I licked my lips as I walked in. My heart pounded so loudly that I heard it in my head. One peek beneath my shirt revealed that my chest had become flushed red and splotchy. Maybe London wouldn’t notice. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans to absolutely no avail.

I opened the door slowly, just in case Marshmallow decided to make a break for it.

Okay. Okay, everything was going to be fine.

London was sprawled across the sofa, watching a Batman movie. I didn’t recognize which one it was. “That’s not a Batman porno, is it?” I asked.

As I crossed the room, I realized that London was—for once—fully clothed. “No, it’s actually a parody of the superhero and detective genres,” London replied. “It’s an indie production that a friend of mine is working on. I agreed to do a mock review of it for him. Give him some views and attention, you know? Tit-for-tat. He’s publicized me in the past.”

Well, that was good. It suddenly occurred to me that—no matter how this conversation went—we at least wouldn’t be having it with the sound of people screwing in the background. This was bound to be awkward anyway, and I really didn’t need Alexander Hamilton’s sex sounds making it worse. “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure,” London said. “What’s up?”

Okay, here we were. Baby steps.

“I might be moving to Hattiesburg once the lease is up, and I thought you might want to move with me. Keep this arrangement.”

Face unreadable, London just stared at me. “Continue being roommates…” he muttered. “That would be the smart thing for you to do, wouldn’t it?”

“What?”

“Move in with someone who has piles of money to support you until you make your first paycheck,” London elaborated.

London’s voice wasn’t angry. He said it as casually as if he’d been discussing the weather, but my heart still pounded at what he’d said. Had I come off that way? Had I already botched this relationship before it had even begun?

My jaw dropped. “Oh, God. That wasn’t what I meant at all. London, I just thought that you might want to! I mean, you hadn’t mentioned any other plans, and I thought I’d ask because I…well, I enjoy having you around.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t even think about your money. I mean, I’ve worried about how I would afford to move, but I figured I’d save up over the summer. I didn’t mean to make you think I was trying to mooch off your money.”

“Don’t be silly! That came out wrong. I meant that would be a smart move. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’d be mooching off me,” London replied. “I’m sorry. It’s a good plan. Yeah, I’m game.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Of course. I kind of like hanging out with you, too, and it’s not like I have concrete plans as is.”

That was a good sign. But when he said like, did he mean I was a friend, or did he mean I could be something more? Hell, I didn’t even really know why London would want a boyfriend. He had no qualms with having sex with people, so it wasn’t as if sex would be a perk to being in a relationship.

I took a deep breath and plopped onto the sofa beside him. “I’m not good at this sort of thing,” I said, “even though I’ve been trying. I just wanted to say that I really think you’ve been a positive influence in my life.”

“Oh, yeah?” London asked.

God, he looked as smug as the Cheshire Cat.

“Please don’t get off on my groveling. I’m trying to be sincere,” I said.

London shook his head. “I just can’t help it,” he replied with a sigh.

I didn’t take the bait. I needed to get this off my chest. And quickly. London didn’t seem to realize I was being serious. “And I want you to continue to be a positive influence in my life,” I said. “I also hope that I’ve been… a positive addition to your life.”

London’s face softened. “I like your wit,” he said. “I feel like we’re well-matched in that regard. It’s fun to verbally spar with someone.”

The compliment made things even worse. I laughed and picked at the edge of the sofa. “And that’s good, but I wondered if you might be willing to consider some other things,” I said.

“Like what?”

I bit my lip. This was a lot to ask.

“You once said that we’re both mature adults,” I said.

“Yeah, but I was quoting you. You said we’re both mature adults.”

“But we are, aren’t we?”

“Okay. I’m listening. What’s wrong?” London asked.

God, his eyes really were the most remarkable shade of blue. It was like looking into all the fury of winter.

“So if we disagree about things, we can move on and continue like mature adults,” I said. “Right? And if you don’t want to be roommates after what I suggest, that’s fine.”

“Okay?”

London nudged Marshmallow from his lap and twisted around on the sofa to face me.

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

“Breathe,” London said. “Whatever it is can’t be all that bad.”

“Right. I just…” I trailed off. “I’m going to ask you to do something for me, and I know it’s a lot. And I don’t know if there’s much I can offer you in return. But would you ever consider going on a date?”

“A date.”

“A romantic sort of date,” I said.

London furrowed his brow. “Are you trying to play matchmaker?”

“No. Well, only if you consider…I might be trying to match you with me.”

“With you,” London echoed. “You want me to…go on a date with you and also move to Hattiesburg with you.”

