Jt Compher - Tumblr Posts
media team keeps feeding us | via the colorado avalanche story 1.18.21
LOOK WHAT GABE POSTED TODAY AHHHH
me @ how the avs are playing
(yes i made this)
LOOK WHAT GABE POSTED ON HIS STORY OH GOD HE CAN BE HIS OWN BIG BROTHER
they’re triplets
JT Compher and Tyson Jost
“just like fire.”
22/? NHL Bromances: Tyson Jost & JT Compher (Colorado Avalanche)
Grace if you ever felt so inclined to write a Compher/Jost threesome I wouldn’t complain, that’s all I’m gonna say
𝐆𝐎 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆.
￫ pairing(s): jt compher x reader x tyson jost (college au)
￫ synopsis: how else would you spend the last thursday of your college career besides fucking everyone's favorite big/little duo?
￫ warning(s): drinking + alcohol mention, swearing, 18+ content - MINORS DNI or you will be blocked.
￫ word count: 11k
author's note: i listened to this while writing :) (and yes, i delayed releasing this because i wanted to add more, you're welcome)
main masterlist
The air in Atomic, the dive bar local university students claimed as their own much to the owner’s chagrin, was thick with an array of emotions. Though, excitement hummed most prominently.
It was the last Thursday of the semester and the majority of the crowd, either clustered around tall pub tables or waiting at the bar, had turned in their remaining finals just a few hours prior and were now celebrating their first night of true freedom.
It was the eve of reprieve and it was wonderful.
For some, it was their last final exam ever. That final box to check. Tonight marked their entrance into full adulthood. A life without the relative safety and security of a structured education system was as exhilarating as it was daunting.
This overwhelming concoction was familiar to you, having been the constant state of your existence for the better part of the last several months, if not the past eight semesters.
In two days, you would be walking across a stage carefully erected on the pristine football field to accept your metaphorical ticket into the "real world." Or, at the very least, the faux-leather cover that would eventually house your diploma once it arrived in the mail. And then you'd just be done.
Free.
Following the movement of your tassel from right to left, signifying the completion of your undergraduate experience, you'd probably take a final stroll around campus. A victory lap of sorts.
Yes, they were just buildings. A collection of cement and brick and glass. But they became something more. As the years passed, memories both good and bad moved into every nook and cranny until the roughly ninety acres were overflowing with sentimentality.
Maybe you'd cry. Maybe you wouldn't. Maybe the floodgates would hold until you stacked the last box in the trunk of your car. Maybe they'd stick through the summer and you wouldn't feel the weight of closure until the upcoming fall semester started without you. Now wasn't the time for tears, though. They could wait one more night.
Tonight was for laughter and off-key singing, peanut shell-covered floors and celebration.
By the time you finally got to Atomic, the line was already wrapped around the perimeter of the building. Groups of college students, most of them underage and nervously fiddling with fake IDs, bled out into the street just far enough to inconvenience the locals.
No one ever called the cops, though. They just swerved around them, honking and shouting their discontent as though it'd actually make a difference.
The bar crawl-hopefuls would carry on obliviously, blinded by their fervent hunger for adult independent and far too consumed by the bustling environment. The world was at their fingertips, brimming with opportunity, and that felt more important on than being considerate.
Tyler Nelson's barback was waiting nervously at the side door when you walked over, hand shaking around an unlit cigarette.
Davis wasn't a smoker. He hated the way it felt in his chest and the taste it left on his tongue, but he usually had a fresh pack tucked in the front pocket of his jeans. He liked to have one of the milky sticks balanced between his fingers when Tyler sent him to let you in through the storeroom because he thought it made him look less suspicious.
You always thought that loitering in a dark alley with a pristine cigarette while shaking like a chihuahua looked more dubious than just standing on the steps. But, you knew Davis was at least two tinfoil hats too far from logic to understand your thought process.
When he opened the dented metal door with more force than necessary, it creaked in protest as though it knew everything was about to change and couldn't imagine anything worse. The sound almost made you sad.
But the ache didn't last. It didn't even have time to settle in your stomach. Instead, it was forced from your chest with a violent thud. It then scurried across the floor and huddled behind a crate of bottles from a recent shipment.
Davis had knocked over an entire metal sheet of freshly cut lemons and limes and the crash was thunderous. He yelped so loudly you were surprised no one came running back to investigate the sudden commotion. He mumbled something apologetically before dashing after the runaway fruit, and you suspected it was actually directed more towards the citrus wedges than to you.
Tyler's job was incredibly convenient for you because he worked almost every night of the week. It was like having a FastPass to the most coveted attraction in the city, though that wasn't saying much.
After routine X-rays revealed a cervical spinal injury mere months into his first year at State, Tyler's schedule understandably became more flexible. While it allowed him to act as a permanent cheat code for his friends and family, it wasn't the kind of social capital he, or the greater hockey community, expected.
Tyler’d been scouted his sophomore year of high school and was verbally offered a full ride. He was on track to enter the league after graduation, but his NHL career ended before it even began.
Now, he was serving cheap beer to pastel-colored polo shirts and boat shoes and vodka sodas with "Just a little splash of cran, thank you!" to enthusiastic Comm majors in matching earth-tone Aritzia Melina pants and UO corset tops, their gold hoops swaying as they deliberately lean closer to him.
They would inevitably blame it on the loud music or the rowdy crowd, but it was obviously a poor excuse to bask in his presence - even if the proximity and flirtatious nature of the interaction was all-but outlined in his job description.
You'd been that way once, too. Eagerly vying for the affection of the retired Golden Boy with the too-handsome face, cool confidence radiating off his hard body in steady ripples. He was the first guy you'd paid real attention to at school and you couldn't regret it. Tyler was sweet and funny. He had a good head on his shoulders and an even better heart nestled in his chest.
They say you shouldn't be friends with your exes, but you could hardly call Tyler an "ex." Just a summer fling never capable of lasting past a single season. It wasn't intended to.
"There she is!" he'd called over his shoulder when you pushed through the heavy storeroom door, smile white and bright as he squirted something fizzy into a plastic cup with a Bud Light logo. "I was starting to get worried."
The infliction of his voice was flirtatious only out of familiarity, but his herd of admirers hadn't understood that. Once warm and gleeful, their eyes turned stony and sharp as they'd shifted to you - the usurper of Adonis' attention. When you'd casually waved him off as you stepped out from behind the bar, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Though, if they knew who was waiting for you just a few feet away, the envy would still be burning a hole in their lungs.
Across the room, two familiar heads bobbed with laughter in one of Atomic's highly coveted booths. With their cracked black leather seats and uneven tables that teetered more often than they stood still, they weren't anything special. Unless you'd just spent an hour shivering outside in an ungodly long line or wobbling around in the world's most uncomfortable shoes while trying to get Tyler attention at the bar. Or, it was a special occasion and you were celebrating.
