I've spent most of the last week trying not to think about David; trying not to think about that kiss.

During the school day, it's easy. I get caught up in teaching and talking to my kids or to other faculty members. I spend what precious spare moments I have preparing lesson plans and grading papers. I search out new assignments and test questions and add them to my little file to use next year.

I can stay focused from seven until about four, when I usually leave for the day. After that, all bets are off.

I think about him when I'm driving home. I think about him when I'm fixing myself a sandwich. I can't think of anything but him when I'm taking a shower or heading off to bed.

It's such a huge problem, and it's stressing me the hell out. So when I get a call from David late one night, after I've already moved over to the bed with my tablet, I almost don't pick up. I tell myself it's probably about Riley or the fundraiser. Definitely not about what happened last weekend.

I only half believe it, but it's enough to get me to swipe the Accept symbol.

"Hey." My voice catches on that one syllable and I clear my throat a little.

"Hey."

David doesn't sound like he's much better off. It's a bright red flag practically screaming at me to abandon ship and just end this call before it goes too far.

I can't do it, though, and the awkward silence just lingers.

“Well, this is off to a great start," David mutters, and I can't help but laugh.

My mood sobers though, as I realize him acting as nervous as I am means he probably called to talk about what happened between us.

"Is something going on with Riley or the fundraiser or…?" My tone is hopeful as I throw that Hail Mary and hope for a catch.

"No, no. Riley's good, and I think the fundraiser's about ready to launch. We just need to talk about a few more specifics."

Oh, thank God. That's what he wants to talk about. Numbers and statistics and whatever else will help us get this program funded.

"But that's, uh, that’s not why I'm calling."

My hope plummets and dread coils into a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. No, it wouldn't be that easy, would it? Best to head this off before it begins.

"Look, I owe you an apology, David. I'm sorry I haven't been able to give it until now, but…" I've been avoiding even thinking about you, thanks. "What I did was wrong. I took advantage, and I'm sorry. I'll understand if you don't want to—"

"Wait, hold on." I swear I can almost hear David's fingers as they massage his forehead. "In what universe did you take advantage of me? I'm the one who kissed you."

Heat fills my body, spreading outward from my core. Oh, I remember. I've tried so hard not to, but I remember that electric jolt when his lips met mine.

"I should've stopped it," I tell him. "The second it happened, I should've stopped it. You didn't know what you were doing."

"Wow," he lets out a dry, humorless laugh, "way to fluff up a guy's ego. I know it's been a while for me, but—"

"You know what I meant." I smack my head back against the headboard so hard, I see stars for a second. Fuck.

"I really don't. It's not like some invisible force grabbed hold of me and made me trip into you. I wanted to kiss you, and so I did."

He makes it sound so simple, but it never is. Not with straight guys. Emotions were running high. What he thought he wanted in that moment isn't what he actually wants. Not as anything more than an experiment, anyway.

"I've been thinking a lot about what happened. About you."

My heart squeezes in my chest and I close my eyes. This isn't real. He doesn't want you, he just wants the experience.

Even as I think it, I know David isn't that type of person. But this is all I have to cling to right now.

"Maybe what happened between us was a one-time thing, but I don't think so. Even if it is, I want the chance to find out. I want…" I hear a muffled groan, like he's dragged his hand over his face. "Jesus, I don't know how to make this sound… not like a booty call. Is that even the term for it? I don't know. That's not what I mean by it, and I don't want you to think—"

"David…"

"I want to come over."

Yes.

That immediate, visceral response slams into me, waking up every one of my senses. I want him here. I want to pick up where we left off. I want him in my bed, shuddering as I make him come harder than he ever has. I want him to still be here in the morning, to greet me with an awkward smile and a bad joke.

Again I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that's going to keep the want out. If anything, that just makes David's voice affect me more when he continues.

"That sounds really rude, doesn't it? Like I'm just inviting myself over, and screw you if you don't like it. Er, that's—huh, not the best choice of words I guess. What I mean is…"

God, he's adorable. If he were here right now, I'd know exactly how to shut him up.

But he's not. And he's not going to be. I have to say it, even if the words are forced.

"I don't think that's a good idea, David."

