Geez, well all I’m going to say about this is that it’s for Itzel and Sophie because I’ve abused them over the last few days and well, I guess I’m doing it again. Sorry guys. (Sorry I’m not sorry anyway).
James Diamond rarely spent the night alone. It wasn’t in his nature to resist an offer by someone who looked relatively capable in the bedroom department, and he was easily susceptible to a twittering little, “Take me back to your place,” on the slurred lips of a petite blonde or the command of a deep voice against his ear, “I’m coming over, and you better be ready for me.”
Tonight was a case of the latter, the man in question a subpar actor named Jett Stetson, which sounded ridiculous when called out in the heat of the moment. So James stayed silent, only grunting when Jett got too rough, submitting to the actor’s whims as he fucked him into the bed, long fingers grasping for purchase rather than pleasure.
He usually didn’t mind being called filthy names in bed, but when Jett called him a little bitch it stung, almost more than the hand that struck his ass as ragged thrusts continued to press into him. Jett was a selfish lover, and he was always sore afterward, and not in the glowing way where he walked with a kick in his step and the memories of the night before, but in the way that he felt dirty, unable to scrub himself clean after innumerable showers.
He didn’t know why he did this, participated in this behavior. He liked sex well enough. It relieved the tension in his muscles, pulled tight thanks to his stressful career, and it had its purpose. It was himself he’d begun to hate, especially after numerous nights spent with this greedy bastard, who was cold and unrelenting.
But as of yet, there was nobody more worthwhile than Jett, and when the man pulled out of him at the last moment before coming over his torso, he leaves streaks of white-hot humiliation across James’ back. Unsurprisingly, he was nowhere close himself, but Jett didn’t seem to mind, falling backwards onto the bed to catch his breath.
Wordlessly James stood, closing the door to his bathroom before stepping into the shower. He anchored himself against the shower wall with one arm, jerking off with the other as he worked himself up to his release, the evidence washing down the drain. He meticulously washed his back, sure to remove every trace of Jett from his skin, trying to forget he’d ever been there.
But he had, and he was, pulling his pants back on as James emerged, towel wrapped around his waist. Shamelessly he dropped the towel before crawling into bed, and as much as he disliked Jett, the moment his arms stretched into the empty void on the other side of the mattress, he couldn’t help but make an offer.
"You know, you can stay the night if you want."
Jett scoffed as he pulled on his shirt, “Oh come on Jamie, we both know it’s not like that. We’re not the sleepover type. We get what we need and then we move. We’re vapid and shallow and it works, so why would we want to waste the night cuddling?”
Because cuddling is something humans do to connect with each other. James thinks, before reprimanding himself. They don’t sleep with people they hate; people that make them hate themselves.
Jett grabs his coat off the floor, asking in a manner that shows just how sure of himself he is, “I’ll be hearing from you soon Jamie. Just let me know when you need me to rock your world.”
He had the decency to wait for the door to close before rolling his eyes, pulling the covers up around his naked body, water still pebbled on his skin, just wishing he felt as clean as his body portrayed. Instead he was sick, with himself, with his lifestyle, with the thought that something that had once meant so much to him was now nearly meaningless. He felt one-hundred percent, infallibly worthless.
So like any twenty-three year old with no sense of worth, he curled further into the covers, suffocating himself in his pillow which smelled of lube and a dozen perfumes and colognes that did not belong to him, and he sobbed, trying to wash away the pain that he felt in his heart, which had never been given away, but was trampled all the same.
Hearing the door to his bedroom squeak, he stilled in the darkness, praying it wasn’t Jett returning to retrieve something he’d forgotten. A part of him, a bigger part than he’d like to admit, was relieved to hear a steady voice call his name, “James?”
He grunted into the pillow to show his roommate he was aware, without betraying himself with a voice that was surely as broken as his heart. A step was taken toward the bed, another question asked, “Are you okay?”
Nodding, he knew he fooled no one, least of all his best friend, who wasted no time climbing into bed with him, pulling him into his arms. If he noticed that James was naked, he said nothing of it, and he nuzzled his face into Carlos’ shoulder, smelling cinnamon and Old Spice and focusing in on it, trying to ignore the celebrity-endorsed cologne Jett wore that still clung to his sheets.
"I heard you James. Did he hurt you?" he asked once he’d determined James had calmed down enough to speak, punctuating his words with ministrations on James’ skin.
"I’m sorry, I tried to keep it quiet. He was no rougher than usual just…" James mumbled, but Carlos cut him off.
"Not those sounds James," he explained, before forcing James to look into his eyes, the ultimate trap. "You were crying. What did he do to you?"
"Nothing," he admitted, before curling further into Carlos’ shoulder, mumbling words against his warm skin. He tasted like caramel. "He fucked me and then left, just like they all do. Every single one."
