More Than the Ball (2 page)

My eyes stayed on Dev’s face as I began to stroke, gripping him firmly and giving him a long, slow tug. His eyes widened and darkened, and then he let his head fall back as he groaned.

“Shit, El,” he said. “I thought I was gonna blow you.”

“You still can,” I pointed out. “I was just curious.” And I moved my hand up and down his cock a few more times, enjoying the familiar newness of his cock in my hand. He groaned again.

“Mmm, Damn, El. Wish you’d gotten curious sooner,” he admitted, but before I could answer, or even really process his words, he was pushing my hand away and settling himself down between my legs. His black hair fell across his face as he lowered his head, and then I felt his lips and fingers close around my dick, the other hand cupping my balls, and I couldn’t think of anything else.

It wasn’t the first time someone had sucked me off, but for some reason, everything about it seemed different. Maybe it was because Dev was a guy, and that made this more taboo. Maybe it was because I was high and we’d been watching porn. Or maybe it was just because it was Dev, and if I was honest with myself, I’d been thinking about something like this for a long time now.

It hardly mattered. Dev was a fucking amazing cocksucker. I had a fleeting moment of feeling guilty for having that thought about my best friend, but it didn’t last long. There wasn’t room for anything in my brain except an appreciation for the way Dev’s hot tongue worked over my pulsing shaft, his hand coming up to tease at my balls, roll them in his palm, letting his short nails graze over them.

I lifted a hand to push his hair back so I could watch as his lips stretched around my dick. I wasn’t expecting him to still be looking at my face, but he was, eyes wide and intense, and I couldn’t look away.

I couldn’t hold back any longer either. My fingers gripped his hair tightly, and I tried to grunt out a warning, but Dev just slid his mouth further down my shaft, groaning around me just before I shot, arching up, pushing hard enough into his mouth that he gagged and had to pull back a little.

I fell back on the couch, panting, trying to catch my breath. My fingers were still in Dev’s hair, stroking now, rubbing my fingers over his scalp. He let out a pleased breath and kissed my hip lightly.

“Shit,” I muttered, then lifted my head as much as I could manage, tingling waves of pleasure still sliding through me. “Can I… do something for you?”

If he’d asked me to suck his cock right then, I probably would have. Instead, he drew himself up to his knees, and my eyes moved straight to his dick to see it hanging soft between his legs, a trail of come sprayed up his smooth chest. “I’m... good, actually.”

“Fuck,” I said, laughing and reaching for him idly, pulling him to settle on top of me. It was such a comfortable, normal thing for us that I didn’t think anything of it, even though it was the first time we’d fallen into this position naked. “Just from sucking me?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I... kind of like it.”

“Huh,” I said, already half dozing. “You think you might be gay?”

“Yeah... maybe,” Dev whispered, but if he said anything else, I never knew.

I
woke
the next morning to a t-shirt being thrown in my face.

“Come on, asshole,” Dev was saying. “Put some clothes on. My sister’s going to be here any minute.”

“Shit,” I said, pulling myself up and tugging the shirt on without thought. That’s when it hit me. I realized that I was naked on the couch, and I remembered why. As I hopped around, pulling on my shorts, I said, “Hey... dude... about last night.”

“Don’t sweat it, man,” Dev said, waving a hand and tossing me my sweats. “Brojobs are totally within the bro code.”

I laughed, and I tried not to think about how he looked disappointed as he turned away.

And I tried not to think about how I felt the same way.

“
D
ev
, baby, it’s for you!”

I spun in my wooden office chair to see Jordan standing in the open doorway of my office, holding our landline phone. “I’m working,” I protested, though I got up to take the phone from him and give him a quick kiss and a tiny pinch on the ass as he started walking away. Jordan tended to take slights like this personally, and I didn’t want him to think I was scolding him.

“It’s a work call,” he said, sounding irritated even as he kissed me in return.

“On the home line?”

“That was my question,” he said, turning to drop heavily onto my office couch as I answered the call, he kept his eyes fixed on me in annoyance

“Hello?” I said, returning Jordan’s eye contact, trying to see if I could smooth out his judgement and seduce him into an afternoon quickie.

“Hello, Mr. Bandi?” a woman’s voice asked from the other end.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Hi, Mr. Bandi,” she said. “My name is Victoria Weber. I’m with the alumni association for Pacific Crest University.”

“Oh! Yes, what can I do for you?” Pacific Crest was my alma mater. They called about once a year looking for donations, but they didn’t usually claim that was a business call. “Is it fundraising time again?” I tried to give them a little something every year. PCU had given me my filmmaking start and helped me gain my first few contacts in the industry. I didn’t mind giving back to that.

“Oh, no, Mr. Bandi. But we do appreciate that you give so faithfully to help with the education of others. But, actually, I want to talk to you about a filmmaking project.”