That takes the wind out of his sails. The line crackles a little as he blows out a breath. This is the end of it, then. I've hurt him, and now he'll stay away.

"…Can I ask why? If you don't… want to… I mean, I get it. I guess I thought—"

"I do want to. I really, really want to," I admit. "I just—"

"Think I'm making a decision without thinking it through?"

I nod, then roll my eyes at myself, realizing he can't see me. "Yeah."

"Jake, I've spent all week thinking about this. I want to see where things go, and if that's something you want, too, I don't see why we shouldn't be able to just… go for it."

It's a compelling argument, and some part of me is like a dog pulling at a lead, desperately wanting what's just out of reach. My heart thumps out a speedy rhythm, my breath catches, and all I can think is: What if he really does want me?

"Just… take a day to think about it, okay? If you still feel the same way tomorrow, then yeah. Come over," I manage to say.

There's silence on the other end of the line. David's probably about to tell me I'm being ridiculous, but he hasn't had to live through the heartbreak of straight boys testing the limits of their sexuality.

But to my surprise, all he says is, "Deal."

* * *

The next day just drags on. From the time I wake up in the morning—way too early, I might add—all I can think about is that call and David's decision.

He's going to back out. Whatever inspired him to ring me up last night will be gone by the arbitrary time limit I set. No question.

Except… there are a lot of questions. What made him call me? Hell, what made him kiss me? If he wasn't interested, why would he ask to come over?

I bat those questions around all day, refusing to answer any of them. Instead, I do some much-needed cleaning, catch up on a podcast, and try not to think about what definitely isn't going to happen later.

A little after seven, I see headlights flash outside as a car pulls into my driveway. My heart pounds, my pulse racing even as I tell myself not to get my hopes up.

But when I open up the door, it's not Travis or Shane or anybody else who greets me. It's David.

"I didn't know if you meant twenty-four hours, or if just showing up in the evening would be okay—"

I grip the lapels of his coat and pulls him inside. It's not all that graceful—he stumbles into me, tripping over the threshold—but it doesn't matter. When my lips find his, they're a little chilled from the night air, but still as soft as I remembered. He yields immediately, his whole body just seeming to melt against mine as I warm him up. The sweep of my tongue over his bottom lip is what gets him to respond with more fervor, his lips parting to draw my tongue into his mouth. He sucks on it for the briefest of seconds, but it's enough to make me gasp—and to make all of my better sense fly out the window.

Right now, it doesn't matter why he's here, or if his desire is genuine. I have him in my arms, his broad body against mine. I don't care about anything else.

But David pulls back, and it's like a splash of ice water racing down my spine.

"We should probably close the door," he breathes, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

I glance behind him, out into the street and the lit window of the house across from mine. Glen Springs is insanely inclusive, but I can't say I want my neighbors knowing every detail of my business.

David pushes the door closed, then lets out a long breath. He's nervous, I realize, and those nerves are overpowering even the heat I can see in his eyes.

Way to just corner a guy, Morrison.

"Come on in," I tell him, stepping aside. "You want a beer or something?"

"Yeah, beer sounds good." He rubs at the side of his neck, a grateful smile on his lips.

Even if he's here because he really wants to be, he isn't just some guy I found on Grindr. I need to calm the hell down and take it easy.

"Make yourself at home," I say, heading into the kitchen, hoping the distance will help me get my head on straight.

I grab two longnecks, crack the caps off them, and head into the living room where David has settled on the couch. He takes the bottle, and his eyes are still that mix of desire and nervous energy.

I think about my time in college, when I was first starting to explore my sexuality. I'd always hoped my hormones would just take care of things; that everything would come naturally to me and I wouldn't have to worry about being nervous.

That hadn't been true for me, or any other person I've ever talked to. I was a nervous wreck when I went up to Adam's dorm room with him. And he was… kind of a dick, honestly. He didn't force me, but he did rush me and push me.

I don't want to do that to David. It doesn't matter that he's not a starry-eyed nineteen year old. This is still new territory for him.

"You wanna watch a movie or something?" I ask, sitting down next to him just close enough that he doesn't think I'm avoiding him, but not so close our thighs touch.

