Page 64 of Hot Mess Express
Can’t escape what all of this is doing to my dick.
Is this another moment? Like the church floor? His secret way of touching me without touching me? Showing interest? Letting the circumstance give him a reason to get closer to me?
Like when the truck flew by, sending him into my arms?
He didn’t want me to let go then, either.
Anthony crosses his arms with a sigh and mumbles, “If this don’t have a good ending, I swear … after all this bullshit …”
Or he’s just too lazy to get up and move to his own chair.
Or I’m right and he’s enjoying this and using it as an excuse.
My arms are literally still around his waist.
Everything just became unexpectedly intimate. Like we’re no longer kidding ourselves about this being a kind of date. A weird date, maybe, but definitely a date. Two guys who couldn’t stand each other half a day ago. Now cuddled in the same seat of a movie theater, hating the same movie together.
It’s almost sweet.
Until my leg starts falling asleep. “Hey …”
“Shh, he’s about to get him, I can feel it.”
I try to shift my leg.
It won’t budge under him.
“What am I? Santa?” I tease. He shushes me again. “My leg’s getting tingly.”
“Deal with it. You make a comfy seat.”
I take hold of his hips to help adjust my leg under him. As if in defiance, Anthony presses himself deeper into my lap, pinning me in place and crossing his arms tighter.
He’s playing with me. I get it. Not just being difficult. The guy doesn’t want to admit he’s enjoying this a little more than another small-town straight boy would who’s just messing with his buddy. This is his way of communicating that he’s into me—his weird and childish way of telling me.
Or maybe he doesn’t even know what’s going on inside him.
He just knows he’s enjoying it.
And wants more.
Is this his unique brand of foreplay…?
“Monster’s gonna eat his face off, I just know it, gonna eat his stupid face off,” mumbles Anthony to himself. Then he nudges me and points at the screen. “See? Watch. I’m never wrong.”
Arms still around him, ass heavily pressing into my dick, back against me, I watch to see how this shit show movie finally ends.
Surprisingly, hewaswrong.
“Can’t fuckin’ believe he actually outsmarted the Carnivorax,” Anthony is in the middle of saying as we walk down Main Street, having just left the movie theater. “Like,what’s more surprising is that it wasn’t even the smart guy who outsmarted the monster. It was the least likelymoronwho turned out to be the big hero in the end. I should’ve seen it comin’. NowI’mthe one who feels like an idiot.” He shakes his head. “Movie’s still bad, though.”
“Didn’t take us to have a lot in common ‘til tonight,” I admit. “Who knew we would finally bond over a mutual hatred for horror movies?”
“You hate them, too?”
I shrug, then eye him with half a smile. “This one wasn’t too bad. Maybe it matters who you watch them with.”
He seems to go into his head with that answer.