“Yes,” I replied. “And if you’re going to say no—”

“I’d be a complete fool,” London said, with a laugh. “God, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you this for weeks.”

“No.”

London shifted on the sofa and put his hand up my shirt. I started at the feel of his warm hand on my bare skin. My muscles tensed. “Yes,” London said. “I’ve been dropping hints for weeks.”

“I mean, assuming you maybe want to keep going on dates?” I asked.

London leaned closer and pressed his body against mine. The fabric of our shirts was so thin, yet it felt like a brick wall. “One step at a time,” London said, his breath hot on my neck. “Yes, I’ll still be your roommate, and I’ll go on a date with you. If it doesn’t work out, we can still be roommates. I don’t have a problem with that arrangement unless you do.”

“No, that’s fine,” I said.

“I will do what makes you comfortable,” London said, “because I want you to be comfortable, and I do want to go on a date with you. Is sex still on the table?”

“Yeah. But you’ll have to teach me, so I can keep up,” I replied.

London’s face glowed with pleasure. “I enjoy teaching you,” he said. “I can teach you right now if you like.”

“I thought we were going on a date?”

“You meant now?” London asked. “You don’t want time to plan it out?”

“Well…I don’t know,” I replied. “It’s Friday. I just got paid.”

“Maybe we wait until later?” London suggested.

“No sex on the sofa, remember?”

London practically crawled into my lap. His crotch rubbed against mine, our hips touching one another’s. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” London asked, his voice exaggeratedly sultry.

“Maybe some foreplay on the sofa,” I said.

London reached around the back of my neck and pulled my shirt over my head and down past my arms. He ducked his head and pressed his lips against my collarbone. I arched my back and pressed my head against the back of the sofa. London’s tongue flicked against the thin skin over my clavicle. He sucked and nibbled. I shivered as the dull ache spread. “Are you giving me a hickey?” I asked. “What if you cause a blood clot, and it travels to my brain and kills me?”

Slowly, London raised his head.

“It can happen. I read a story about it happening.”

London pursed his lips. “I feel like making a joke about that would be in poor taste,” he said.

“Definitely.”

London’s thumb rubbed circles over the area. “Shall I continue?” he asked.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I just want to show everyone you’re mine,” London purred. “That’s all.”

“Keep it below the collar,” I replied. “I have a class to teach tomorrow.”

“Whatever you want,” London said.

He moved his head lower and took the skin below my clavicle in his teeth, offering the threat of sharpness without actually biting down. I fisted my hand in the fabric of his shirt. “We’re going to the bed now,” I said.

“Which one?”

“Yours because it’s nicer.”

I shifted back on the sofa and managed to stand. I brought London with me. “You dragging me around by my shirt is kind of hot,” he said.

“Is it?”

He pushed me against the wall and ground his hips into mine. I released his shirt, and he immediately seized my wrists. “What if I can’t make it to the bed?” he asked, curling his fingers over mine.

“Declaring my romantic intentions has made you this horny, huh?”

“Please, you should know at this point that I’m always down for sex,” London said.

He went for the base of my neck. He left a kiss near the base of my throat before drifting lower, dropping kisses and nips in his wake. My pants felt tighter, and I rocked my hips against his. “I think we should try that anal sex thing again,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”

“So we’ll have come full-circle?” London asked. “How poetic.”

He moved away so that we could get away from the wall. London didn’t release my hands, though, so I backed into his room. He steered me towards the bed, and once I felt the mattress against the back of my calves, he nudged me back. I fell onto his wonderfully soft mattress and moved backwards. Wasting no time, he climbed on top of me, his hands moving up my stomach and to my chest.

I ran my hands through his hair and lifted my head. I sucked on his neck, a gesture that was probably sloppy and unrefined, but London didn’t seem to mind. His hands went to my pants. I curled my legs around his back and pulled myself up against him. “Maybe this time, you get naked first,” I said.

“My, you’re demanding today,” London teased.

“Then you’d better fulfill my demands. I know where you sleep at night.”

London put his thumb against my lips. “Wow, I didn’t realize I was agreeing to live with Casanova,” he said. “Yes, I’ll do whatever you want.”

London leaned back and pulled his pants off with painstaking slowness. His boxers were gone soon after. Then he left the bed and walked to the nightstand. I took the offered condom and after removing both my pants and boxers rolled it over my shaft. London had grabbed a condom, too, and rolled it over his length. Then he returned to the bed with a bottle of lube.

London’s hands returned to my hips. “Why don’t you turn over?” he asked.

I did and rested my weight on my knees and forearms.

“Ready?” London asked.

“Yes.”