Clear green eyes caught yours and immediately brightened with jovial recognition. Kate, your little, enthusiastically waved you over. Her creamy cheeks were flushed so deeply that her freckles disappeared under the bright, rosy color. When she pulled you down next to her, the ends of her fiery hair tickled the bare skin of your shoulder. The crisp green apple scent of her shampoo wafted into your nose in thick, comforting waves.
"Do I even want to know what unthinkable crime you committed to get this table?" you now ask jokingly as you settle in beside her.
You seriously doubt she spent the afternoon holed up in Atomic, ferociously guarding the booth like many more dedicated patrons did in preparation for busier nights.
Kate was recently elected chapter president of your sorority and has spent every waking moment since meeting with delegates from other Greek organizations, local chapter advisors, and contacts from Nationals. She loved you, there was no doubt about that, but there was absolutely no way she would slack so early in her presidency. Especially not for a shitty booth at the town's dive bar.
She shrugs and says, “Absolutely nothing. Though, I might've mentioned our plans to Tyler when he came by the house with the event contract for Fall Formal and then he might've said he'd make sure we wouldn't have to fight freshmen or townies for a booth." She winks conspiratorially and then sighs. "You know, it’s really unfair for someone that smokin' hot to also be a genuinely nice person."
Kate pauses again and pins you with a disapproving glare, "Tell me again, what possessed you to break up with him?"
You roll your eyes, like you do every time she tries to scold you about everyone's favorite bartender. "I didn't break up with him," you say pointedly. "We decided we're better as friends. The operative word being 'we,' Kate."
Someone scoffs across the table.
When you shift your attention away from Kate, amber eyes are waiting for yours and above them, one groomed brow is raised in challenge. It's daring you to engage in the same silly argument you'd been having for over a year now. His mouth, poised behind the neck of a bottle that matched his eyes, was quirked up into a knowing grin.
The truth of the "break-up" lived between yourself, Tyler, and unfortunately, JT. You'd all decided it was best to keep it that way. Though, you wouldn't think so based on how often the latter tries to force it to the surface.
Why? You'd never know. It wouldn't benefit anyone, but especially not Tyler, to whom JT bore a certain level of loyalty to regardless of which way his friendship oscillated. They always seemed to be caught between friendship and rivalry while you sat comfortably in the former with both.
“What?” you ask, head tilting to the side in warning.
“You decided you were better as friends. He just went along with it,” JT says matter-of-factly.
Your brow now mirrors his. "And you know this how?"
JT then quiets, shaking his head in resignation, thinking better of it. "Never mind," he says, "I'll be at the bar fighting for another —" his forearm flexes distractingly as he shakes the nearly empty bottle in the air, "if anyone needs me."
As he moves to stand, the booth groans. It already misses his weight and is begging him to stay. Which was more than could be said for you, as relief settles between your shoulder blades.
Oddly, he seemed more determined tonight. Most nights he'd get a few jabs in, rarely anything new or creative, and dutifully retreat once you were sufficiently riled up. Purely for amusement. Not tonight, though. Maybe forcing the embarrassing truth into the world was his sick idea of a parting gift.
But would letting everything out into the open really be so bad? You were leaving this place and most of these people behind soon. Did it really matter if they knew?
"Please don't hate me," Kate whispers once he's out of earshot, snapping you out of your internal monologue before you can recklessly spiral any further.
She squeezes your forearm apologetically, her little white purse already slung over her shoulder. She must've done that while you were bickering with JT. Kate's mostly looking at you with her soft green eyes, but her attention is noticeably split between you and the front entrance.
You sigh knowingly. "He's already on his way, isn't he?"
"Waiting outside, actually," she says, her smile weak and remorseful.
She then looks down, picking at what's left of the shimmery blue nail polish on her thumbnail as she waits for you to speak. Kate may have a bad habit of ducking out early in favor of spending time with her shitty on-again-off-again boyfriend, but she would never leave if you told her to stay.
"Go," you say as you mercifully tilt your head in the direction of the door.
Kate squeals appreciatively and throws her arms around your neck. "You're the best big ever!" She then releases you, grinning like she's just won the lottery. Her hands stay on your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Don't let me ruin your last college night out, though. Promise me you'll go out with a bang?"
"I promise," you say noncommittally and more for her benefit than yours.
She quickly pecks you on the cheek before jumping up from the booth. As she weaves through the crowd, her right hand raises. She waves vaguely in the direction of the bar, the charm bracelet looped around her wrist jumps up and down with each jerky motion. Subconsciously, you fiddle with the matching one clipped around yours.
Kate picked them out during your chapter's annual sisterhood retreat last year. They were at the register of a cheesy gift shop near the town's only gas station, buried in a plastic bucket of other touristy trinkets. Kate dug around until she found the only two that matched and insisted on buying them. A fair few of the charms hadn't even made it back to campus and the metal was now turning an unappealing greenish brown color, but you'd never part with it.
In less than a week, you'd be in a new city in an empty apartment and it will be the only thing you have of her with you. Tears well in the corners of your eyes, but you shove your melancholy aside before they can escape.
In need of a distraction, you seek out something else to hold your attention. Luckily, the Atomic is never lacking in people-watching options.
There's a group of underclassmen tensely whispering by the jukebox. They're doing their best to blend in, wearing mostly-appropriate attire and nodding their heads along to "Everlong" by Foo Fighters, but the older you get, the more obvious inexperience becomes.
Now, they're trying to get one of the boys to approach the bar. He's shaking his head, worriedly clutching his fake ID in his palm. Tyler wouldn't serve him or anyone else in the group tonight, but he wouldn't kick them out either. He'd rather them hang out here under his watchful eye than get into trouble anywhere else.
Losing interest in their plight, you scan the room for something more exciting. You find it leaning against the long, wooden bar in a tight, plain black t-shirt, a lazy grip on a beer bottle, and all the boyish charm in the world. Tyson Jost's cheeks are flushed, the color standing out against the pearly vibrance of his smile, as he shamelessly flirts with the girl standing beside him.
She looks familiar, but you don't place her until she throws her head back laughing at something he's said. It's Ava, one of your chapter's spring initiates and one of Kate's personal favorites. For days, all you heard about was Ava Meyers from Steamboat Springs, Colorado and how she was the future of Zeta Beta Zeta. Apparently she had more philanthropic experience than any other person in her recruitment class and a Goldendoodle named Benny after the character from her older brother's favorite movie, The Sandlot. You didn't know her well personally, but she could've been your grand-little had Sarah Jones not stolen her right out from Kate's nose.
