Chapter 5: Again
The sociology textbook lay open between them on the futon, a barrier of dense text and highlighted passages. Two days had passed since the coach’s call. Xairo had answered it, his voice turning flat and professional, saying “yes, sir” and “no, sir” while staring at the wall above Kayden’s head. The conversation had lasted less than a minute. He’d never mentioned it again.
Now, in the quiet of his own room, the silence felt different. It was his space. The posters of Chicharito and Maradona watched from the walls. His cleats sat by the door, caked with dry mud. The air smelled like his laundry detergent and the faint, ever-present hint of the eucalyptus oil his mom insisted kept him healthy.
“So, Durkheim argues the anomie is greatest during periods of rapid social change,” Kayden read aloud, tapping the page. His voice was a low murmur. He was sitting cross-legged, back against the wall, a pencil behind his ear.
Xairo wasn’t listening. He was watching the way Kayden’s thumb absently traced the edge of the textbook. He was studying the two moles on his neck, visible now because he’d tied his light brown hair up in a messy knot. He was remembering exactly how that skin tasted.
“You getting any of this?” Kayden asked, not looking up.
“No.”
Kayden glanced over. A slow smile touched his lips. “You wanna take a break?”
“We just started.”
“We’ve been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes.” Kayden closed the book with a definitive thump. “Your brain’s not here.”
“Where is it, then?” Xairo challenged, the familiar defensive edge creeping into his tone.
Kayden didn’t answer with words. He uncrossed his legs and crawled across the short distance of the futon. He moved with a fluid, deliberate grace that made Xairo’s breath catch. He stopped kneeling in front of him, their knees touching. He reached out and took Xairo’s hand, guiding it to the fly of his own jeans.
“Right here,” Kayden said softly, pressing Xairo’s palm against the hard outline of his cock. “And here.” He moved Xairo’s other hand to his own chest, over his thudding heart.
Xairo swallowed. The touch burned through the denim. All the unspoken tension of the last two days—the ignored texts, the way Xairo had vanished after practice, the careful distance in the hallway—coalesced into this single, hot point of contact.
“Fuck the project,” Xairo growled, and yanked Kayden forward by his belt loops.
The kiss was all teeth and desperation. It was an argument, a collision. Xairo pushed Kayden onto his back on the futon, the sociology book tumbling to the floor. He covered him, his weight familiar and intoxicating. He rutted against him, the rough drag of their jeans amplifying the ache.
“You been thinking about this?” Xairo demanded against his mouth, his hands pulling Kayden’s shirt up.
“Constantly.” Kayden arched, helping him get the fabric off. “Been thinking about your cock in my mouth since you walked out of my room.”
The vulgar, specific words sent a jolt straight to Xairo’s groin. He fumbled with his own belt, then with Kayden’s, their hands tangling in the rush. Jeans and boxers were shoved down thighs, not even fully off, just enough. The air hit their heated skin.
Xairo didn’t wait. He slid down Kayden’s body, his mouth leaving a wet trail down his sternum, over the defined ridges of his abdomen. He nosed at the thatch of dark curls, the musky, clean scent of him filling his senses. Kayden’s cock lay thick and full against his stomach, the head already glistening.
“Xairo…” Kayden breathed, his hands fisting in the sheets.
Xairo looked up the length of his body, meeting his eyes. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see Kayden’s ‘ladies man’ composure shatter. He lowered his head and took him into his mouth in one slow, inexorable glide.
Kayden cried out, a sharp, broken sound. His hips jerked off the mattress. Xairo’s mouth was hot, tight, unrelenting. He worked him with a focus that was almost clinical, mapping his reactions with his tongue—the way he twitched when Xairo swirled around the head, the shuddering gasp when he sucked hard on the downward stroke. He tasted clean, salty, profoundly intimate. Xairo deep-throated him, his own eyes watering as he took him all the way to the root, feeling him bump the back of his throat.
“Oh, fuck… you’re gonna make me come… so fast…” Kayden babbled, his thighs trembling on either side of Xairo’s head.
Xairo pulled off with a wet pop, his own cock aching and untouched. “Not yet.” His voice was ragged. He pushed Kayden’s legs up and apart, his hands under his knees. He stared at the exposed furl of his ass, pink and clenching. The sight was obscene, beautiful, his.
He didn’t ask. He just dove in.
The first swipe of his tongue made Kayden scream. It was a high, shocked sound that echoed off the small room’s walls. Xairo ate him out like a man starving, with a single-minded intensity that left no room for gentleness. He licked broad stripes, fucked into him with the tip of his tongue, pressed his face deep into the hot, musky cleft. Kayden was unraveling beneath him, a litany of “oh god, oh fuck, right there,” falling from his lips in a continuous stream.
Xairo could feel the tight ring of muscle fluttering against his tongue, could taste the unique, dark flavor of him. It should have felt degrading, for both of them. Instead, it felt like a conquest, a claiming more profound than any fuck. He was making Kayden lose his mind with just his mouth, reducing the charming, self-assured guy to a writhing, begging mess.
“Please… Xairo, I need… I need your cock, please, fuck me, please…”
Xairo lifted his head, his chin glistening. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest heaving. “You suck me off first.”
