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“Oh Christ– just like that, yeah, fuck–” Steve can hear how ridiculous he must sound babbling like this, but he can’t find it in himself to care. It feels so good, his thoughts floating up and up and going right into the stratosphere (or whatever it was that Dustin had called the next layer of sky– the one that no mountains could reach).
The way Kristen feels around him– her lips full and the warm tightness of her mouth tugging at him just so– drives him mad. She might even let him come down her throat this time. He can feel himself close. So close, it’s almost maddening. He tightens his fingers in her thick, curly hair, urging her onward.
“You like this, baby?” Kristen says from between his knees, her brown curls falling wildly over her face as she pulls her lips off his cock to peer up at him from under her eyelashes. Her eyes are blue and intense, studying him with lazy appraisal. They’re on his bed, Steve’s head thrown back against the head board and legs spread for her as she works him past the point of reason. He likes how she studies him. It scratches a particular itch in his brain. Makes him feel special, like something worth understanding from the inside out.
Few people make him feel like that.
Steve watches her back, panting in agonized pleasure. He’s been pulled to the edge of a cliff and left dangling off the precipice, a hot tightness in his center begging to be released. “Yes,” he says desperately, hearing the way his voice breaks on the word.
Kristen grins impishly up at him as she ghosts her lips along the red vein of his length. “Then beg me to let you come,” she breathes against his skin, and the warmth of her voice sends something pulsing through his core.
The thing is, he’s so close. He just needs to tip over the edge. “Come on, just–”
Her grip tightens and squeezes at the base of his cock, denying him release. “Beg me.”
Annoyance pools in the back of his mind, mingling with his arousal. God, she can be such a little shit sometimes—
Kristen leans down to suckle at his tip before pulling off again with a wet pop. His hips shudder upward, seeking more friction, more heat, more anything. But she leans her face away from him, making a tutting noise.
“Please,” he whines, eyes squeezing shut half in pain and half in ecstasy. His voice pitches up, higher and breathier, words slipping from his mouth like they’re nothing.“Please, Dustin, just let me come–”
“Dustin?”
Steve’s eyes fly open in alarm, feeling his orgasm disappear from under him like a trap door. “Kristen! I meant to say Kristen!”
But it’s too late. She sits up abruptly, letting his dick flop unceremoniously back onto his stomach. He hisses, overly sensitive but also suddenly very much not aroused.
“That’s it. I’m out.”
“C’mon, seriously? You know what I meant, it was just a slip of the tongue,” he tries, reaching for her. “Your names are just really similar! Kristen– Dustin– come on, you hear it, right?” As Steve says the two names together, all he can hear is how dissimilar they are. He winces.
“Nope. I’m not buying it this time,” Kristen says shortly, pulling her wild hair back in a curt pony tail and slipping her blouse back on. She turns and checks her makeup in his bedroom vanity, reapplying lip gloss with a smack. “The first time was funny. Second time was awkward. Third time? Third time makes this a definite thing and I, for one, do not need that in my life!”
And with that, she exits his room with an eye roll and a loud grumble about “closet cases,” leaving Steve stunned and still half erect. He glares at his dick with a distinct feeling of betrayal.
“So wait, why did Kristen break up with you again?”
“Differences in political opinion?” Steve tries, wincing at the bemused sideways look on Dustin’s face.
“Dude, your political opinions extend as far as ‘vote for whichever presidential candidate can shoot a basketball through a hoop,’” Dustin scoffs, leaning down to insert another quarter in the console.
“You voted for Clinton too!” Steve protests, doing the same. They both take up their positions in front of their joysticks, bent slightly forward and eyes glued resolutely to the screen as Street Fighter starts up.
“Yeah, but at least I read the news,” Dustin says, twisting his tongue in his lips as he jerks the joystick to the left and karate chops at Steve’s character with a jab to the button. “I don’t know why you’re being so cagey about this.”
“I don’t know, I guess I don’t want to waste your winter break talking about yet another one of my failed relationships!” Steve throws his hands up in the air without thinking, and Dustin lands a blow. Steve hisses in annoyance and focuses back on the game. “Its kind of a bummer.”
Dustin shrugs. “It sounded like it was going really well.”