Ava inches closer to the handsome sophomore as he brushes a few strands of dark hair over her shoulder. It's a move you've seen him do countless times before. He'd even tried it on you the first time you met - and it almost worked. More recently, he'd done it with Kate. She'd folded instantly.
You can't fault him for recycling. If it works, it works.
The pretty freshman visibly shudders as his fingertips gently linger on her bare skin. The reaction doesn't go unnoticed by Tyson, who subtlety lowers them until they're fully resting on her arm. His thumb moves back and forth as he listens to her speak animatedly. To her, the movement probably appears mindless but drenched in unspoken meaning. Like some kind of physical manifestation of their chemistry. So, she returns the affection. Ava's hand glides over his bicep and to his forearm as she leans closer. Tyson beams. She's exactly where he wanted her, but she doesn't mind.
Over her head, Tyson catches your stare and winks. You shake your head, chuckling, and he raises his beer in mock-salute. He then rifles around the back pocket of his jeans and tosses a few extra bills out for Tyler. Ava's face falls, visibly upset their time together is being cut short. Sensing the shift in her mood, Tyson leans down to whisper something in her ear that makes her blush profusely. As she turns back to her friends, he pushes off the wooden bar and struts toward your booth.
"Where'd Strawberry Shortcake run off to?" Tyson asks as he slides beside you, Ava forgotten. "Something urgent come up at the berry patch?"
You almost feel bad for the freshman, but after two semesters she should know Tyson Jost may be a lot of things but someone’s boyfriend wasn’t one of them.
"And you wonder why Kate won't give you the time of day," JT quips, appearing out of nowhere and just at the right time.
Wordlessly, he slides a chilled bottle across the table to you and you smile appreciatively.
Tyson shoots him a look of pure annoyance. "Just because you two are in some Ginger Alliance doesn't mean you always have to take her side, Compher. Especially when she's not even here."
"That's exactly what an alliance means, kid," you say, reaching up to affectionately ruffle his curls until he bats your hand away.
A blush creeps from his cheeks to the tip of his nose. As much as he hates being treated like the baby of the friend group, he loves the attention more. Especially when it's coming from you. His crush, harmless and manageable, was a secret to no one.
"Whatever," he grumbles before persisting. "So, where is she? Did she spontaneously combust? I mean, it would make sense considering how hot she is."
JT smiles, approval deep in the corners of his mouth. The two of them were as aptly matched as Kate and yourself.
"I never thought I'd be saying this, but I'm really going to miss that," you say, hand gesturing towards the eager look on Tyson's face. Your voice cracks a little at the end, betraying just how emotional you've become.
"Hey!" JT butts in, the fresh bottle abruptly pausing between his lips and the table. "No sappy bullshit and absolutely no crying. We all agreed to have a normal, tear-free night and you are not ruining it because of something that came out of that perv's mouth." He lifts his chin in the direction of his little.
"I feel like you're redirecting your mixed emotions about your impending graduation - which is a significant milestone in Western cultures and the beginning of a new life chapter, towards me in the form of anger. I just want you to know that we," he slings a lean, muscular arm around your shoulders, his fingers tickling the skin the same way they brushed over Ava's earlier, "...are here for you if - or when, you want to talk about it."
JT tosses a dented beer cap at Tyson's head. The younger man sees it just in time to duck out of the way and collides with the wall instead of his forehead.
"Just because you were a Psych major for two seconds —"
"— two semesters," Tyson amends.
"Two seconds," JT says, undeterred, "Doesn't mean you can 'shrink' people whenever you feel like it."
Tyson rolls his eyes as he tilts his head a little to the side. "Uh, I think that's exactly what it means."
"Gunnar picked Kate up," you loudly interject before the bickering can escalate.
Their heads snap to you.
"You better be joking," Tyson groans, visibly defeated as he sinks further into the worn black leather. "I thought we finally shook that loser after Winter Formal when he threatened to dunk your president's date in the water fountain. Kate was so fucking pissed." He chuckles, brightening at the memory. "I genuinely thought steam was going to come out of her ears."
"I thought so too," you say honestly with a shrug.
"How could you let this happen?" he whines. "Next year was supposed to be my chance to finally put the moves on her with you two overbearing idiots out of the picture. It's impossible to mack on a lady with the 'rents hanging around."
You balk. "How could I let this happen? Last time I checked, Kate is a grown-ass woman who makes her own decisions. Not good ones, obviously, but her own."
"$10 says they don't make it through the summer," JT says after a lazy sip.
Tyson's eyes light at the prospect of both the challenge and the potential rewards - money and the girl. "$20 says they break up before fall Rush."
"You can't seriously be betting against my little's relationship right now," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. "Have you no shame?"
"So, you don't want in?" Tyson asks, brow raised like he knows you better than that.
He does, in fact, know you better than that.
"$30 says they make it to Thanksgiving, but end things for good before New Year's Eve."
Both boys smile, knowing it was going to be a good night if they managed to get you wrapped up in one of their schemes already.
“So, last night on Earth,” Tyson shifts the conversation and you snort. He had a flare for the dramatics. It was one of the first things you noticed about him and now, loved most. “You’ve jumped in the all the tradition-mandated fountains, you’ve rubbed the bronze statue in the quad's nose for good luck and good health…anything else we need to check off the list before the sun sets on your collegiate careers?”
JT looks at you, gaze tinged with years of pendular lust hindered by platonic conventions. The flicker disappears as quickly as it arose. So swiftly that you think you might've imagined it altogether.
Tyson clears his throat, navigating to his point on his own. “I can’t believe you’ve never fucked. You’ve kissed though, right?”
His question sends you back four years to an overflowing basement and too-loud EDM.
"Looks like we both made it out of Rush alive," a younger JT shouts, nodding towards your white t-shirt denoting your recent bid acceptance, and then opens his arms as though he's the king of the fraternity house and not a freshly minted pledge.
"Looks like it," you echo, nodding.
A nervous silence rises between you.
JT Compher wasn't a stranger, but you didn't know if you could call him a friend yet either.
You'd recently been paired up for a project in one of your general education courses and it went well, but you hadn't spoken much outside of class. Except for the occasional address exchange for a kickback or house party within walking distance of the freshman dorms. Or, the one time he'd invited you to watch him play.
You remember being surprised by the invitation. It wasn't like you needed a formal invitation to attend a game. You went to a hockey school. Everyone went to home games. But, for some unknown reason, he'd extended one. You were embarrassed to admit you screenshotted the text and it still lived in your camera roll, as well as your suite's group chat.
In the week leading up to the fateful game, you convinced yourself it was something more than it actually was. You'd been crushed afterward when he made no move to take things to a romantic level. You hadn't either, but the ball felt like it was in his court.