London smacked my ass. I arched my back and hummed at the pleasant stinging that spread across my backside. “You’re welcome to do more of that if you want,” I said.

London grabbed a handful of my hair and forced my head back. “That’s new,” I said.

He leaned over me, and I arched my back, forcing my ass up against his bare thighs. Then, London’s hand smacked my ass again. Much harder. I closed my eyes and sighed. “Fuck, London.”

He released my hair. The lube, wet and cold, splashed against my ass. I relaxed against the bed as London spread the lube across my ass. It still felt like a lot, but if London had proved anything, it was that he knew what he was doing. Another spank. This one spread the lube across my ass. I shivered at the cold, and yet as London rubbed the area, the liquid warmed and tingled. My cock hardened.

After what felt like an eternity, London’s first finger entered. He twisted and flexed his finger, coaxing my walls to widen. I’d been prepared for this, and this time it felt less like I really had to use the bathroom and more like I was about to have sex.

There was more of the cold lube, which turned to tingling warmth that spread inside my ass. “What is that?” I asked.

“Warming lube,” London said. “It’s great on your cock, too.”

I pushed my ass back against his fingers. He put in another one, whether at my urging or by coincidence. He moved his fingers in and out and scissored them, slowly and steadily loosening and readying me. “Ready?” London asked.

I grabbed a pillow from his bed and pushed it underneath my cock.

“You’re learning,” London said, edging a third finger in.

I smiled and looked over my shoulder at him. “I suppose my sex ed teacher was pretty good.”

“Are you referring to me?”

“Yeah. Before you, all I had was abstinence-only education.”

“Well, we see how well that worked out,” London joked, speeding up the tempo of his fingers.

I bucked my hips, matching my movements to his.

Slowly, London moved his fingers out. “Alright,” he said.

I felt the tip of his cock press against my entrance, and I shuddered in expectation. Slowly, he edged in. My muscles clenched, and slowly, my anal walls stretched to allow him entrance. Once he was in, I edged myself back, urging him deeper. “I’ve got this now,” I said.

“Have you?” London asked, with a laugh.

I nodded. London began to move. As before, he began slowly before speeding up. I kept in sync with him this time. In and out, forward and back. With every movement, my cock moved against the pillow. The friction urged me faster until I finally came. I held the position while London finished. He edged out, and I let myself fall face-first onto his sheet. London draped an arm over me and edged his way up until his face was beside mine.

His skin was flushed and his eyes bright. “Better this time?” he asked.

“Yeah. You?”

London sighed. “Much better. Well done.” He brushed my bangs away from my eyes. “Do you want to just talk for a bit?” he asked.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” I replied. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Mm. I don’t know.”

“Music?” I suggested. “I like classical, and, yes, I know just how pretentious that sounds. But I’ve always liked Vivaldi. Especially Seasons.”

“And here I am with my weekly top forty,” London joked. “God, it’s really a pity you weren’t born wealthy. You have a real sense of aesthetics.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. That’s all been learned.”

“And you like learning that sort of stuff, don’t you?” London asked.

“Of course I do. No one goes into the humanities without having some interest in culture. I don’t imagine they do anyway.”

London nodded. “I feel like I could spend the rest of my life trying to figure you out and I never would,” he said.

“I’m flattered, but I promise no one else has ever thought that about me.”

“How very sad,” London muttered, putting a gentle kiss on my lips. “I thought all of your people were supposed to be critical thinkers and what-not. None of your classmates has ever expressed any interest in you or your life?”

“No, they have. I guess,” I said. “Maybe it’s just that I…I’ve never expressed that much interest in them. Maybe I should do something about that.”

London raised an eyebrow. “Making lots of new changes, aren’t you?”

Maybe so.

* * *

To London’s credit, he had—indeed—made all his marks beneath the collar. Several bruise-like marks covered my collarbone, chest, and abs. When London entered the bathroom behind me, I lifted my shirt and arched an eyebrow at him.

London’s gaze dropped hungrily to my revealed skin. “Looks fine to me,” he said cheerfully.

“You are shameless,” I replied.

London grinned. “You’re welcome to return the favor if you want.”

“Better watch out,” I said. “I’m entirely prepared to go through with the threat.”

London planted a kiss on my cheek. “I’m looking forward to it. Are you ready to go?”

“You realize I could just walk, right?”

“I’m trying to be a good lover,” London replied, smacking my ass.

What had I gotten myself into? I forced myself to frown, but London’s smile never faltered. “Sorry,” London replied, sounding decidedly un-sorry.

I strode past him and dropped my shirt. “Please, don’t do that in front of my students,” I said.

“I would never,” London said, his face and voice the picture of utmost sincerity.

