brain goes offline altogether. Holster pushes Ransom over onto his back and stares wildly at him for a moment before bending down to suck Ransom’s dick into his mouth, down to the root in one smooth movement. Shocked, Ransom gasps and arches his hips up. He can feel Holster swallowing around him before he pulls back up again, keeping his teeth well out of the way and sliding his tongue up along the underside. It’s the perfect amount of suction and pressure, holding him in that zone between really-fucking-good and orgasm-imminent for several long minutes. It’s one of the best blow jobs Ransom’s ever had, and all he can think is, why didn’t we do this sooner?

Holster drops a hand lower to tug at his balls, and that’s the thing that finally sends him over the edge. He stutters out a warning, but Holster doesn’t stop. He tugs Ransom’s hand to his head and holds it there, and oh shit — Ransom can hardly believe that’s what he wants. He pushes down hard, practically choking Holster on his dick. Holster swallows and Ransom comes down his throat, howling.

He’s still feeling aftershocks when he hears something else, soft gasps near the head of the bed. He turns to see the girl’s hand moving furiously between her thighs. He’d forgotten about her completely. He glances down at Holster, who stares back at him with an expression of indecision, and he knows they’re both thinking the same thing: they should do something, kiss her, touch her — but neither of them wants to move.

She squeezes her thighs together and makes soft sounds as she comes, and they both just watch sheepishly. It’s the sort of thing Ransom would usually find incredibly erotic, but right now it just feels… weird.

She opens her eyes and sighs. “Well, that’s not the way I thought this night would go.”

Ransom and Holster glance at each other, each silently begging the other to say something, anything.

“I didn’t realize you were actually a couple.” She climbs to her feet and reaches for her clothes. “It was definitely hot, though. I’ve never seen a dude deep throat somebody like that.” She grins.

Holster makes a sound like a choked laugh and presses his forehead against Ransom’s stomach.

“Still, I was kinda hoping to sit on a dick tonight. Your whole team is staying here, right?”

“Yeah,” Ransom manages after a moment. “You, uh… want me to text somebody for you?”

“That’d be sweet!” She disappears into the bathroom with her clothes.

Ransom reaches for his phone on the nightstand and looks at Holster.

“Try Wicks,” Holster says, resting his chin on Ransom’s stomach.

“Ooh, yeah.” Ransom taps out Got a puck bunny here looking for some D. You up for it?

Within thirty seconds he gets a fuck yeah rm 204.

The girl emerges from the bathroom fully dressed, and Ransom gives her the room number. “I’ll go have a look at him,” she says. “Thanks, boys.”

She heads for the door and then it hits him: a beautiful woman is walking away from their bed and neither of them is doing anything to stop it. Ransom shakes his head and stares up at the ceiling. Once the door clicks closed, they both burst into giggles. Ransom presses his hands over his face.


“That was…” Holster rolls away. “Sorry, bro. That was my bad.”

“Bro, don’t even apologize.”

“That was your first actual pussy in a month. You could’ve fucked her.”

“Nah. I didn’t really want to.”

Holster huffs out a sound of disbelief.

Ransom turns onto his side and pokes him in the ribs. “And what the fuck, man? Why have you been holding out on me like that?”


“Why didn’t you tell me you were bi?”

Holster bites his lip. “I wasn’t like… I mean… I guess I thought you knew.”

“How would I know? It’s not like you ever date dudes.”

“I hook up with dudes all the time!”

Ransom tries not to look surprised. “When?”

Holster squirms a little. “Every now and then.”

“Who? And if you say one of the Lacrosse douchecanoes, your dick is definitely not getting sucked tonight.”

Holster’s face flushes red as he laughs. “Fuck, I… No one you know, okay?”

Ransom watches his face. “I guess that explains the mad BJ skills.”

Holster smirks. “Skills?”

“Bro, you give fucking amazing head and you know it.” He pokes Holster in the shoulder again. “We could have been doing this for years.”

Holster turns to look at the ceiling and exhales slowly. “I thought you were straight.”

“Me too.” Ransom props himself up on one elbow and looks down at him. “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I’ve never found a dude attractive. But this is… different.”

“Different how?”

“It’s you.” He shrugs, uncertain how else to say it. Holster is his best friend, his fucking soulmate in most ways. Sex feels like a natural extension of what they already are to each other, somehow. “I don’t generally want to fuck dudes, but…”

“You want to fuck me?” The corners of Holster’s lips turn up slightly. “Cause I’d be down with that.”

The air vanishes momentarily from Ransom’s lungs. He can’t help but imagine pushing into Holster’s body, hot and tight. Holster holds his gaze like he knows exactly what Ransom is thinking.