Steve dodges two of Dustin’s attacks before powering up for a special move, double tapping quickly at the left and right controls. “I guess that’s my problem. I always think it’s going well.”
“I mean, the sex was great, right? You talked about it all the time.”
“Did not!”
“Get real, Steve. You love to tell me about all of your orgasms, and the ones with Kristen sounded especially good.”
Steve misses a beat and gets his head bashed in with Dustin’s expert attack. God, did he really talk about sex so much with Dustin?
“I mean, I personally don’t get why she never let you come down her throat, but maybe I’m biased,” Dustin says absentmindedly as he double flips away from Steve. His eyes are mercifully glued to the screen before him, allowing Steve some small privacy.
Oh God, he really did tell Dustin everything, didn’t he? Steve swears as Dustin’s fighter karate kicks his avatar in the neck, drastically reducing his health bar. Wait a second–
“What do you mean, you’re biased?”
Dustin evades a double punch from Steve to land the killing blow with a body slam, which completely steals Steve’s attention as he tries and fails to evade.
“Goddamnit, Henderson!”
“Better luck next time, Harrington,” Dustin replies with a shit eating grin, and Steve forgets what they were even talking about, feeling heady with the thrill of competition.
“Next time is right now– game two, let’s do this.”
“So enough about my love life, man. Do you have a special someone in your life?” Steve asks nonchalantly before downing his beer, which gives him an excuse to not stare too obviously at Dustin’s profile. His curls look especially soft in the dim light of the bar, and Steve has the strangest desire to tangle his fingers at the base of his neck and tug the locks of hair there. They’ve moved from the arcade to the nearby dive, a new tradition they instituted ever since Dustin turned twenty-one the year before.
Dustin sucks loudly at his cocktail– something distinctly fruity– then pops the maraschino cherry from his drink into his wide, smiling mouth as he glances sidelong at Steve. “Nope!” He says the word as though it has two syllables, really emphasizing the “puh” sound.
“Really? What happened to— uh— Janice? Janet?”
“Janelle,” Dustin says, voice jumbled around the cherry stem in his mouth. He works at it for a few seconds longer, then pulls the perfectly knotted cherry stem free from his lips with a satisfied smile. He plops it onto Steve’s bar napkin, and Steve can’t pull his eyes away from the little bead of spit that sits at the heart of the knot. “And she was just a fling. I’ve told you I don’t really want to tie myself down right now.”
Steve signals the bartender for a second round. He feels some irritation scratching at the back of his mind and he needs to dull it with something. “Well, I guess it makes sense I can’t keep any names straight with that attitude.”
“No. You’re just really bad at names, Steve,” Dustin says simply.
Steve splutters into his foam. “What? Not true.”
Dustin doesn’t even bother to look at him as he graciously accepts the second round of his cocktail– the kind of beverage that Steve had not even known this dive bar made until Dustin had the audacity to look at the menu and ask. “Look, it’s not just my partners you can’t keep straight. Remember all those girls who dumped you back in high school after you kept calling them ‘Nancy’ by accident?”
“That was one time!”
“It definitely happened more than once,” Dustin says firmly. “I mean, do you remember the names of anyone you went on dates with in senior year?”
To be honest, that time was a bit of a black hole in Steve’s life. He doesn’t remember much of anything beyond watching Star Wars with Dustin and desperately trying not to fail out of Mrs. Click’s History class… a class that involved a lot of memorizing names that he could just never keep straight in his head, now that he comes to think of it. “Okay, maybe you have a point,” Steve confesses, suddenly thoughtful.
“I always do,” Dustin replies smugly. He slurps his drink, ignoring the annoyed stares of the bar patrons around him.
The itch continues in Steve’s mind, however. Dustin’s evading again. “Wait a second, why don’t you want to tie yourself down, anyway?”
But Dustin doesn’t respond. His eyes are trained on somewhere far away, completely lost in thought. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers and makes Steve startle. “Parapraxis!”
“What?”
“Parapraxis– a Freudian slip,” Dustin looks back excitedly at Steve, clever blue eyes boring into him. “Sorry, I was just trying to remember the word.” He points at his head proudly. “Unlike some people, I’ve got a mind like a steel trap.”