“Oh!” I straightened up from where I had been about to sit next to Jordan, already fishing for my wallet in case they needed my information again. Instead, I moved to my roll top desk and settled my hands onto my computer to pull up my calendar. “What sort of project?”

“We want to do a profile of Coach Youseff and, specifically, the 2010 team’s road to the championship,” she explained.

“Oh, wow,” I said. “Yeah, okay, tell me about it.”

Coach Youseff had been PCU’s soccer coach for ten years by the time I was on his team. He was famous for having led our team to the national championship game as the first Muslim coach of an NCAA Division II soccer team. We got a lot of flack for it when I was a sophomore and junior, but our trip to the championship junior year shut most people up. The rest of them shut up when we took the championship my senior year.

I sat back to listen to Victoria tell me about their idea. Essentially they wanted to tell the story of how Coach had united a community that was being divided by politics. PCU was a fairly liberal school, but seated in the midst of Eastern Oregon, it wasn’t always on friendly terms with the politics of its neighbors. I remembered getting Muslim slurs hurled at me once or twice when things had gotten really heated. I wasn’t even Muslim, but my skin put me on a level with Couch Youseff, and that was enough for a lot of people.

When she’d given me the pitch, I said, “Okay, so, obviously I’m interested. I heard about his heart attack last year. He deserves some tribute for what he did for that community. Can you... tell me a little about your resources?”

It was a delicate topic. On the one hand, I was an up-and-coming filmmaker, but Jordan was still always telling me I needed to charge more for the projects I took on. On the other hand, I was pretty committed to helping out good causes if I could afford it. Kelly, who’d been my boyfriend when I was first discovering both what it meant to be a filmmaker and what it meant to be gay, had told me I would feel better about my life in the end if I followed my conscience more than my pocket book. So far, he hadn’t been wrong.

When Victoria told me their budget, I snorted a little. “Well,” I said. “I suppose it’s good to know my donations are being put to good use.”

She laughed. “Yes, thank you again for those.”

“Happy to help,” I said dryly. “When do you need an answer?”

“Honestly?” she said. “You’re our first choice. So... we’ll wait as long as you need if you don’t keep us dangling for months.”

“I’m flattered, and thanks for your honesty,” I said. “I’ll need a week, I think, to look at my schedule and see what else is on my plate right now.”

“Of course,” she said. “Shall I call you next week, then?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “Let me give you my cell so you don’t get screened as a telemarketer.”

Jordan snorted, and I glanced over with a smile. I knew he hated being my answering service.

“Sounds good,” Victoria said when I’d given her the number. “I look forward to talking again.”

“Me too, Victoria,” I answered, then hung up with a smile.

“Well?” Jordan asked. “Are you headed for the millionaire’s club or the homeless shelter?”

“Neither, I hope,” I moved to sit on the couch, laying my head in his lap so he could play with my hair while I talked it out.

“
D
inner’s
ready when you are,” came a quietly exasperated voice behind me. By the time I’d turned my chair, Jordan was already padding downstairs.

He was still mad, then. He’d been pouting since Victoria’s phone call. When I’d explained the project to him, he’d immediately said I should turn it down. It wasn’t as much as I’d normally charge for a project with this kind of scope, but it wasn’t enough lower that I wouldn’t be willing to take the cut for something worthwhile.

Pulling myself reluctantly out of my chair, I headed downstairs. I wasn’t actually angry with Jordan. I’d known when I got into this relationship that he wanted my meager fame more than he actually wanted me. Jordan had a particular idea of what being the boyfriend of a newly successful director would look like, and he wasn’t keen on me doing anything to screw with that idea.

“Here you go,” he said, letting my plate drop to the table in front of my chair from just high enough to clatter. “Wine?”

“Please,” I said calmly, trying to work out how best to handle the situation. I wasn’t going to give up this project over Jordan’s tantrum, but I’d kind of like to have a happy boyfriend at the end of it. I liked Jordan. Enough to let him move in. It had been a couple years since I’d let a boyfriend move in.

Jordan let the wine splash over the edge of my cup as he poured, then took the seat across from me at the small nook table.

I sighed and took a good, long drink of my cab sav before saying anything.

“Jordan,” I started, keeping my breath and tone even.

He cut me off.

“No!” he said, brandishing his fork in my direction. “No, I get to go first.”

I raised my hands in surrender and leaned back. “Okay, okay, that’s fair.” Though I wasn’t really sure it was.

Jordan sighed and put his fork down. “I get it, okay? I get that it’s your career and your name and all that shit, but... aren’t I a part of this too? Aren’t I part of this house? This family?”

“Of course you are, babe,” I protested, reaching for his hand and tugging him until he got up and came to sit in my lap. Jordan always liked to be coddled, so I wrapped both arms around him and pulled him close against my chest. “You’re an important part. This is just... some of my career decisions need to be just my decisions. I’ll always want your advice, and if you’re really worried something’s going to ruin us financially, I’ll take that into consideration. But we can totally afford this,” I promised. It was true, after all.