So, you'd made peace with a potential future friendship.
"I have to be honest," he starts, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. Your heart skips a beat. "I was really excited when I saw you walk in earlier."
You decide to play it cool. "Earlier? Why didn't you say something then?"
"Dunno," JT shrugs. "You make me nervous. I guess I needed a little time to work up the courage to come and talk to you."
You made him nervous? Highly unlikely.
"Yeah, sure."
He opens his mouth, presumably to argue, but is cut off.
"Compher! Are you trying - and failing, to put the moves on this lovely lady?" Gabe Landeskog, the current president of Alpha Chi, asks your classmate. His question isn't directed at you but his eyes are trailing up and down your body with unashamed appreciation.
Panic streaks across JT's eyes. "Uh, um, I-I...W-we're just friends."
"Is that so?" the president asks, eyes skeptically darting between you. "Doesn't look that way to me. It looks like you're floundering. And we can't have that in this chapter, now can we?"
You can feel the fear radiating off of JT as he tenses beside you. His first night in the fraternity - State's top house, and he's already caught the attention of the president. And not in a good way. You may not be able to call him a friend yet, but you feel the sudden, overwhelming urge to protect him and his reputation.
"Actually, he was just about to kiss me. Until you interrupted us."
Gabe huffs, his tongue poking his cheek, amused. He's surprised you'd be so confrontational. From what he'd heard from older members of your chapter, you were quiet and sweet. He wasn't expecting any fire, but he liked that you proved the assumption wrong. "Alright, then. Prove it."
JT slowly turns to you. He doesn't say anything but takes an apprehensive step closer.
"We don't have to," he whispers, the words barely audible. You feel them against your lips more than you hear them.
Eventually, you knew you'd have to be okay being strictly platonic with JT Compher, but figuring out how you'd accomplish that could wait until tomorrow.
Overtaken by another wave of confidence, you fist his t-shirt and pull him towards you until his chest is flush against yours. "But I want to," you declare before pressing your lips to his.
“That's a stupid question. I know exactly what you two did during Semi Formal when you thought everyone is too drunk to notice,” Tyson says as shakes his head, pulling you out of the memory and into another.
"You cold?" JT says as he stands on the threshold of the wooden deck's sliding glass door.
Laughter and jubilant chatter erupt from behind him. Someone is chanting for Tyson to turn up the music, a Deep House mix of 2010s hits. He does, to thunderous applause, and shouts something incoherent back.
"A little," you reply quietly with a gentle shrug of your shoulders.
"Coming back in?" he asks, a hopeful edge to his voice.
"In a little bit."
At that, he tugs the door shut, effectively separating you from the rest of the group.
As he steps closer where you're perched, he quietly sheds his suit jacket. He knew you were too proud to ask for it, but he also knew how badly you'd needed an extra layer if you planned on staying out in the chilly mid-November air.
This gesture was the same brand of casual intimacy that'd become commonplace with him as the years passed. Often times, it was so subtle it felt unconscious. Like taking care of you was a reflex. Like his proximity was innate, designed for survival. But every instance of closeness, such as soft hands rubbing in a streak of missed sunblock or dutifully unraveling the knot growing between your shoulder blades, only made your heart ache. These glimpses were as cruel as they were magical because they were fleeting tastes of what could, but would never, be.
Friends cared for one another, yes, but it never meant what you wanted it to.
When JT eventually drapes the garment over your shoulders, the lining still warm from his body heat, he doesn't move away like you expect him to. Instead, his chest stays pressed against your back, heat radiating down your spine down to your toes. His warm hands linger on your shoulders, fingertips lightly tickling the base of your neck.
You tilt your head over your shoulder to see his face, wondering why he's still so close but not yet making use of the access like he normally would. Your breath hitches.
His eyes have darkened to an alluring burnt caramel. Some of the normal lightness flickers through, but it's almost completely hidden by his lids, heavy with desire. His nose flares subtly, as though he's struggling to keep himself composed, and your entire body hums.
JT leans in slowly, giving you ample time to protest or pull away. But you do neither and are met with his soft, wanting lips. He tastes like cardamom and hemp, all warm and earthy. Inviting. You part your lips, wanting to drink in as much of him as you can all at once, and he meets your sudden intensity enthusiastically. As his tongue hotly traces yours, his arms snake themselves around your waist. The adjustment locks you between his looming, solid form and the cool, wooden railing. The kiss grows deeper, weighed down by mutual, burning hunger. His hands drag slowly from your hips down to the hem of your dress, calloused fingertips ghosting along the edge.
You shiver, surprised.
"But last time...," you breathe, hand now braced against his chest.
Through the thin, silky material of his button-down, you can feel his heart thudding against his sternum.
"Last time, what?" JT asks as his hands continue to bunch the fabric up around your hips.
The crisp air greedily licks at the newly-exposed skin. You instinctively lean closer to him.
"Last time we said we wouldn't do," you say, voice trembling, as you gesture to the shrunken space between your bodies. Your chests are heaving, surrounded by swirls of vaporized breathes, "...this again. We're just friends, Compher."
He made that clear two weeks ago.
In response, he spins your body around to face his. His palms still clutch the fabric balled at your waist. He doesn't say anything. Instead, JT steals your mouth once more, along with every ounce of breath from your lungs. This kiss is feverish. It lacks bashfulness of the first. He's on the verge of devouring you and you'd let him. He wouldn't even need to ask.
Abruptly, JT pulls away. You whine in discontent. He chuckles, amused by your audible frustration, and shakes his head, grinning. Then, he sinks to his knees.
Had you been a little less tipsy and a little more sensible, you would've pulled him to his feet. At any moment, anyone could walk past the sliding glass door and see JT Compher with his head between your expectant thighs, your dress hiked up and his suit jacket wrapped around your shoulders. Any conclusion they'd draw would be valid - and not too far from the truth. That should worry you and on some level it does, but not as much as forfeiting this opportunity to be close to him.
So, you leave him be.
"Let me warm you up," he whispers, taking your silence as permission to continue before blowing a faint gust of hot air over the thin fabric of your panties. "Friends don't let friends freeze, do they?"
You didn't freeze that night, but later you did attribute your sore throat and dazed expression to the onset of a most unfortunate cold.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," JT says presently, though his eyes have gone the same rich shade they were that night.
Tyson rolls his, unconvinced. “Well, obviously the last thing you need to do before you graduate is bang then.”
“Yeah, obviously,” you parrot sarcastically. You do your best not to think about the promise you'd made to Kate not too long ago. Turning to your best friend for affirmation, you ask, “We’d never go there, right?”
Your tone is light but firm as you coax him towards concurrence.