“Yeah, yeah, and that’s why you’re going to a goddamn PhD program next year.” Steve rolls his eyes, though even as annoyed as he feels it’s mixed with a great deal of fondness. “Okay, tell me what par–para– what a Freudian slip is again?”
“It’s when an error in speech reveals something in your unconscious mind. Like a desire or repressed thought.” Dustin swirls his cocktail straw around in excitement. “You called your girlfriend ‘Nancy’ because you were still in love with her, right?”
The sounds of the bar suddenly feel muted as though someone just plugged his ears with wax. “What?”
Dustin clearly sees something in Steve’s face, because he backpedals immediately. “Well, you’re not in love with her anymore. It was just an example.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, but he’s feeling a little dazed and can hear it in his own voice. He stares at his beer, suddenly not enjoying the taste and wanting to be done with it as soon as possible.
“Steve?” Dustin says nervously.
“Sometimes names just sound like each other.” Why does the bar feel so hot all of a sudden? He takes a long swig of his beer and pulls a face of disgust at the sour taste. “So what if I couldn’t remember if your partner was named Janet or Janelle? Freudian slip my ass.”
“I just think it’s interesting,” Dustin waves his hand dismissively. “Not sure why it came to mind.”
They sip their drinks in silence for a few minutes, lost in their own private thoughts. Dustin places a second knotted cherry stem down next to the first, both nestled atop Steve’s soaked bar napkin.
“Damn. You’re really good at that, Henderson,” Steve marvels. He’d had some girlfriends in high school who liked to try and tie cherry stems with their tongues, but none had done it so fast or elegantly as Dustin.
“Yeah, I’m good at a lot of things, Steve.”
God, he can be such a little shit sometimes. Steve downs his beer. His head swims with the haze of alcohol, and he absentmindedly picks up the latest stem and fiddles it between his fingers, realizing with a flush that it's still warm and sticky from Dustin’s mouth.
He picks at it until it comes undone, ignoring the heat of Dustin’s watchful eyes boring into the side of his face.
“Another round, Henderson?” Steve asks.
“The thing is… I liked her,” Steve says sadly into his can of beer. They’re staring out over the quarry, parked by the edge like they’re still teenagers with nowhere better to be. The dive bar closed for the night and Steve had reassured Dustin he could still drive, though now he’s less sure halfway into their shared six pack.
“And what did you like about her, Steve?” Dustin is game for this, to Steve’s surprise.
The alcohol makes Steve’s thoughts fuzzy, and he leans into Dustin’s space, ass cold in the bed of his Ford truck but Dustin’s body pleasantly warm. He takes another swig of beer and thinks for a moment.
“Well, she’s smart,” Steve counts off on his fingers. “And she’s pretty. And she knows how to make me laugh.” Three fingers waver before his eyes, and he blinks his vision back into focus.
“Want to get into specifics there?”
Steve rubs a hand up and down Dustin’s back in another bid for warmth, trying not to obviously shiver himself. Maybe drinking outside in December was a dumb idea. Dumber still, since he needs to drive back after this. “I think I’m drunk,” Steve says with concern in his voice. He rests his chin on Dustin’s shoulder, feeling contrite. “I’m sorry, Henderson.”
“Steve, it’s okay. I’m not.”
“You’re not?” Steve stares accusingly at the six pack between them and realizes Dustin hasn’t taken a single sip. He lets out a despairing hiccup. “Damn, I must seem like a total drunk asshole to you.”
“You’re drunk but you’re not an asshole,” Dustin corrects, voice shockingly gentle. There’s a lot about Dustin that is surprising Steve tonight. “I mean, it sounds like Kristen really broke your heart.”
If Steve was being honest with himself, he hadn’t thought he’d let Kristen have enough of his heart to really break. Ever since Nancy, he’d been so careful to avoid fully giving anyone that.
“I miss dropping off coffee for her in the morning,” Steve says into the cold night air, watching his breath turn into steam and float up and away. “We didn’t live together or anything, but I’d always make a travel mug of coffee and drop it off at her classroom before first period.” Kristen’s art room had been at the other end of the hallway from his, but he had always enjoyed making the trek. And then it would give Kristen an excuse to drop by the gym later in the day to give him his mug back, which was always nice, too, and prompted much excitement amongst his gossipy students.