“I just feel like you didn’t consider me at all in this,” Jordan answered, shifting in my lap so he was straddling me, arms looped around my shoulders.

“I always consider you, babe,” I said, and I let my hands run up Jordan’s back, under his shirt. I always loved the way he arched when I let my nails catch on the bumps of his spine.

“How were you considering me today?” he asked, still pouty but starting to get breathless as he rolled his hips against mine.

“I was considering how some of the boys are playing in Europe now, and how I know a gorgeous, little sex fiend who could use a European vacation.”

Jordan laughed, not his seductive laugh, but his genuine, warm, sweet laugh, the laugh that had first made me fall for him. “Well, maybe we should ask him along, then,” he mused, teasing, pulling open the buttons of my shirt and bending to press a kiss to my collarbone.

I couldn’t help laughing, but I was not opposed to giving in. “Couch or bed?” I asked, sliding my arm down beneath his ass so I could pick him up as I stood. Jordan was tiny. Petite and lithe and lean, and he was so easy to carry around. There was a thrill to it that I enjoyed.

“Can’t we do the counter?” he whined. “You haven’t fucked me over the counter in weeks.”

“Poor baby,” I teased, carrying him into the kitchen, his lean legs wrapped tightly around my middle, my dick pulsing with each step. “I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”

“You have,” Jordan agreed, punctuating his complaint with an entirely too wanton moan when I dropped him on his ass on the tiled, kitchen countertop.

“Guess we’ll have to fix that,” I mumbled as I shoved his shirt up his toned, pale chest. Jordan was the only person I knew in LA who was pale by choice. And he pulled it off. His hair was almost white blond, his eyelashes ethereally pale. Having skin the color of vanilla ice cream just worked with that. I dipped my head, closing my lips around one, pink nipple. His fingers sank into my hair, and he held me close against his chest, letting out a growl that was at odds with his slight figure.

I bit down a little, sucking up his skin between my teeth, hearing his familiar groan.

My hands moved down to his pants, flicking open the buttons and yanking them down his hips. Jordan let go of my hair to scramble out of his shirt, tossing it aside, and then his fingers dug right back in, this time pulling my head up to kiss me while he turned his attention to my jeans. Shoving them down just far enough to free my cock, his cool, pale fingers curled around me immediately, stroking firmly as if to confirm I was hard enough for him.

I growled into his mouth, hitching forward, tugging his hips up so I didn’t have to get his pants off all the way before I could reach down and tease my fingers over his tight entrance, rubbing and stroking lightly. He’d let go of my dick when I shifted him, and now his hands were gripping my shoulders, my arms, sliding down to my hips to keep me in close.

“Come on, Dev,” he breathed, letting his head fall back as he flailed a bit for a bottle of olive oil. “Fuck me.”

“You want me to, baby?” I teased, knowing he’d rise to the bait. “You wanna feel me in you?”

He whined and tried to spread his legs further but found them constrained by his pants. I quickly slicked my fingers with oil and moved them back into place, rubbing over his twitching hole.

I always loved how responsive Jordan was. If something wasn’t working, he would tell you. And if something
was
working, he would
definitely
tell you. I pushed forward just a bit, still teasing, and felt him opening around me, stretching to accommodate. He sucked in a gasp and then let out a long string of curses. As I thrust my fingers into him, curling and stroking slowly, he obliged me by squirming and arching, grabbing for my shoulders as his toes curled.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lifting his head to look at me. “Come on, Dev. Come on and fuck me, babe.”

I really couldn’t resist that. It was how we’d ended up together in the first place. I made quick work of coating my cock with oil, and then I was pressing forward, pushing up onto my toes to reach well enough to push deep into him.

He’d been tight around my fingers. He was exquisite around my cock.

I took hold of his thighs and pulled him back toward me, seating myself as deep as I could manage. His hands moved to grip the edge of the counter, keeping his balance as I began to thrust.

I knew how he liked it, so I didn’t have to ask how hard was too hard. I just went for it, slamming into him, each thrust feeling like velvet-gloved perfection around me, his body gripping me exactly how I needed it, my balls slapping against him.

He whimpered as I moved, his head occasionally bumping the cabinet behind him. Eventually, when I’d found the angle that worked for us both, he let one hand slip off the counter with a groan and grabbed his dick, slicking it down with pre-cum as he stroked. I was mesmerized by the movement, watching his fingers squeezing, the steady trail of liquid running over them.

It was too much for me, and I settled into the inevitably building pleasure. My hips snapped forward again and again until I started to come with a deep growl, my head falling back as I jerked again and again, finally falling forward just as I felt him clenching around my cock, jerking himself into orgasm.

“The fish will be cold,” I said, when I could speak again.

“I burned yours,” he confessed. “We can get delivery.”

I had to laugh. It was such a very Jordan thing to do, and he was impossible to be upset with for long.