All he had to do was nod. That was it. Just one dip of his chin and the knot tangling in the pit of your stomach would ease.
But JT hesitates.
That small hiccup swells alongside your fear, multiplying into something unmanageable. The table groans under its weight as it continues to grow, ballooning until you're pinned against the worn leather behind you. When he eventually coughs out his agreement, it's too late. The damage, irreparable and glaring, has already been done.
That noticeable pause has you reconsidering the years of friendship, albeit permeated by lapses in judgement, behind you. Suddenly you're combing through every moment, every stolen glance and lingering touch. Things had escalated between you in recent years, you could admit that, but there'd always been a clear line drawn in the sand. An explicit boundary. Did he want to cross it?
Did you?
Tyson doesn't give you long to spiral, but your body still thrums at the new idea as he speaks. "You two are some of the worst liars on the planet. I don't understand how you can just ignore the constant sexual tension. Seriously, sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating just sitting next to you, and I know for a fact that I'm not the only one. Get it over with and put us all out of our misery."
You roll your eyes and take your first sip of beer, the edges of your heart in need of numbing. You couldn't be merciful, to them or your own curiosity, because the act would shatter you completely. You can't stomach casual sex, but JT can't handle a relationship. At this fork in the road, you'd always diverge.
"How many have you had?" JT abruptly asks Tyson, effectively changing the subject.
"Barely any," Tyson answers and lifts the bottle up a little under the light. It looks like he's taken a sip, at most. "Why?"
"Feel like giving a couple of old timers a lift?" he asks and his little nods. "You still need a place to crash, right?"
Until now, you'd forgotten about the urgent text you fired off that morning. Your roommate planned on saying goodbye to her boyfriend for the summer tonight and needed the apartment to herself. Usually when she "reserved" the shared space, you'd stay with Kate, but you had a feeling she'd be pre-occupied. So, instead you'd texted JT. Now you wished you hadn't because all you could think about was screwing him into next Sunday.
"Mhmm," you mumble noncommittally, hoping the ambiguity would disguise your apprehension.
Tyson stands from your side of the booth and ushers you out. "M'lady, your chariot awaits."
Nothing JT does on the walk from the back of the bar to the front door is unusual or particularly alarming. He behaves exactly how you'd expect him to - and that's the problem. While you can barely function, he's the same. Unaffectedly affectionate.
His hands rest on your shoulders so not to lose you as Tyson clears a path through the crowd. Your body insists there's more to it, but your mind instinctively casts a heavy shadow of doubt. Did his grip actually tighten when Tyler shouted your name over the music, disappointed by your early departure, or was that jealousy just the reaction you hoped for? Did he wink at you as he opened the door of Tyson's Jeep, or was it just the moonlight and street lamps playing tricks on you?
Questions continue to swirl inside of your your head, recklessly crashing against your skull until your entire upper body is throbbing for answers. The collisions escalate in both frequency and intensity when the car door closes, shutting JT into the darkened backseat beside you.
You were always aware of him, but now more than ever locked in the enclosed space with nothing but the seed Tyson planted between you.
His shoulder brushes against yours with every slow, labored breath he takes. The soft edge of his sleeve, pulled taut over rippling, creamy muscles, heightens the field of goosebumps blossoming across your skin. The little bumps ache for attention, the need rivaled only by the pulse between your thighs.
Your best friend doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. His warmth draws you closer and he doesn't retreat when your body involuntarily shifts against him, pulled like a moth to a flame. But he doesn't acknowledge it either and it feels as though his earlier hesitation has developed into something much more debilitating. So there you sit, both silent and waiting, unsure of where you stand.
When Tyson finally slides into the driver's seat, he's mid-way through an impassioned rant about how badly his summer internship is going to suck, especially if the "hot chick from orientation" is assigned to a different department. His next sentence, something about the break room having kombucha on tap or there being unlimited PTO, catches in his mouth he realizes no one is where he expected them to be. His face scrunches as he considers the empty passenger seat. Then, he sighs.
"Please don't ruin my seats," Tyson says into the quiet car, head still turned forward. "There should be some beach towels back there. Use them."
JT's body shakes with laughter. The full, familiar sound eases the mounting tension, just enough for you to finally catch your breath. Though, your heart sinks a little at his humored dismissal.
"You're sick in the head," you groan half-heartedly as you pick up one of the many empty water bottles littering the floor and toss the warped plastic at his head. Unlike JT, you hit your target and as Tyson starts the engine, he flips you off.
At the first stoplight, he leans over to turn up the volume of Elijah Hewson's voice until Inhaler's cover of "Fade Into You" shakes the car. Dutifully, he looks forward, seemingly excusing himself from whatever may happen behind him. In this moment, the very depth of feeling is so tangible and intimate that it makes it impossible not to just close your eyes and let the music envelope you.
Your head falls back on the seat, eyes shutting as you inhale deeply. The polyester upholstery swallows your nerves. The hazy chord progression is diluted just enough to allow your mind to wander, but grounded enough to tether you to the present.
JT's layered, musky scent lulls your anxiety but stokes the flame of desire bellowing in the pit of your stomach. Seamlessly, his cologne moves between eucalyptus and amber, rich and woodsy with a deeply soothing undertone. It always lingered on your clothes and on your skin and in your hair, keeping him at the forefront of your mind no matter where he was.
As the achingly romantic song about being consumed by love prattles on, you fall deeper and deeper under JT's spell, but still acutely aware of the impossibility of it all. There had always been - and always would be, a haunting disparity between the longing you've fought to hate and the fragility of hope in your harsh reality.
Then, as if sensing your doubt, a warm palm hesitantly settles on your knee. Your head snaps up, eyes blinking in dismay as they cautiously look to him in confusion. In the cover of darkness, he's angled his body to lean into yours, head dipped low to watch his hand move further up your thigh.
"Can you be quiet for me?" he husks, warm lips brushing over your ear. You nod quickly, worried he might stop if you hesitate for even a second, and you feel him smile. "Good girl."
His fingers coast further and further until there's no where left to go besides between your thighs. JT looks to you for permission and again, you nod. Tilting your hips forward, your legs falling open slightly in silent invitation and to better accommodate his large hand. He gently cups you through the thin fabric. It dampens against his palm and your neck heats.
"All this," he murmurs as he removes the barrier and dips his finger between your sodden folds, "...just for me?"
In response, your hips move forward, helplessly seeking out more of him. He meets your desperate movement and sinks into you, groaning against your neck as your heat envelops him. His hot breath fans over your skin, "Holy shit, sweetheart. You always feel like fucking heaven."
Preening, you whine.
