In the Closet (boy x boy)

5. Wet Dreams and Staggering Absence [M]

Monday, March 6th

In its striking voidness, my mind can only spell out a single word: Tavish.

My skin crawls with pleasurable shivers, nearly naked against the damp air of my room.
Tavish.
My back arches as an orgasm waves through me and ebbs away.
Tavish, Tavish.
I open my eyes, gazing down at the lump under my thin sheets; a head settled between my bony thighs.
Tavish, Tavish, Tavish.

He extracts himself slowly. Tavish. I feel fulfilled, complete. I'm not even surprised when our eyes meet. His presence reveals itself to be somewhat soothing. Eyes beaming at me, full of adoration I can't recognize, he's really there. The room smells like sex. Maybe we've had sex. I can't stop myself from raising a trembling hand and cupping his face. His skin burns against mine. I almost moan at the contact. I barely believe it as I watch flush color his cheeks. Did I do that? Sun flashes through the blinds in front of the window. I pray my parents aren't home to witness this, whatever this even is.

"Tavish," I surprise myself drawling.

He chuckles, sliding a warm hand up from my outer thigh, to my hip, to my naked waist. I'm only wearing a shirt and it's bunched up over my chest. My hair sticks to my forehead. I decide to screw everything and pass my fingers through Tavish's wavy dark mane. It's so soft and bears an inviting smell. I feel a prickle within me, something a bit like adoration but stronger and steadier and surer. I can't recognize myself. I can't recognize him. He nearly purs as I massage his scalp, lowering his head down to rest against my hammering chest. Against my hip, his raging erection remains, trapped. I want to touch it. I want to touch all over him. From his strong legs tangled with mine, to the vast plane between his hipbones, to his toned stomach, to his pulmp chest, to his handsome face. It's overwhelming.

"Can I...?" I ask, already travelling a curious hand down.

"Please. I might implode." He speaks more elaborately than rumored. His accent rolls thick on his tongue as I hold him and stroke leisurely.

He whimpers. My self-control breaches, the damage is irreparable. I inch my mouth further and further. He doesn't reject me. Instead, his eyes roll back and he closes them. Our lips collide into a heated kiss. The room fills with wet sounds. He tastes salty from sweat, murky from sex, a bit bitter from his earlier activities. By the time he comes in stripes of white in my hand, I think I might have just fallen in love. I long for him, even as he lays right besides me. It's dangerous. I can't get enough. I curl against his body, itching to be even closer.

And that's how I end up somehow farther that ever. I'm in bed, alone, hot and bothered. Restless neediness hadn't tormented me in my teenage years until now. I relive the dream slowly, in slight disbelief. Did I just have a wet dream about Tavish McCloud? Worse, did I dream I was in love with the asshole he is? The sensual adoration lacing the neat arrangement of interactions troubles me as I resume my morning routine, desperately "phoneless". I wear ample pants to hide my undeniable erection, too disturbed to try and rid myself of it without revisiting the fantasies of my unconscious.

There are multiple reasons why my brain might have fed me this lewd, private image of Tavish:

- Because he's undeniably hot.
- Because he has nice hands.
- Because I saw that obscene story of his.
- Because I witnessed his tongue deep inside another guy's gullet.
- Because he hit me, potentially injuring my head and affecting my brain's functioning.
- Because I don't even like girls.
- Because I find boys a tad more appealing.
- Because he possibly made me go through a late, precarious sexual awakening.
- Because I might be missing some type of sexual activity in my daily life.
- Because I'm lonely and a barely decent interaction is enough to send my mind spinning.
- Because I might genuinely want him.