Surprise flickers across his emerald eyes, then relief. This was definitely the right choice. "Yeah, sure."

I load up Netflix and we search for something to watch, trading comments about various movies and shows. He's a big House of Cards fan, apparently, and I almost just queue up the last season of that, but eventually I stumble on the new season of Stranger Things.

"I didn't know this was already out." He laughs. "Riley would kill me if I watched it without her."

"We can find something else," I say, though now I've really got my heart set on Stranger Things.

David must feel the same. I can see the struggle in his eyes. Eventually, he waves off my concern. "I can watch it twice. I'll just fake surprise."

A smirk tugs at my lips. "I have a hard time believing you can pull that off."

He looks like he's about to make an indignant retort, but he just gives a little shrug and takes a swig from his bottle. "You're right. She'll understand, though. She, uh… wouldn't stop talking about this all day. I hope it's okay that she knows."

I can feel the panic trying to creep in. Riley's my student. It isn't right for me to see her dad. But that fear doesn't manage to get a foothold this time. Instead, I smile. "It doesn't bother me. It's probably better this way. Hell of a surprise to spring on somebody."

"Yeah, no kidding," he says with a soft laugh, then proceeds to relay the story to me.

When he tells me about Riley basically confronting him, my smile grows into a grin. Especially at the Bi Duo part. It doesn't surprise me at all that she was perceptive enough to pick up on it. Kids always know what's going on with their parents.

"She's a great kid," I say, leaning my shoulder against the back of the couch.

David smiles. "Yeah. I can't take much credit for that, though."

"Sure you can. You're her father. Whether you think you did or not, you helped shape who she's become. You're still shaping her, and the way she's turning out? You're doing an amazing job, David."

He searches my eyes, like he's looking for some sort of deceit or pity or something. When he doesn't find it, he swallows, then looks away from me. If not for the smile on his lips, I might think I'd said something wrong.

I've still created an awkward silence, though, so I take that time to start up the first episode.

We get sucked into the first two episodes, and my eyes are glued to the screen as I’m transported back into the nostalgia-bomb that is Hawkins, Indiana.

But when David shifts a little on the couch and his thigh brushes mine, I’m put instantly back into the moment and so is he. Our eyes meet almost cautiously, as if we’re trying to feel one another out.

I take a chance, my fingers outstretched as I reach my hand over, settling it on his thigh. I see his breath hitch and his pupils dilate, and I know neither of us are watching the show anymore.

He leans toward me. I lean toward him. Before I know it, his mouth is on mine and we’re kissing like two men who’ve been starved for affection their entire lives. Or two randy teenagers.

It’s not a bad comparison, because what starts as one kiss turns into more, my hands exploring the broad plane of his shoulders and chest, his moving over my arms and back. Then even more, our tongues vying for position, our bodies turned toward each other.

At one point, he leans so far over me that I lay back, letting his body stretch out over mine and loving every second of it. With his knees on either side of my hips, I can feel the hard ridge of his erection when he presses down against me, and I moan into the fevered kiss, my mind flooded with a fresh wave of desire.

My brain doesn’t seem to accept “take it slow” as an answer anymore, and just like a randy teenager, my hand travels down his body, cupping him through his pants. He bucks against me, and I can’t seem to help myself. I want to feel him properly. To get my mouth around him and make him feel amazing.

My hands go to his shoulders and I push him upward, answering his bewildered look with a reassuring smile before he can second-guess himself. Once he’s sitting beside me again, I move my hand over his pants, caressing him as I go for the zipper.

“Is this okay?” I ask, my fingers gripping the metal tab. “We can stop.”

David shakes his head. “N-no. This is fine. More than fine.”

I pull the zipper down tooth by tooth, then reach into his underwear to take hold of him, my fingers curling around his thick cock. He lets out a shuddering breath and lays his head back against the couch, and a wave of confidence sweeps over me as I handle him.

I should probably stop at a handy. I’m damn good at them, and I know I can get enough friction and pressure to make him come easily just from my hand, but I desperately want to taste him.