His damp forehead presses against your shoulder as his thumb moves to stroke your clit in time with the rest of his fingers. A long, colorful string of expletives leaves his mouth as his wrist hinges. Your walls hug his digits so firmly that he isn't able to move much, but its still more than enough to completely overwhelm your body and your mind.
With his free hand, he grabs ahold of your wrist. He continues to toy with your weeping entrance as he guides your hand to wrap around the thick bulge in his jeans. "Can you feel how fucking hard I am for you? Been thinking about you and your sweet pussy all night. It's been too long."
"JT," you whimper, frustrated tears welling in the corners of your eyes.
"What, sweetheart? Tell me what you need."
"I need...I need," you fumble over your words, the lusty haze fogging up your head. "I need you, please. I need you to make me come."
"Don't worry," he hums before pressing his lips to your throat, "I can feel how close you are and we aren't leaving this car until you've soaked my hand," JT says.
The car veers off the main road, slowing as it approaches the large open driveway. A large streetlamp flickers impatiently. Your window is closing and you're still on precipice of blinding satisfaction. Close, but not close enough.
"You're so fucking wet, sweetheart. Is it because you like having an audience?" he asks, amber eyes darting to Tyson, whose hands twitch around the steering wheel. His knuckles go white. "I like having one...Like getting to show them just how pretty you look while I make you feel so fucking good."
His fingers curl, eliciting a sharp gasp of surprise from your lips. Your hips buck, pushing his fingers deeper. A growl of satisfaction rumbles in JT's chest. In the dim light, you can see how rosy Tyson's cheeks have become during the short drive from Atomic to the fraternity house.
"You love it when I fuck you with my hand, don't you? Such a good girl," he whispers. "Come for me, sweetheart, and I promise I'll fill you with something better than just my fingers. All you have to do is give in and let go."
His hand coaxes you through the white-hot peak, your vision going blurry as you gush all over his palm. Your mind is blank as you ride out the waves of immeasurable pleasure. When you find your footing again, the car is parked and JT is no longer beside you. As he holds the car door open, you catch him licking the remnants of your orgasm from his fingers.
"You're sick in the head," Tyson says from the curb in a high-pitched voice intended to mock yours as he locks the Jeep, its headlights casting a yellowy glow on the large white house.
JT smacks him upside the head.
On shaking legs, you trail after them through the looming front door and up the first flight of stairs.
You've been to the house before. Many times, actually. To study, or just hang out when things got too wild downstairs. When your best friend first won the presidency last spring, you were the only person he let inside for weeks as he ruminated over every detail. You'd never expect him to be as meticulous as he is, but his embargo on visitation was only lifted after he'd - with your help, shuffled around every decoration and piece of furniture at least fifty times.
But this felt different because it was different.
This would be the first time you'd be staying the night. Not in the house - Miles three doors down had that honor a few months back, but in JT's bedroom. In his bed. He had a futon pushed against the far wall, but you knew he'd never let you sleep there.
You fidget with your charm bracelet again as you watch him rifle around in a few dresser drawers. When he turns to face you, his expression is as uneasy as yours.
"Look," he starts, but stops for a moment. When he resumes, his voice is stronger, a little more like it was not long ago in the backseat of the Jeep, but still very uncertain. "I don't want what Josty said to screw things up between us. Especially after we just...you know. If you'd feel more comfortable sleeping alone in here, I can bunk with someone else for the night."
"No!" you say, almost too quickly. The back of your neck heats with embarrassment. You grimace. "I-I just mean...No, this is your room. I'm not kicking you out. I would feel too bad."
"Are you sure? I promise you wouldn't be hurting my feelings if you gave me the boot," JT says.
It's dark, but just enough light is streaming in from the street lamps blow for you to see him smiling brightly. Despite all the earlier awkwardness, it still touches his eyes like it always did when he looked at you. Like always, it makes your stomach flip, and when he suddenly tosses the clothes aside and cages you between his body and the bed, reason goes with it.
"I want this," he says, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he sighs, forehead resting against yours. "I want you. I've only ever wanted you. I was just too selfish to risk our friendship by telling you."
"But...," you pant, breathless as you recall the years of firm, unspoken friend-zoning. "Really?"
"Really." He nods.
For a second, neither of you dares to move. His hesitation - and your own, causes dread to pool in deep in your stomach. The gravity of the current situation comes into focus. After everything changes, and you aren't sure if you're ready for that.
"You know we can't go back to just being friends after, right?" you say softly. "I know we've done...things before but it would be very different. Everything would be different. We'd be different. You can't just say shit like that to me. You have to mean it, Compher."
JT stills, barely breathing, and your heart drops to your toes.
"We don't have to," he whispers just like he did on bid night, incorrectly interpreting your worry as disinterest.
And again, you pull him closer. "But I want to."
Then the world shifts, permanently.
There is nothing sweet or hesitant about this kiss. There was no delay in the movement. Just a seductive tangle of swollen lips and eager tongues. There's no learning curve. Just bliss.
As his hands drift down your neck to explore your chest, you scold yourself for not initiating this leap sooner.
"Off," he murmurs against your lips, tugging at the hem of your top.
Obediently, you raise your arms over your head. He rids you of the cumbersome fabric and you melt into his bare hands, savoring every stroke and squeeze as he tends to your needy skin.
JT bumps your nose affectionately before his warm mouth collides with yours once more. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, moving back and forth rhythmically until your jaw goes slack. At the invitation, he briefly massages your tongue with his, hands still massaging your tender chest. He tugs and rolls the pert buds between his fingers until you're a whimpering mess, begging for more.
But, he's a tease in all aspects of life. Especially in the bedroom.
"Please, I need...I need," you murmur nonsensically for the second time tonight, mind too fuzzy to function properly again.
Your best friend may be a tease, but above all else, he genuinely aims to please.
"I've got you," he assures you again, the words melting into your lips.
JT shifts his mouth to your warm cheek, lips trailing along your jaw and down to the sweet spot just below your earlobe. He is the only person who’s found it, and he knows it.
A yelp of shock pushes up from your chest when his teeth reach up to nibble on the delicate skin above. He stays there for a moment, torturing your lobe with a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. Then, JT works his way over the column of your throat before tracing your collarbones with his lips. He goes back and forth between your neck and your chest until you're nestled in a serene haze, devoid of previous inhibitions.
"This," JT says as he pulls on your skirt, "...needs to go too."
Eagerly, you nod. A steady flame of passion burns in his amber eyes as he shoves the material to the floor, your ruined panties following suit.
His gaze is heavy. Hungry.
"Fuck me," Tyson groans from the doorway. Your eyes snap up, startled. He has an iron grip on the door and a bulge in the front of his jeans. "I go take a leak for five minutes and somehow, I miss everything."
