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To say Kevin sounds like a porn star would be an understatement. He sounds like porn itself, making the kind of noises that Andrew isn’t used to hearing outwith the privacy of his most enticing dreams, the kind that sends blood pounding southwards until he isn’t sure whether he wants to kill Kevin or fuck him senseless. Usually, it’s the latter that wins out.
Kevin, dead to the world and likely to stay that way until his fourth or fifth alarm call, has no idea of the sounds he’s making. He never does; the first he usually knows of it is from the assortment of pissed, horrified and lewd glances he receives from across the breakfast table the following morning. Then his cheeks will turn a fire-truck shade of red that spreads from the tips of his ears to the back of his neck, and Andrew will start counting the seconds until he can get Kevin alone.
They’ll be skipping the public humiliation today; it’s just the two of them, Andrew on the top bunk, Kevin below, and a long, lazy day of nothing ahead of them. Nothing but Kevin’s long, low groans that strike a chord deep in Andrew’s gut.
Kevin has, according to Andrew’s calculations, tried six different brands of sleeping pill, two doctors, and has even resorted to bullshit hippy pre-sleep yoga. None have cured him of his nocturnal noise-making, and Andrew is quietly relieved. He may not enjoy hiding the occasional boner from the dorm’s other occupants, but on days like today…
On days like today, when they have the dorm to themselves, they have an arrangement. It took Andrew time to understand it, to grow accustomed to it, to accept that Kevin wanted it, deeply and desperately in a way that he could barely put into words beyond the strangled gasping of Andrew’s name. Even when Kevin sat Andrew down and told him to his face, I want to wake up with your dick in me, Andrew had struggled. But from the first morning Kevin rose from a night of filthy, guttural moaning to find Andrew’s cock already buried inside him, Andrew knew there would be no going back for either of them.
He checks as he’s climbing down the ladder that Kevin has left the right signal for Andrew: his keys sitting out on the bedside table, his private, silent yes. Tucked out of sight in the pocket of his jeans and it’s no, but today they wink in the slice of light filtering through the window as Andrew’s feet hit the linoleum floor. Kevin is still doing his Sleeping Beauty impression as Andrew slides over him to slot himself in the space where bed meets wall. Kevin’s bed smells of sweat and body spray and old novels with yellowing pages, but Andrew wants to do nothing but bury his face into Kevin’s sheets until there’s no air left in his lungs.
Kevin’s second yes is a small bottle hidden between the mattress and the headboard, because Kevin is nothing if not forward-thinking. Kevin twitches at the first cold press of Andrew’s lubed finger against him, but otherwise doesn’t move save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. In sleep, Kevin is loose, unwound, relaxed in a way that he can never manage awake. Andrew soon swaps one finger for two, marvelling at the slow, easy glide. When he rubs over a particular spot, Kevin sighs deeply, and Andrew stills, wondering if Kevin will wake.
The strange thing is that the lewd sounds that roused Andrew from sleep always seem to peter out as Andrew starts opening Kevin up, as though his fingers are relieving the desperation from Kevin’s subconscious. Instead he goes silent, leaving only their breathing and the faint sounds of Andrew’s thrusts to fill the room.
Andrew bites down on his lip as he pushes in with a third finger and holds his position, his breaths falling in time with Kevin’s as he lets them both adjust to the stretch. Finally, Andrew withdraws, and there’s a strange, sad hiccup in Kevin’s breath which Andrew chooses to ignore in favour of rolling a condom over himself. Kevin is loose-limbed and as malleable as putty as Andrew shifts him into place, and when he finally presses in there isn’t an inch of tension in his body. Andrew sighs, curls his arms around Kevin and presses his face to his chest, breathing him in. Kevin’s exhales brush warm against the crown of his head, a constant reassurance. Andrew never imagined he could be comfortable with this, even enjoy it, but there is a certain attraction in being able to be vulnerable without being observed, a certain peace that settles deep in his chest from the memory of Kevin’s reassurances, I want it, I want it, I want you.
The pressure and heat are overwhelming, but Andrew forces himself to still, breaths shallow as he waits for the desperate need for movement to pass. Little by little, the tension leaks from his body, and the desperation turns to something warmer, more comfortable. He sinks into Kevin like melting butter as the minutes tick by, and before he knows it he’s almost asleep.
Andrew isn’t sure what wakes Kevin at last, whether the movement of sunlight behind the curtains reached some part of Kevin’s subconscious or whether their combined body heat surpassed ignorable levels. Andrew’s first warning of Kevin’s stirring is the slightest tilt of his hips as Kevin twitches unconsciously into him.