Dustin leans further into Steve, offering silent comfort.
“And she was always trying to get me to do things for her without actually asking. I don’t know. Like, she would look over at me and give me some big bambi eyes and I would fold like a wet noodle. But I liked it! I liked doing things for her, and I liked that she didn’t even need to say anything for me to do them. It’s like… I just got her, you know?”
“Yeah.”
Something in the tone of Dustin’s voice makes Steve lean back to get a better look at his face. The whites of their eyes glisten in the moonlit dark as they look at each other, but Steve can’t quite make out Dustin’s expression. He feels a shock of nerves thrill through him, a premonition of something he can’t quite put a name to. What are they doing out here in the dark of the quarry? Why does he feel like there’s something waiting for them around the corner of the night, some feeling that won’t let him rest?
“I still don’t understand.” Dustin seems genuinely agitated, if his body language is anything to go by. He’s tapping his feet restlessly against the truck, knees jumping where they’re curled up toward his body. “Why the hell did she dump you?”
“Why, because I’m so perfect?” Steve smiles self-deprecatingly.
“I mean, yeah– you sound like a great boyfriend.”
That causes Steve to freeze up in surprise, but Dustin doesn’t seem phased.
“Well, I’m clearly not.”
“So what did you do?” Dustin has that satisfied, wheedling tone in his voice– like they’re having an argument that he already knows he’s won.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut in exasperation. He cannot tell Dustin the real reason Kristen left him. Why won’t he just let it drop?
“I don’t know, Henderson, why don’t you go ask Dustin.”
“You mean Kristen.”
“Yes, that’s what I said!” Steve snaps.
There’s a pause as the exchange sinks in. The silence stretches on long enough that Steve belatedly realizes his teeth are chattering.
“I think we should head back,” he says at last to break the silence, shivering. Dustin’s arm pulls Steve in tight for a moment, fingers flexing in the fabric of his coat. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Let me drive you home, Steve,” Dustin says quietly. Without waiting for his assent, Dustin rummages in Steve’s coat for his keys and Steve lets him. It’s kind of nice to just let Dustin take over, fingers running lightly across his body to search through his various pockets. “Damn, where the hell are your keys?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Steve murmurs, feeling a little goofy and very drunk. They are teetering on the edge of something he can’t quite name, a giddiness pushing up from his core. At last, he feels Dustin’s fingers slide into the left breast pocket– the one over his heart– and wriggle around. It makes something in his chest tighten for a moment, and he sucks in a soft gasp.
“There you are,” Dustin says triumphantly, tugging the keys free so they glint in the moonlight.
Steve swallows back the words that suddenly crowd to the front of his mouth, desperate to be released.
I love you, Dustin.
Later, as Dustin drives him homeward, Steve sits in the passenger seat with those words like he’s holding a mouth full of water. He’s afraid that if he speaks, it will all come spilling out.
To fill the silence, Dustin plays the radio. Steve tries to focus on Tom Petty’s raspy croon, but his thoughts are now circling the drain of his sudden revelation. The whole night reflects back to him in a new light, something new standing out to him with each recollection.
“Here we are,” Dustin’s voice startles him back into the present. They are parked in the driveway of Steve’s small rented bungalow, the lights from his small porch suddenly shining down at them and illuminating Dustin’s face. He looks over at Steve, his blue eyes assessing him like he’s peeling back layers of skin to reveal his inner workings. “I’ll bring your car back in the morning?”
Steve makes the mistake of opening his mouth to respond, and just like that the wrong words come out. “Kristen broke up with me because of you.”
There’s a beat. Dustin sucks in a breath, eyes widening in shock. “What?”
“Well, not because of you. Because of me–” Steve isn’t sure how to make the words stop now that they’re falling from his mouth. He’s slipped on the rocky precipice of the evening and gone plunging off the edge of a cliff. “Kristen broke up with me because I kept getting your names confused. Uhm. Multiple times.”
Dustin’s face screws up in confusion. “You said my— but ‘Dustin’ doesn’t even sound like ‘Kristen?’”