"Shut the door, dickhead!" JT shouts, spell broken, as he adjusts himself in front of your bare body.
His annoyance fades the longer he stares at your bare body. His mouth and hands return to their previous explorations. A strangled moan tumbles from your lips when he brings your nipple into his mouth, sucking until the dull throb makes you go limp against him. Soon, he takes it between his teeth, lightly applying a pressure that forces you to grip his forearms for support. The veins pulse under your sweaty palms. He grins against your chest, pleased with the reaction he coaxed from your body in the presence of his best friend once again.
When the door doesn't shut after another few minutes, he asks, "Did I stutter, Josty? Close the damn door."
You peer over JT's shoulder and see that Tyson is frozen in place, big brown eyes fixed on your pebbled nipples peaking through his big's hands. He blinks, "Huh?"
"I don't mind if you watch this time, but I don't want the whole chapter seeing her like this," the ginger says before leaning back down to bury his head in your cleavage. He presses a few wet, open-mouthed kisses across your chest, then turns his head to the side to speak again.
Tyson doesn't need more prodding. Zero hesitation, he slams the door. The walls shake. As though the sound snapped him out of a lusty trance, JT abruptly pulls away.
"Fuck. I should've asked before I just said that. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can make him leave if you don't want this to have an audience," the man in front of you mumbles apologetically, grappling with the significance of what's about to unfold. "Just say the word and he's gone."
Instead of answering, you take a step back from him.
And another towards Tyson.
"Uh, what's happening?" he asks nervously.
Again you're silent, letting your actions speak for themselves.
JT curses behind you as you lower yourself to the ground to kneel before his little. Slowly, you drag your hands up Tyson's legs until they're resting atop his sturdy thighs. His cock twitches just a few inches from your face. The faint, involuntary movement makes your cunt clench in anticipation.
"Is this okay?" you ask sincerely, looking up at him through your lashes as you fiddle with his belt.
"Holy fucking shit," he pants in sheer disbelief. "Holy fucking shit, this can't really be happening right now."
JT chuckles softly. "Not an answer, kid. Yes or no?"
"Fuck. Yes."
You then unbuckle the belt, shoving the metal aside to unbutton his pants. As you unzip them, you press soft kisses over his clothed hips and quads. By the time you slide his jeans down to the floor, he’s already trembling.
"Tell me what you want, Josty."
His Adam's apple bobs unevenly. "I want you to touch my dick, baby. Please touch me."
You smile, content with his reply.
Leisurely, you run a hand over his boxers, tracing the outline of his bulge. He's not quite as big as JT, but still leagues more impressive than most men. His heartbeat thumps through his cock as you circle his head. It jerks, leaving a damp spot on the fabric. He groans impatiently and tilts his hips until they're square with your face, silently begging you to release him. You happily oblige.
"I've barely even touched you and you're already so hard," you taunt, brow raised, when his cock hits his toned abdomen.
"Been waiting years for this, baby," he says, laugh short and airy. "Of course I'm fucking hard for you."
He immediately quiets when your tongue appears, poised along the underside of his cock. His eyelids droop, intently watching it then wets your lips in preparation. Sweat gathers in his brow, curls matting to his forehead.
You inhale deeply, taking in his scent. It's bright, a lovely mixture of citrus and vanilla, and stands in stark contrast to JT's heavy aroma. Your exhale fans over the tight, sensitive skin and he shudders, cock twitching. A few pearly beads of pre-come escape and you lap at them greedily, far too eager to savor them. Tyson doesn't seem to mind and he fists your hair with the same enthusiasm.
Slowly and evenly, you lower your mouth over his rosy, bulbous tip. Alternating between sucking and kitten-licking, you shift yourself forward to take as much of him into your mouth as possible. As you envelope him, you trace the vein protruding along the underside with your tongue.
"Jesus Christ," he curses. "Keep doing that and I'll bust."
You hum around him, reveling in the compliment. Tyson's hips jerk in response to the new vibration and his pulsing tip kisses the back of your throat. You gag, mouth tightening around the intrusion.
"Fuck, sorry," Tyson says apologetically.
He untangles his hands from your hair and moves them down to cup your cheeks, gripping your jaw firmly to stop you for a moment.
JT takes full advantage of the brief intermission, lowering himself behind you. He then leans forward, bare chest pressing against your back, to push two of his fingers into your warm mouth. "Suck."
You coating the digits generously in your spit and Tyson's pre-come.
"You're perfect," your best friend hums. "So god damn perfect, all the fucking time. Such a good girl."
His praise goes straight to your core. You can feel yourself dripping, arousal trailing down your inner thighs and onto the pristine hardwood floor.
Once he's satisfied, JT pulls his hand away and presses a soft kiss to between your shoulder blades. His mouth travels down the length of your spine, and again, you hum around Tyson's length.
"I think you can go deeper than that, sweetheart. Don't you?" JT taunts.
Subtly, you lift your chin to create more space for Tyson's cock. You relax your muscles and consciously breathe through your nose, allowing his cock to glide down your slick throat. His head slips beyond your gag reflex. You hold it there, knowing your eyes will water but not caring in the slightest. Through damp lashes, you stare up at him.
Behind you, JT rubs his fingers over your clit, now engorged bud, in intoxicating circular motions. He works you over until your thighs are shaking again and you're on the brink of collapse, then he slowly backs off. With his free hand, he traces the expanse of your back, paying special attention to the curve of your ass while still tracing over your folds and clit with the other hand.
The louder Tyson gets, the more pressure JT applies to you.
"M'gonna come soon, baby," Tyson rasps. "Keep going."
You pull away and he whines, frustrated.
"Please come in my mouth, Josty. I need it," you whimper as you pump your hand over him.
He twitches against your palm as you grind yourself against JT's hand. Not waiting for him to reply, you take him back into your warm mouth as reach around his hips to grip his ass. Your nails dig into the skin, forming angry little crescents. Above you, Tyson moans out a string of curses along with your name then shoots straight down your throat.
"I can see why Tyler's so obsessed with you," Tyson says breathlessly when you pull away. As he speaks, he smears a drop of his come over your wet lips. You lean forward and peck his thumb.
"Well, she chose me over him, so I don't think that fucking matters anymore," JT bites bitterly as he removes his fingers from you.
Tyson's jaw drops and he sputters for a minute. "W-what? Wait a minute...Is...is that why you actually broke up? Because Tyler wanted you to choose between him and JT, and you chose...Holy fucking shit! This is crazy."
"Yeah, we're definitely are not talking about that right now," JT says as he helps you to your feet and over to his bed. "Condom, Josty." He gestures towards his scarily-neat desk before pushing you down onto your back.
"Yes, sir."