So without hesitation, I rearrange myself so I can be on the floor in front of him, one of my hands resting on his thigh, the other closed around his shaft as I take the head of his cock into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he moans, both of his hands going into my hair. His fingers twitch and he ends up pushing me down further. I happily take him deeper into my mouth, but he withdraws from me with a gasp. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

I answer this by taking him to the root, stopping his babbling mid-sentence. He lets out a throaty moan and I enjoy the velvety feel of his skin as I slide my lips back up his shaft, teasing the head with my tongue on the way up.

David’s hands return to my hair, and this time when he directs me, it’s deliberate. I stop him when I need to, squeezing the base of his shaft to buy myself time to breathe, but for the most part I’m all too happy to let him fuck my mouth until I feel his body tighten, starting with the muscles in his thigh.

When that happens, I take over, drawing back so that my lips are wrapped tightly around the head of his cock. I press my tongue against the sensitive skin underneath and suck him greedily, drawing his climax out of him. He comes with a loud moan that echoes off the walls of my living room, completely overshadowing whatever’s on TV, and I keep my mouth locked in place until he’s completely finish spending himself.

When I lift my head and meet his eyes, they’re still glazed over with pleasure. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow, and I grin, leaning forward to kiss him. My lips press to his before I realize he might not be as into kissing a guy who’s just given a blowjob as I am.

But something flashes in his eyes, and when the kiss breaks, he looks down at me. “So… on a scale of one to ten, how likely is it for a guy to fail miserably at giving his first blowjob?”

My cock comes to full attention again, and I can practically feel the blood rushing through my veins. “Do you… want to try?”

He nods vigorously, though his eyes betray his nerves. Setting my hand on his neck, I lean in to kiss him again.

“Just go slow at first. Don’t try to take too much at once. And if at any point you’re uncomfortable, stop. There’s no shame in it.”

He lets out a deep breath and nods. We switch places then, a somewhat awkward tangle of bodies as I get back onto the couch and he tries to wedge himself between the coffee table and me. He reaches for the zipper of my jeans, but it gets stuck on one of the teeth, and it takes a few good tugs to pull it down.

I can tell none of it’s helping his nerves much, but he keeps going, undoing my fly and pulling me free from my boxers. Just that first, uncertain touch feels amazing, his fingers somehow warm against my burning hot skin.

He takes my advice and goes slow, his hand stroking up and down my cock. Without any lube, though, there’s more resistance than there should be, and I think this is what ultimately gets him to lean forward so that his mouth is close to my cock.

I hold my breath, watching him as his tongue escapes his lips and reaches out tentatively to touch my aching flesh. My fingers dig into the couch as I try to keep my hips from bucking at just that simple of an action.

Apparently feeling bolder, he licks along my shaft, then moves in closer so he can take the head of my cock into his mouth. His movements aren’t refined. He doesn’t know to use his tongue while he’s sucking. But none of that matters, because the feeling of his mouth around me is pure bliss, and I can’t keep myself from burying my hands in his messy red hair.

He takes it slow and easy, just like I told him to, and I exercise every bit of restraint I have to keep from accidentally directing him or making him take more than he’s ready for. Once he builds up a confident rhythm, his mouth sliding down a few inches before he draws back up, he adds his hand to the mix and I start to lose myself.

It’s been a while, and I’ve wanted David for so long that my orgasm doesn’t so much sneak up on me as race up. My fingers curl in his hair, and it’s all I can do to get out, “I’m close.”

I try to pull back, to give him options, but he stays where he is. I can’t hold out any longer, and I move my hands to the couch, gripping the cushion hard as release hits me.

David coughs once, but only once. He stays put the whole time, his tongue still working like he’s trying to encourage me even more. I have to nudge him when I finally reach that threshold where I’m too sensitive, and I immediately pull him up to me for a deep kiss.

“That was definitely a ten,” I rasp out.

David grins, looking pretty damn proud of himself. So much so that when he says, “Ten is good, right?” I know he’s teasing.

“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “Ten is good.”

We languish there for a while, letting the couch just sort of form around us. Eventually we zip back up, and manage to somehow focus on the TV again.

Sated and sleepy, I curl against David, prompting him to put an arm around me. I doze with a smile on my face, feeling like a silly teenager again.