Page 17 of Summer Lessons
Oh fuck comfortable. Mason spread his legs and leaned against the sink, his body open and exposed to the cold, and his cock deliciously chilling with every pant of Jefferson’s hot breath. Then his cockhead was swallowed into the heat again and two fingers, slick with spit but not polite, shoved up into his asshole.
He saw stars and dumped come down Jefferson’s throat.
His hips were still thrusting when he heard the sound of flesh against flesh. He looked down and saw Jefferson’s hand blurring on his own exposed cock, and then the vibration of Jefferson’s moan around his crown sent him into one more spasm of climax.
And Jefferson’s come hit his ankles, shins, and shoes.
“Oh God,” he whispered, massaging Jefferson’s scalp through his hair. Sometime between kiss-me-now and fuck-my-mouth, Mason had pulled the rubber band out of Jefferson’s hair, and the wedge was back, falling in front of his brown eyes as he smiled up at Mason almost shyly.
Mason touched his face tenderly, not sure what to say, and that’s when they heard the car pull into the parking lot.
Jefferson grimaced and stood up, pulling Mason’s sweats with him and covering him up in one swoop. He was about to bend down for his own shorts when Mason squatted. “Let me,” he said, bemused. “I mean… the least I could do.”
He gave Jefferson’s cock a little kiss and stood, pulling the soccer shorts and Under Armour up with him. He cupped Jefferson’s cheek and, mindful of what sounded to be an entire soccer team unloading from the car they’d heard pull in, he gave a sweet, gracious kiss.
“Not that I shouldn’t have told you earlier, but I’m HIV negative,” he said when it was over.
Jefferson rolled his eyes like it was no big deal. “I use rubbers when I fuck,” he said bluntly. “Me too.”
“But how would you know that—”
He shrugged. Oh my God, did nobody teach this kid what serious was? “The likelihood of me getting HIV from a blow job is less than 1 percent,” he recited. Then he rolled his eyes. “And man, yourcockwas just….” He shook his head. “Mm… what is that thing? Seven inches? Eight? It’senormous.”
Mason was torn between feeling a little bit used and objectified and thinking he might have found his soul mate. “Mostly what it’s been is underappreciated,” he said with feeling. Then, because Jefferson was shivering, he reached out and pulled him against his chest almost gruffly. “Let’s get out of here,” he growled. “I’ll take you to pancakes or something.”
For a moment—a sweet moment—Jefferson collapsed into Mason’s arms and shuddered, and Mason thought,Oh wow. This is it. Love at first blow job. I thought that was just a fairy tale, like Cinderfella.
Then Jefferson pulled back—reluctantly, it seemed, but with purpose. “Sounds awesome,” he said with a sigh. “But I don’t get much unsupervised time a week.” He smiled crookedly. “So, soccer and a bathroom break.” He winked and then turned and led the way out of the bathroom.
Mason followed him, uncomfortably aware that he had spunk on his sweats and his shoes and his skin, and that his cock had been put away wet.
And that he was just as confused about Terry Jefferson as he had been before they went into the bathroom.
Jefferson made no effort to talk, intimately or otherwise, heading first for the field, where a group of teenagers were passing his ball. He didn’t ask for it back, but instead chased down the kid who had it, stole the ball back after a spirited, furious battle, and then kicked it to Mason with amazing control.
“Catch it!” he called, and Mason did, because apparently that was hisonlysoccer skill. The kids put up a fuss, but Jefferson turned toward them with a shrug while he was running backward away from the field. “It’s my ball!”
He was soundly booed for that, and he turned toward Mason, still jogging as he offered a salute behind his back.
Mason looked down to the field and saw that another kid was dribbling a ball up from the tree line and figured that they weren’t going to die without Jefferson’s ball. Relieved, he started walking toward the battered little Toyota.
“I’ll take that!” Jefferson reached for the ball.
Mason turned away from him, guarding the thing with intent. “Wait a minute—you’ll get it back when I know when we can see each other again!”
Jefferson’s guffaw echoed down into the park. “Mason, don’t we have golf next week?”
“Yes, but—”
Jefferson popped the ball through Mason’s arms. Mason flailed for it, but the end result was predictable—Jefferson grabbed the ball and threw it inside the Toyota.
“I’ll see you then,” he said.
For a moment Mason was going to put his foot down, and then it hit him. Jefferson’s mouth was open and laughing—but his eyes.
His eyes were begging. Pinched at the corners, limpid, almost wet—he wasbeggingMason not to make a big deal out of this.
“Can we see each other longer?” he asked with a sigh.