The sophomore gives a mock-salute before beginning to dig through the main drawer. Something on the desk catches his eye and he pauses to study it. After looking it over, a faint smile appears on his lips.
"Now," JT says impatiently and he diligently resumes his search.
When Tyson finally locates one, JT snatches the foil packet from his hand and turns his attention back on you. He stands at the end of the bed, sculpted chest heaving, staring down at you with an indecent glint in his eyes. His milky cheeks are bright red and so is his mouth. He takes his swollen bottom lip into his mouth, cutting into it as he trails his fingertips along the inside of your leg.
"Are you sure you're okay with him watching this part?" JT asks once more. You nod, but he shakes his head, unsatisfied. "Not an answer, sweetheart. Yes or no?"
"Yes," you whimper, nodding frantically.
Your head tilts toward the corner of the room where Tyson is now sitting. He's already halfway hard again, his right hand is wrapped lazily around the base of his growing cock. His left is tucked behind his head, flexing his bicep and displaying his toned chest. He winks at you, his charisma returning.
"Hey," JT says softly as he grabs ahold of your ankles, one in each hand, and opens them to accommodate his own body. "Eyes on me."
"Yes, sir," you say, mimicking Tyson.
JT smirks, and it does not take long for it to melt into something devious. Quickly, he releases one of your ankles to grip his thick cock at the base. He strokes himself a few times, thumb tending to the thick head with each pass, as he leans over you. His eyes, dark with passion, lock on yours as he guides himself between your swollen lower lips. He stills, reveling in the way you throb wantonly against him. Then, without warning, he thrusts forward until his head kisses your clit. He does this over and over - maneuvering himself against you as though he were actually sheathed inside, without ever even plunging past your entrance.
"Wow, I can't believe I waited for years for this," you breath, purely out of frustration.
He rolls his eyes at your sarcasm and impatience and tears the foil open with his teeth. Then, uncharacteristically, he discards the packaging somewhere behind him. No doubt, he'll make Tyson pick it up before he leaves.
JT groans as he rolls the tight condom down his weighty length, the sound causing the flames burning low in your stomach to double in size. The warmth radiates outward, climbing up through your chest and into your throat. It travels down your inner thighs and to your toes. He hasn't even entered you and yet the energy between you is electric.
He makes a few more passes over your soft folds, collecting your arousal, before delicately sinking into you. Inch by inch, he talks you through it. Your best friend whispers words of encouragement and praise, eyes never leaving yours until his hips are flush against your pelvis. Groaning, his eyes fall shut.
"Please move," you say in a small voice. "I need you to move."
And eventually he does, gradually working himself into a strong, steady pace. He's much bigger than anyone you've ever been with, in both length and girth, and you both know it. You can feel it in the way your walls struggle and stretch to accommodate his length, despite the earlier preparation. JT can feel the flutter with each snap of his hips. Tyson can see it in the high arch of your back and the hear it in the guttural edge to your moans.
Needing more of him, you tuck your pelvis slightly and deliberately pull him closer from the inside.
"If you keep doing that, fuck, I won't be able to last," he warns, hips twitching. "God damn, of course you have the best pussy in the whole fucking world. Fucking squeezing me so good. Everything about you is so fucking perfect. My perfect girl."
Grinning, you prop yourself up on your elbows and kiss him, long and deep and hard. "Good. I want to see you come, Compher. Need to see it. Need to watch you fall apart while you're inside me. Just make sure you have enough energy for round two later."
"Jesus. You're going to be the death of me, I swear," your best friend curses and resumes his prior speed, fervently chasing after your climaxes. "Moan for me. I need to hear you, sweetheart."
And you do. Over and over as his hand moves over your hip, gently pressing on your abdomen while stroking your throbbing clit. The pressure he's creating, internally and externally, drives you into a state of frantic madness.
"Louder," he demands as he continues to massage your body. You're powerless to disobey. He hums, content, head dropping to the crook of your neck as his hips move faster and more precisely. Your moans nearly drown out his hushed words, "We're going to crush that stupid little crush of his. Now every time he looks at you, he's only going to be able to see how you look falling apart around my cock. He's going to hear how badly you want me - how badly you need me. He won't be able to tell where I end and you begin."
His grip tightens on your hip and his head turns to your shoulder, lips flush against the glistening skin as he pistons in and out until something snaps low in your abdomen. You cry out, clutching onto him harder than ever before, pleasure coursing through your body. The initial waves of your orgasm trigger his and warmth fills the condom soon after.
Tyson exhales loudly, content. "That was so much better than porn."
You look over and his chest is streaked with iridescent ropes. There's a sleepy grin stretched across his face that makes you smile too.
"Glad we could be of service," JT says sarcastically, laughing as he pulls out of you and removes the rubber.
He mumbles something about the bathroom and quietly ducks into his ensuite, tossing his friend a spare towel on the way in.
Tyson rubs at his chest until the majority of his second orgasm is gone, then throws the towel into the hamper by large bay window. He forgoes his jeans in favor of the wrinkled boxers with a small damp spot. He reaches for the door nob as he pulls his tight black t-shirt back over his head.
“You don’t have to leave," you say quickly.
You did your best to make sure he never felt left out. Neither of you had ever kicked Tyson out of a room before. You didn't see a reason to start now, especially given what just transpired.
Something a little sullen washes over his face as he casts a glance at the closed bathroom door, but he forces a smile anyway. “Yes. I do, and you exactly know why."
With that, he quietly steps out of the room and into the darkened hallway. The door clicks shut behind him.
In the silence, your heart beats loudly in your ears. Your chest tightens. Amidst everything, you hadn't had a second to think about what would happen after. You knew things would change, but you weren't sure how or if it would be for the better. When JT emerges from the bathroom, you've worked yourself into a tight knot of anxiety.
Seeing you, rigid and gnawing on your bottom lip, he drops to his knees before you. His hands move up and down your thighs, massaging out both physical tension and emotional uncertainty. With every soft stroke, you settle further.
"Tomorrow," he says quietly as he reaches around for the clothes he laid out earlier for you to borrow. "Tomorrow, we'll talk about everything. I promise, sweetheart. But right now, I think we both could benefit from some rest."
You nod, exhaustion readily replacing your anxiety.
He takes your hands in his and kisses each fingertip, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something flickers in his russet eyes, as though he's just remembered something important, and he shifts out from between your legs. He moves to grab something off of his desk, retrieving whatever Tyson was so invested in earlier. Silently, he places the thick white envelope onto your lap.
On the front is his legal name and address, and the crest of a very familiar, very prestigious medical school in the very city you'll be living and working in starting next week. Inside is an acceptance letter.
When you look up, he's grinning. Hope blooms in your heart.
Maybe graduation isn't the end. Maybe it's just the beginning.
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