Andrew is awake and alert in an instant, but the same cannot be said for Kevin: his eyes flutter but do not open, and Andrew knows he’s still a few minutes short of full awareness. Andrew responds by shifting Kevin’s arms up and pressing his wrists into the pillows by his head. The slight shift of Andrew’s weight prompts more movement from Kevin, something closer to a thrust against him. Andrew can feel Kevin’s erection now too, pressing into his abdomen as though begging for attention. Andrew pushes into it, pinning Kevin down with the weight of his body, and finally Kevin’s eyes flick open.
Kevin already looks so fucked out that Andrew struggles to keep himself from finishing there and then. His pupils are blown wide and dark, cheeks flushed, drool glistening at the corner of his mouth. His gaze is glassy, sharpening only when he finds Andrew, and a full-body shiver runs through him as his mind catches up with the rest of him. His arms flex against the pressure of Andrew’s hands, testing the strength of his restraint, and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards.
“Andrew,” Kevin says, and it sounds like a prayer. Andrew responds by capturing Kevin’s lips with his and shoving his tongue as far down Kevin’s throat as it will go. Kevin’s delighted response rumbles through him like the baseline to a club song, and Andrew wants more of it, sinking his teeth into Kevin’s lips and neck until he’s filled with it.
Some days, Andrew draws their game out, holding Kevin down and edging him relentlessly, lightly tracing fingertips across his chest, his abdomen, his inner thighs. Kevin starts with impatient growls and incessant grumbling, but Andrew is deaf to his complaints, sometimes stopping his movements altogether to just sit, watching as Kevin struggles not to squirm around Andrew’s cock. After the grumbling comes the moaning, low and desperate and wordless, broken apart by the occasional whine. Then, the twitching as Kevin tips into some kind of pre-orgasmic overstimulation, as though every inch of his skin is suddenly allergic to touch. Twitching tips into trembling, and it’s all Andrew can do to keep himself under control as Kevin shifts and clenches endlessly around him. The last stage is the most rewarding of all, only reached after hours of patient teasing on Andrew’s part. Kevin’s body sinks into statue-like stillness as though he has dropped into some dark, peaceful subspace. In the complete silence that accompanies it Andrew knows from the tears beading in Kevin’s eyes that it’s time to award him his release.
The orgasm, when he grants it, is usually no grand affair, and nor does it need to be. Like the cutting of a taunt string, Kevin finishes with a gasp and the dribble of cum hitting his stomach before he melts into a boneless mass for Andrew to clean up and take care of. It’s a nice tradition, Andrew thinks, and it keeps Kevin from bugging him about practice for a few hours longer.
But today, Andrew is hungry, and Kevin is far too restless already. He’s saying Andrew’s name over and over like he thinks it will get him somewhere, so Andrew relinquishes his grip on one of his wrists to shove two fingers into Kevin’s mouth. Kevin responds by clawing at his pillow with his free hand so frantically that Andrew is amazed he doesn’t rip right through the fabric. He murmurs something indistinct around Andrew’s fingers that could be a curse as easily as a prayer, and the sound buzzes the length of Andrew’s body until he relinquishes and replaces his fingers with his lips once more.
“Andrew,” Kevin says into his mouth as he hooks his legs around Andrew’s thighs. Andrew knows he’s seeking something quick and rough, which makes Andrew all the more inclined to deny him. “Andrew.”
“Sssh,” Andrew smooths his hand from Kevin’s jawline down to his throat, clenching there briefly before stroking down across his chest where he pauses to thumb at each nipple. The pressure on his dick isn’t something he can ignore much longer, but Andrew’s entire life is a war of self-control, and he has no intention of losing it now. He trails his fingers across Kevin’s belly, lets them drag through the course hair between the V of his hips before he finally takes Kevin’s dick in hand. “Good,” Andrew says when Kevin stills at last. “Maybe there’s still some hope for you.”
Kevin swallows down whatever sound tries to escape him as Andrew rubs his thumb across the slit.
He’s so easy it’s painful: one jerk, two, three, and Kevin is coming, head thrown back, mouth dropping open, whole body taunt and perfectly, perfectly silent. Andrew waits until Kevin is no longer shaking before pulling out. He makes a fist around his cock and strips himself ruthlessly, ignoring Kevin’s starry gaze as he finishes with a groan.
The first thing Kevin does when Andrew has wiped them both down and abandoned the towel to the wasteland of the dormitory floor is yawn.
“You just woke up,” Andrew says flatly.
“And then you knocked me out all over again,” Kevin replies drowsily. He reaches out to hook open the drawer of the bedside table with his pinkie finger and swipes his keys in. “Sleep with me.”
“I just did.”
“You know what I mean.”
He does. Together, in silence, they sleep.