Kayden didn’t hesitate. He scrambled up, pushing Xairo onto his back. He knelt between his legs, his eyes dark and hungry. He took Xairo’s cock in his hand, stroking him once, twice, a slow, firm pull that made Xairo’s vision blur. Then he bent and took him deep.
It was different from before. Kayden wasn’t just skilled; he was worshipful. He hollowed his cheeks, his tongue working relentlessly along the thick vein underneath. He cupped Xairo’s balls, rolling them gently in his palm while his mouth moved up and down. He looked up, maintaining eye contact, and Xairo felt a fracture deep in his chest, a crack in the dam holding everything back.
“Enough,” he gasped, pulling Kayden up by the hair. It was too much, too vulnerable. He needed the control, the physical proof of dominance. “Turn over.”
Kayden obeyed, getting on his hands and knees. Xairo grabbed the lube from his nightstand—a half-used bottle that had never seen this kind of action. He slicked himself hastily, his hands shaking. He positioned himself behind Kayden, one hand on his hip, the other guiding his cock.
He pushed in.
It was smoother this time, but no less overwhelming. Kayden was loose and wet from his mouth, but still gloriously tight. Xairo sank in to the hilt with a guttural groan, his forehead dropping between Kayden’s shoulder blades. For a moment, he just stayed there, buried, feeling the incredible heat clutch him. He was inside. In his own room. In his own bed. The reality of it was a thunderclap.
Then he began to move.
He set a brutal, driving pace from the start. This wasn’t about finesse; it was about exorcism. Each slam of his hips was an attempt to fuck out the fear, the coach’s voice, the scholarship hanging over him, the shame from years ago. The futon battered the wall in a steady, frantic rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their choked gasps and grunts.
“You like that?” Xairo gritted out, his fingers digging bruises into Kayden’s hips. “You like getting your ass pounded in my bed?”
“Yes! God, yes! Harder!”
Xairo obliged, snapping his hips faster, angling deeper. He leaned over, blanketing Kayden’s back, his mouth at his ear. “You’re mine when you’re here. In this room. You understand? This is mine.”
It was a territorial claim, primitive and raw. Kayden reached back, blindly gripping Xairo’s thigh, pulling him in even deeper. “I’m yours! Fuck, I’m yours, Xairo!”
The words tipped him over the edge. Xairo came with a shredded cry, plunging in as deep as he could go as his orgasm ripped through him, violent and total. He pulsed inside the condom, his body shuddering uncontrollably.
Before he’d even finished, Kayden was pushing him off, rolling onto his back. His own cock was angry red, leaking copiously. “I need to come,” he panted, desperate. “Need your mouth again. Or your hand. Please.”
Xairo, still breathless, his mind hazy, looked down at him. The needy, open expression on Kayden’s face undid him completely. He shook his head. “Ride me.”
He pulled off the spent condom, tied it, tossed it toward the trash can. He didn’t reach for another. He just lay back, his own cock already softening but his body humming.
Kayden didn’t question it. He straddled Xairo’s hips, but instead of aiming for his cock, he leaned forward, bracing his hands on Xairo’s chest. He lowered his face, capturing Xairo’s mouth in a deep, slow kiss. Then he began to move, grinding his aching erection against Xairo’s stomach, against the trail of hair leading down.
The friction was rough, dry, overwhelming. Xairo wrapped his arms around Kayden, holding him close as Kayden fucked himself against his body, his breath coming in sharp, hot bursts against Xairo’s neck. Xairo could feel every ridge of Kayden’s cock, the desperate rut of his hips, the way his whole body was tensing like a bowstring.
“Come on,” Xairo whispered, clutching him tighter. He turned his head, his lips against Kayden’s ear. “Get yourself off on me. Make a mess.”
With a broken sob, Kayden did. His body locked, his back arching, and he came in hot, pulsing stripes across Xairo’s stomach and chest, his cries muffled against Xairo’s shoulder. He collapsed, a dead weight, his sweat-slick skin plastered to Xairo’s.
They lay there, sticky and spent, in the wreckage of the futon. The only sound was their ragged breathing slowly returning to normal. Xairo stared at the ceiling, at a crack in the plaster he knew by heart. Kayden’s come was cooling on his skin. The smell of sex was thick in the air, in his sheets, on his body. It would linger.
Kayden shifted, propping his chin on Xairo’s chest. He looked down at the mess between them, then back up at Xairo’s face. “Your coach still calling?”
The question was a bucket of ice water. Xairo’s muscles tensed. “No.”
“You talk to him?”
“No.”
“You gonna?”
“I don’t know.”
Kayden was silent for a moment, his finger tracing a meaningless pattern in the cooling spend on Xairo’s pectoral. “You know this doesn’t make you weak, right?”
Xairo closed his eyes. “It doesn’t make me strong.”
“It makes you human.” Kayden’s voice was softer now. “And it’s just me. In this room. No one else has to know.”
That was the lie, and they both knew it. Secrets had weight. They pressed down on your chest in the dark. Xairo knew he couldn’t live in this dim, locked room forever. The world was on the other side of the door, waiting with its expectations and its consequences.
But for now, Kayden was here, a warm, heavy reality on top of him. For now, the only thing that felt real was the slow beat of Kayden’s heart against his own, and the terrifying, exhilarating sense that he had just handed someone a piece of himself he could never get back.