“Two syllables! You both end on the ‘n’ sound? I don’t know, that’s not the point, the point is that I just– I–” Steve throws his hands up in the air, and he can feel the mad blush that’s risen into his cheeks. His ears are roaring with blood, and the cramped space of the car suddenly feels like it’s closing in on him. He fumbles with the lock on the car door. “You know what, I should just go to bed.”
“Steve, wait–”
But Steve doesn’t wait. He stumbles out into the frigid air of the evening and walks resolutely up toward his front door, not bothering to look backwards. He can’t face Dustin right now, not with this feeling inside him and this embarrassing truth just spilling out all over the place. Reaching for his keys, his stomach drops out from under him one more time as he remembers that they are in the ignition of the very car that Dustin is driving. Fuck.
He stares at the closed door, shoulders hunched forward as he contemplates methods of breaking into his own home. Instead, he listens to the engine turn off and Dustin jump out of the truck to jog up behind him.
“Steve.” Dustin grabs Steve by the elbow, grip light but firm.
Steve doesn’t turn toward him, afraid of everything Dustin will be able to see in his face. He feels exposed and at a distinct disadvantage in his state of drunken embarrassment.
“Steve, why would Kristen break up with you over something so stupid?”
It was stupid, Steve knows that. But it also was very distinctly not. Kristen’s words calling him a “closet case” ring through his ears.
“You know that thing you were talking about earlier? 'Parapax' or whatever?”
“Parapraxis?”
“Yeah, that one.” Steve rubs a weary hand over his face and finally turns to face Dustin, back against the door as he looks down to meet Dustin’s eyes.
“What about it?”
“Well,” Steve takes a deep, gulping breath. “The last time Kristen and I were– were having sex, I— I said your name when I should have said Kristen’s.”
Dustin blinks up at him, clearly processing.
“And that wasn’t the first time I did that,” Steve admits. “Uhm, during sex.”
Steve watches the way Dustin’s full lips form a perfect ‘O’ of sudden understanding. A cold wind tugs at both of them, and Steve shivers nervously.
“So Kristen dumped you because she thinks you have a thing… a sexual thing... for me?” Dustin finally puts the truth to words. Hearing it said aloud is almost a relief. Almost.
Steve nods.
“Do you?” Dustin’s voice has gone uncharacteristically small and choked. His body language is closed off as he slips both hands into his coat pockets and leans forward, as though hugging himself. They both tremble in the December night, watching each other carefully.
“Do I…?”
“Have a thing. For me.”
“Henderson–” Steve starts, but Dustin cuts him off.
“Say my name, Steve. If this is what it’s all about, just say it. Please.”
And there it is. He’s been pushed to the edge of the cliff with nowhere else to go but jump.
“Dustin–” No sooner does the name leave his lips than he surges toward Dustin, tugging him in for a fierce, hungry kiss. Dustin makes a noise of surprise and delight against his mouth, pausing as though in shock before reciprocating. The force of Dustin’s returned kiss pushes Steve back more firmly against the closed door, and he sags downward to allow the shorter man better access. He lets out a gasp as the door knob digs into his lower back, and Dustin takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past Steve’s lips, swallowing up all the words Steve has been unable to say.
They both come up for air long enough for Dustin to fumble the keys into the lock of the door and push it open, and they go tumbling onto the floor of Steve’s entrance hallway, limbs tangling as they run their hands up and down each other’s backs as they desperately kiss. Oh my God, I'm making out with Dustin, Steve's brain says stupidly, giddily.
“Steve,” Dustin murmurs in awe, kissing his way across Steve’s cheek to mouth at the place where his jawline meets his throat. Steve writhes and gasps under Dustin’s clever ministrations, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure shooting through him. “Say my name again.”
“Dustin,” Steve’s voice breaks on the syllables, the noise high and breathy in his throat.
They finally make their way toward the bedroom, Steve dragging them both off the floor and grabbing Dustin’s hand to lead the way. They shed their coats, shoes, and sweaters, leaving a trail behind them. No sooner do they enter the bedroom, Steve turning back toward Dustin to pull him into another kiss, then Dustin pushes him backwards onto the bed. Steve lets him, pleased to allow Dustin to straddle his hips. He wraps his arms around Dustin’s lower back and trails kisses along Dustin’s neck, enjoying the easy access to nibble at his jawline.