There were no words to console James’ statement, so Carlos pulled him tight around his middle and waited for more. He could hear James breathing heavy in the silence, trying to repress his tears, before a whisper crossed the space between them.
"Am I really vapid and shallow Carlitos? Be honest with me," he asked, and Carlos turned to him in shock.
"Did he say that to you?" Carlos threatened, and when he felt a nod against his chest he began swearing in Spanish, causing James to break the smallest of smiles before sobering.
"He’s right," James concluded. "I care about myself more than anyone else. I’m conceited and selfish, and maybe I don’t deserve someone who will stay the night. Maybe I don’t deserve dinners at fancy restaurants and breakfast in bed. Maybe I don’t deserve to wake up to someone smiling next to me. Maybe I only get the night."
"You deserve someone who will give you every moment. Someone who will make love to you in a way that none of these tools compares to. Someone who will take you out, be seen with you, because they’re proud to be with you. You deserve someone that doesn’t abandon you the moment you’ve served them. You deserve love James, you need to believe that.”
"But I…" he tries, but Carlos stops him again.
"And there are tons of people you care more about. Your friends, your family. You’ve never said as much, but I know you care about me way more than you care about your hair or your biceps or your pouty lips," he rubs his thumb along James’ bottom lip, which forces a smile. "Someone will be lucky to earn your love. Especially with lips like these."
"They’re pretty fabulous, or so I’ve been told," he admitted, chuckling quietly as he felt the pain subside. "Thanks Carlitos."
Spontaneously, he leans to kiss the edge of Carlos’ eyebrow and smiles. His friend allows the affection, smiling back before asking, “So are you okay now?”
"I think so," he decides, but as Carlos moves to leave, he finds he is caught between James’ unrelenting arms. The fear has returned to James’ eyes, and Carlos gives pause as James pleads, "Carlos, I…"
"Just for tonight," he answers before James can finish, though he knows he won’t be able to hold himself to it if James so much as looks at him the right way. Instead of arguing, he pulls James closer, trying to ignore the heat against his thighs where James has pulled the sheet around himself for modesty. It’s hard to be modest when there’s a single pair of boxers and a bed sheet between them.
But James is vulnerable, tonight more than ever, so he switches off the thoughts of moans heard from the other side of the wall and the feeling of James’ fingertips circling his shoulder blade absentmindedly, and falls asleep, content at the feeling of James’ arms around him like a vice, praying he’ll never let go.
The next morning he wakes first, and James is still there, smiling peacefully in his sleep. Well, peaceful is relative when there is an obvious bulge beneath the covers, and Carlos backs off for the sake of propriety, still remaining close enough to feel the warmth of James’ breath against his face. He smiles as James all but purrs, stretching as he wakes, before realizing that he’s not alone.
"Morning," he greets, trying to sound nonchalant but betrayed by his own grin, which takes over most of his face. He pulls Carlos closer, but stills when the older man clears his throat, eyes roaming downward until James finally notices just what parts of him are pressing into Carlos. "Um…I’m sorry, I think it picks up on precious metals…salt deposits…"
And Carlos laughs against him, the awkwardness gone before nuzzling into his neck, “See, I knew I put that salt shaker somewhere. Must have been my boxers.”
"So that’s what that is?" James observes, and Carlos blushes with embarrassment before finding a new assurance in the glimmer of those teasing hazel eyes. He tests the waters by grinding into James, pulling a groan from deep in his throat, and James’ eyes burn into his before he captures the other man’s lips in a heated kiss, all tongues and teeth and repression.
Carlos lets his hands wander under the sheets, clutching James’ ass and pulling him against him, rutting his hips as James begins to do the same, words stuttering as James tries to make this worth something. Because to him it’s worth everything.
Each question is punctuated with a rut of his hips, each answer with Carlos’, until they reach a pattern of desperation and hope, writhing against each other as they work up into a climax.
"Hold me through the night?"
"Take me out, be seen with me?"
“I already do.”
It’s with this promise that James loses it, faster and harder and more than he ever has before, with Carlos following soon after, panting as he pushes the hair back from James’ face, leaving kisses over whatever skin lays unguarded, which is very nearly all of it.
It gets quiet as they catch their breath, and James can’t help but second guess the words said at the height of pleasure, turning on his side to catch warm brown eyes, “Did you mean everything you said?”
"Every word," Carlos promises, before pulling him close again, this time letting his fingers wander over James’ cheeks, kiss a breath over his lips before grazing them, short and sweet, before returning to his pillow where he could observe James in full.
"But am I really worth all of that?" James forces himself to ask, unsure of which answer will hurt least, but Carlos cuts him off again with a look of pure adulation.
"You’re worth so much more," he says, before leaning forward again to graze his lips along James’ brow. "You’re worth everything."