“Yeah.” Ransom’s voice is suddenly thick.

Holster’s eyes fall closed. “But you’re… This hasn’t been about me. It’s about your pussy thing, and that’s not something I can… I mean…”

“It’s just a kink, bro.” Ransom reaches out to trail his fingers through the blond hair on Holster’s chest. His body is all hard planes and defined lines, not even remotely feminine, and yet it’s incredibly hot. “It’s not like I can’t get it up unless I smell pussy.”

Holster laughs, then squirms as Ransom drags a fingertip across his nipples. Ransom watches them turn into hard little peaks as he circles them. Holster’s breath catches and he makes a soft sound low in his throat. Ransom glances down his body, following the line of dark blond hair below his navel. Holster’s dick is ramrod stiff against his belly — he still hasn’t come.

Ransom leans forward to press his lips against the pale skin at the bottom of Holster’s ribcage. He trails the tip of his tongue over hard muscle, moving down to suck a kiss over his hipbone. Holster’s breathing is audible now, coming in irregular bursts. Ransom shifts down on the bed and pushes one of Holster’s knees up. He slots himself between Holster’s spread legs and presses small fluttery kisses to the inside of one thigh. Holster’s breath stutters in anticipation, and Ransom finds himself wanting to tease. He brushes his nose against Holster’s balls and inhales, then nuzzles a line up the underside of his dick.

“Oh my god,” Holster says, stifling a laugh. “Did you just…”

“It’s different from pussy, but I kinda like it.” He wraps his hand around the base of Holster’s dick and licks experimentally across the slit. Holster gasps beneath him at the contact. “Tastes different too. But not bad.”

“Fuck, Rans, please.”

“This is gonna be mad sloppy, bro. Sorry bout that.”

“I don’t care, just please, do it.”

Ransom grins and opens his mouth, takes it in. Once he gets past the initial ew, a dick response, it’s incredibly hot. The sensation of soft skin over hard heat against his tongue is fascinating, but even more is the way Holster whines and whimpers and begs for more. Ransom can’t take him in very deep without gagging, but he remembers girls jacking him while they just sucked on the head, so he does that. Technique later, orgasm now.

Holster warns him in time to pull off and Ransom jerks him through it, amazed at the sight of someone else’s cock spurting in his hand. Holster’s toes actually curl against Holster’s sides, and that makes it even better. If anyone had told him that one of the most amazing sexual experiences of his college life would be sucking a geeky white boy’s dick in a hotel room after a hockey game, he would not have believed them.

“Oh my god,” Holster says when he stops shaking. He presses his hands over his face and exhales. “That was fucking amazing.”

Ransom reaches for a box of tissues on the nightstand. “I’ll do better next time. You’re gonna have to teach me, though.”

Holster is quiet for several seconds. “What are we doing?”

“Right now? We’re gonna get in the other bed — the clean one — and we’re gonna get some sleep. We have to be on the bus at seven.”

“No, I mean…” Holster takes a deep breath. “Bro. I hate this part.”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“No, I kinda need to.” Holster pushes himself to sitting. He’s a big fucking dude, but he looks weirdly small and vulnerable right now.

“Okay, but let me brush my teeth first.”

Fifteen minutes later, they’re curled up together under the clean sheets of the room’s other double bed. It’s small for the two of them, but considering that they’ve shared a single bunk in the attic on more than one occasion, it’s completely tolerable.

“So,” Holster says, just as Ransom is drifting off.


“Are we a thing?”

“Do you want us to be a thing?”

Holster sighs and his lips brush Ransom’s forehead. “Yeah. I do.”


“Hookups are cool, as long as you give me the deets and get me off afterwards.”

Ransom grins. “I kinda liked that arrangement.”

“So did I.”

“So we’re good?”

Holster kisses him softly. “We’re so damn good.”


Ransom could get used to morning sex, slow and lazy and sleepy-sweet. He’s not sure how they’re going to keep their hands off of each other during the bus ride back to Samwell, but he’s already plotting what he wants to do when he gets Holster back up to the attic.

They lean heavily on each other during the bus ride, eventually giving in to the temptation to tangle their fingers together when everyone else is dozing around them. Ransom opens his eyes once to shift his position and sees Bitty watching them. He winks, and Bitty smiles and looks away.

They barely come out of the attic for three days, and no one chirps them about it. That may have something to do with the ridiculous amount of pie Bitty makes, or it may just be that everyone is chill about the two of them making it official. Either way, Ransom is pretty goddamn happy.