“Keep saying my name, Steve,” Dustin breathes against Steve’s forehead as he starts to fumble his hands at Steve’s belt. “I want to know you want me. Only me.”
“Only you, Dustin,” Steve whispers back, dazed.
Dustin lets out a whimper in the back of his throat, eyes screwed up in pleasure at the words. He pushes Steve until he’s lying splayed on the bed, then crawls backward to kneel in front of Steve on the ground between his knees. Dustin pushes Steve’s undershirt up and kisses hungrily at his exposed belly and waist, and Steve begins to lose himself to the sensation.
“Dustin, Dustin, Dustin…” he says his name like an intonation or a prayer as Dustin works Steve’s belt off and unbuttons his jeans, lifting his hips to allow Dustin to pull his pants down and off his legs.
His cock is already half hard and Dustin makes a pleased sound at the sight, breath warm and wet against Steve’s inner thighs as he kisses around it. Steve can feel his pleasure building but needs more, can feel his erection searching for some friction or pressure. His hips buck upward but Dustin presses him back down firmly.
“You want me to touch you?” Dustin murmurs wickedly, mouthing at Steve’s pubic hair as he speaks. The heat makes Steve feel wild, Dustin’s clever, strong fingers digging lightly into the skin of his hips as he holds him in place and stares up at him across the length of his straining body. “Say my name.”
“Dustin, please–” Steve whimpers, words suddenly cut off with a choke as Dustin grips Steve’s cock in a firm, spit slicked hand and gives him a long, slow stroke. Dustin collects precum at the tip of Steve’s shaft then pumps him again, letting the slick glide ease the pressure of his hand. Steve feels heady and out of his mind, floating up and up toward the stratosphere.
“I want all of you, Steve,” Dustin says before laving a tongue up and down the underside of Steve’s cock, pausing to mouth at his balls. “And I’m going to make you come down my throat.”
That’s it. Steve’s left the stratosphere and he’s flying somewhere up in outer space, completely out of control and nearly out of his body. “Dustin, Dustin, Dustin…” he babbles mindlessly as Dustin swallows him down, taking him in impossibly far until he can feel himself hitting the back of his throat. The warm, welcoming heat Dustin’s mouth makes him want to cry. He reaches down to finger gently at the seams of Dustin’s lips, overwhelmed to feel how his mouth and cheeks have stretched and hollowed to hold him.
And then Dustin begins to move, bobbing his head up and down on Steve’s cock, holding Steve firmly in place as he does things with his tongue that no one’s ever done to him before. All Steve can do is tangle his fingers into Dustin’s beautiful curly hair and hold on for dear life. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, but the words are falling from his lips easier than breathing, spilling out around him across the bed sheets.
But his innermost thoughts and desires are safe with Dustin– always have been, always will be. When he comes just a few intense minutes later, Dustin swallows down every last drop.
“I love you, Dustin,” Steve chokes out, tears pressing at the corner of his eyes for no discernible reason. I love you. Is that okay?
Dustin crawls up the length of Steve’s body to collapse beside him on the bed, their chests heaving together in matched inhales and exhales. He nuzzles his face into Steve’s cheek, licking lightly at the salty tear that has tracked its way toward his jawline.
“Dustin? Did you hear me?”
“I heard you, Steve,” Dustin murmurs back gently, and Steve feels his chest burn with the intensity of his own love reflected back at him. “I love you, too.”
And Steve knows he does, beyond any shadow of any doubt. Lying there together, the truth suddenly feels so simple and easy. Perhaps it can always be easy. He feels hopeful and safe in a way that he hasn’t in a very long time, Steve realizes. He’s fallen off the precipice and landed somewhere soft and warm.
“Dustin?” Steve whispers again, voice brushing against Dustin’s curls and making them tremble softly.
Dustin makes a small questioning noise against Steve’s shoulder, sounding dopey with exhaustion.
Steve’s hand moves lower on Dustin’s back, rubbing and massaging gently at the strong muscles of his upper thigh and ass. “I want to show you how much I love you, too,” Steve tells Dustin, mouthing at his hair.
So he does.