Page 9 of Shared by My Roommate

“Switch. Sawyer, on top of him.”

They break apart, and Sawyer’s eyes find mine in the dark. Then he moves, sitting up, and manhandles Finn onto his back with those big hands, as if Finn weighs nothing. Sawyer settles over him, one knee planted between Finn’s thighs. Finn goes boneless under him, his head tipping back into the pillow, his hair spread out dark against the white case.

“Kiss his neck,” I say. “Use your tongue. He likes being worked over, don’t you, Finn?”

Finn’s answer is a shaky exhale. Sawyer dips his head and presses his mouth to the column of Finn’s throat, and Finn’s whole body jerks. Sawyer drags his tongue up the tendon, and Finn’s hands fly up and grip Sawyer’s shoulders through his t-shirt, his fingers curling into the muscle.

“Shirts off. Both of you.”

Sawyer pushes up on his arms and yanks his t-shirt over his head in one motion, the way athletes do, and the screen light slides over the thick muscles of his back. Finn sits up just enough to peel his own shirt off, and there’s the contrast again: Finn’s pale skin and slim lines against all that gold. Sawyer looks down at him, and his breathing turns audible.

“Keep going,” I tell them.

Sawyer lowers himself, bracing on one forearm, and drags his mouth down Finn’s throat to his collarbone, then lower. Finn’s nipples are peaked, tight and flushed pink against all that porcelain skin. Sawyer’s mouth closes over one, and Finn’s eyes fly open. His hand shoots up, fists in Sawyer’s blond hair, and holds him there. Sawyer freezes for half a second, and then Finn arches up into his mouth, and Sawyer gives in and sucks, his cheeks hollowing, and Finn gasps.

“Are your nipples sensitive?” I ask.

Finn’s eyes find mine, glassy and unfocused. “Yes. Very. Drew never—” He cuts himself off, and I watch him decide not to say that name in this bed.

“Good. Sawyer. The other one.”

Sawyer shifts, dragging his mouth across Finn’s sternum, and closes over the other nipple, and Finn whimpers, his hand still tangled in Sawyer’s hair.

I lean over them and cup Finn’s jaw, turning his face toward me, and kiss him.

He moans straight into my mouth. His free hand comes up and grabs me by the nape, fingers digging into the short hair at the back of my neck. He pulls me in, closer, harder, his tongue sliding against mine with none of the hesitation from earlier. He kisses like he’s starving, and I give it back to him, deep and slow, while below us Sawyer keeps working his chest.

When I finally let Finn’s mouth go, his eyes stay closed.

Sawyer and I move without discussing it, his mouth traveling lower, across Finn’s ribs, mine sliding down along Finn’s shoulder, covering it with kisses. Finn’s hands find both of us, one tangling in Sawyer’s hair and one in mine. Our hands roam. Mine slides down Finn’s stomach and feels the muscles there jump. Sawyer’s arm brushes mine as he reaches up to knead Finn’s chest. We’re a tangle of want, hands and mouths moving wherever it feels good, and the strangest part is how natural it is.

And it’s not like any one of us is drunk. Sawyer and I split two beers hours ago, and Finn drank a soda. There’s no excuse waiting for any of us in the morning. Every one of us knows exactly what this is: a gay college student letting two straight football players have their way with him.

The thought of it shoves me right up against the edge. I’ve been pressing my hips into the mattress without realizing it, and now the pressure builds fast at the base of my spine. I reach into my sweatpants and grip myself hard, tight at the root, and hold still until the urge backs off. Not yet.

Finn whimpers, and I look down. Sawyer has come back up to his chest, his mouth working one nipple while his thumb circles the other, and Finn is squirming under him, his shorts tented, his thighs shifting restlessly.

I let go of myself and slide down the bed until my face is level with Finn’s chest. Sawyer lifts his head and looks at me, his mouth wet, his lips swollen.

He doesn’t say anything, just moves aside and makes room, and I lower my head and take Finn’s nipple between my teeth.

Finn cries out, his hips pushing up into empty air, his whole pale body flushed pink from his face down to his stomach. I suck and rake my teeth over it, and he gasps my name, and Sawyer makes a hungry sound against his other side that vibrates through Finn’s chest into my mouth.

When I glance up, Sawyer is watching me. His mouth is still on Finn’s chest, his tongue dragging one last slow pass over the nipple he’s been working. There’s heat and focus in his eyes. A question and an answer at the same time.

6

Sawyer

Nolan holds my gaze for one more second, and then he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Finn’s shorts. Finn lifts his hips without being asked, that easy trust he’s been showing us all night. Nolan drags the shorts down, and the underwear with them, down the slim length of Finn’s thighs, past his knees, off over his feet. The whole bundle drops over the side of the bed to the floor, and Finn lies back against the pillows, completely naked in front of us.

I stop breathing.

He’s pretty everywhere: the long lines of his legs, the sharp cut of his hipbones, the flat plane of his stomach rising and falling fast, his pale skin flushed pink across his chest and throat.

And his cock. Jesus. It’s hard against his stomach, flushed darker than the rest of him, curved slightly, glistening at the tip. Good size, smaller than mine, but on his slim frame it looks perfect. There’s a neat line of dark hair below his navel, and his balls are drawn up tight. He has one arm thrown over his eyes, as if he can’t watch us looking at him, and his chest is heaving.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Nolan says, as if reading my thoughts, and shifts down the bed.