Kiss and Cry

I didn’t even know what I was saying, but Henry listening to my bullshit like it mattered was somehow what I needed. He ushered me through the side entrance to the hotel using his key card and then through another door. Stopping, I blinked at the gray stairwell.

“We shouldn’t run into anyone this way,” Henry said.

Duh, of course. The hotel was full of skating people—from skaters to judges to coaches to federation officials to fans. The lobby and bar downstairs would be crammed.

Nodding gratefully, I plodded up the stairs, Henry still attentive at my side as if he was afraid I was going to fall or something.

Outside my door, I fumbled for the key card, which I’d fortunately zipped into my jacket pocket. A thought floated by. “How did you know this is my room?”

He shrugged, looking at the striped carpet. “I’m in four-oh-five.”

“Oh. Right. I guess that makes sense we’re on the same floor.” I shoved the card into the reader, and the light flashed red. I tried again. Red. I wiggled the metal handle as if that would help.

Fingers brushing my wrist, Henry eased the card out of my grip and flipped it around before sliding it into the reader. Green.

Laughing somewhat hysterically, I pushed inside. “Thanks.” I unzipped my jacket, fingers shaking and cold, and dropped it. Henry watched from the threshold, keeping the heavy door open. “Thanks,” I repeated. “I’d probably have gotten stupidly lost. Thanks.”

He nodded. He took a breath, and I thought maybe he was going to say something? Then he nodded again and eased back, and the door was going to thud shut and I’d never hear what he was going to say.

“What?” I demanded desperately. I tried to smile. “What did you—” I waved my hand toward him.

Henry only watched me with that cute little furrow between his brows. Wait, was it cute? I mean, it was. There was no debating it—the furrow was adorable. Had I always thought that? Maybe. I wasn’t sure. Did it matter?

“Will you watch a movie with me?” I blurted before he could disappear. “Please?”

For a horrible moment, I thought he might say no, but he nodded. “We should shower first.”

My mind exploded with images of steam and Henry’s slick, naked skin, desire rocketing through me and leaving a trail like a comet. I could barely breathe, knees unsteady, my dick going hard. Before I could respond, the door swung shut, and he was gone.

I had to laugh because Henry had obviously meant we should shower alone, which made all the sense since it would be very weird to shower together considering we’d never even kissed.

But fuck, I was dying to.

I tore off my wet clothes and practically dove into the shower, my cock so hard it almost hurt. Under a stream of wonderfully hot water, I flattened one palm against the white tile wall, leaning forward as I stroked myself roughly.

My head filled with visions of Henry’s mouth and tongue and hands and the firm lines of his lean body against me, but this time we weren’t in the rain with our clothes on. We kissed and rubbed together in my mind as I toyed with my foreskin, legs spread for balance.

I imagined him behind me. Inside me. Grunting in my ear with hot breath, filling me, coming inside me. I traced the sensitive ridge along my shaft, wondering what Henry would sound like when he let go. Wondering what he’d sound like moaning and groaning as our wet skin slapped together.

My balls tightened, pressure building through my body as I strained and stroked harder, my cock throbbing in my familiar grasp. What would Henry’s hand feel like on me? His mouth? What would he taste like?

Seizing tight, I shot my load over the tiles, shuddering, my groans muffled in the steamy enclosure. I milked myself and fondled my balls, little sparks licking up my spine. With my elbow bent and forearm against the tiles, I cushioned my forehead on my arm, panting.

Well. Either it had been way too long since I’d hooked up or I really, truly wanted to get busy with Henry. A lot.

I laughed, and maybe I was losing it, but damn, I really wanted to fuck Henry. Not just fuck. I wished he was holding me like he had on the street, strong and stable while these bursts of grief and hysteria came and went.

But what did Henry want? Was he only being nice to me? It had to be that. Or he was being a good friend because he’d proven himself a kind person underneath his uptight, careful exterior. He’d seemed so humorless over the years, but really he was shy and careful.

Could I make him moan and come and laugh and lose control?

I stayed in the shower too long imagining it, my dick twitching. I was barely into the white, terrycloth hotel robe when there was a soft knock at the door. My ears burned as I tightened the sash around my waist. Here was Henry being generous by hanging out with me, and I was jerking off about him. He’d be horrified.