As we walked downstairs, London grasped my hand in his. He squeezed my hand and nudged my shoulder with his. “Do you like this?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I replied. “It’s very…very nice.”

“You realize that we’re going to have to define a lot more boundaries now,” London said. “Even if this does or doesn’t work out, we’ll need to do that if we’re going to live together regardless. I like you, and I think I’ll like going on a date with you. If this goes any further, though, you need to know I can be very clingy.”

“I’d gathered when you decided to mark up my chest, you brat,” I joked.

“I’m not the brat. You’re the brat!”

I climbed into the passenger side of his car. “You know,” I said, “If you’d gotten a visitor’s pass, you could’ve stayed to watched me teach.”

“Maybe next time,” London replied. “Although I’m sure you know that I’d make the experience absolutely torturous for you. Any comment you made, I’d have a smart remark for.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad. My students would probably love it,” I said.

London started the car and turned into the drive for East Hill. Gravel crunched beneath the car’s tires, broken by the sound of students talking and a distant weed-eater. “So what time will you be out?” London asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I’m thinking I might swing by and see Dr. Benson, and if she isn’t in her office this morning, I’ll have to check after class. I’ll call you.”

London stopped before the humanities building and kissed my cheek. “Okay,” London said. “I’ll see you, then.”

My knees felt weak. “Yeah,” I said, getting unsteadily from the car. “Thanks.”

London winked. “Don’t mention it, hot stuff.”

He drove away before I could offer a retort. I shook my head and continued up the steps to the humanities building. It was the farthest thing from creative or inspiring, but if I’d learned anything about the university, it was that people—professors and students—were what made the humanities interesting.

I walked up to the second floor and peered into Dr. Benson’s office. She was there, her elbows planted on her desk and her chin cupped between her hands. “Hey,” I said.

When she looked up, she smiled. “On your way to class?” she asked.

“Yeah. We’re covering Aristotle today.”

“Your favorite,” she said.

“Yeah. And I just wanted to thank you for your advice yesterday.”

“It worked out that quickly, did it?”

I rocked back on my heels and nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, thanks. I’ll see you around, and you’ll be happy to know that I agreed to go out with some of my fellow grad students.”

Dr. Benson brightened. “I am very glad to hear it,” she said. “Well done.”

“Yeah, anyway.”

I rubbed the back of my neck and jerked my head in the direction of my classroom. “I have to go. If I’m a minute late, they’ll all leave.”

“I doubt that.”

“You never know,” I said, before crossing the hallway and entering my class.

The room was filled with the twenty-five students I’d been tasked with teaching this semester. I only had a month and a week left with them. It was sobering, in a way. This had been my second class, the class where I’d mostly gotten my act together but still floundered sometimes. I was still learning where the boundaries were.

I was learning where a lot of boundaries were.

“Hello, students,” I said, leaning against the room’s whiteboard. “Today, we’re covering Aristotle, which I’m sure you’ve all read.”

They totally hadn’t. If I’d learned anything from this class, it was that they didn’t like to read. Not that I really blamed them. While my goal was to teach them English composition, I also knew that most of them were taking this class because it was required—not because they wanted to.

My phone beeped. “Oh, sorry, guys,” I said.

I pulled out my phone. Already, London had sent me a text message.

Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart! :)

I had no idea what to say to that. With a roll of my eyes, I put the phone away and ignored the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “Aristotle,” I said, turning back to the board, “is fundamental for establishing the field of rhetoric.”

* * *

After class, London and I drove out to Pensacola Beach. It was a warm spring evening, fortunate for the beginnings of spring break travelers that had rendered traffic nearly immobile. London had offered to let me drive, but his car frightened me. It cost too much for me to risk even scratching.

“Hey, Chance?”

“Yeah?”

“When do I get to read your magnum opus?”

“My thesis is hardly that,” I replied. “I did order a couple of copies, though. They make us have them bound. The department gets a copy, the library gets a copy, and I bought two. You can borrow one if you want, although I don’t know how interesting it’ll be.”

“Well, not to brag, but sex is kind of my thing.”

“That may be, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll like reading about Lady Chatterley.”

After inching along for a good ten minutes, London turned into the drive for Water Lily, Pensacola Beach’s best waterside bar. Or so I’d heard. I’d never been able to afford it. “You’re paying,” I said.

London smirked. “I thought I might be.”

He pulled his car in. Sand covered half the driveway and immediately managed to work its way into my socks. “Hey, they have a volleyball net! You any good?” London asked, looping around his car.

“Terrible,” I replied.

London sauntered forward. I followed in his wake as we ascended the wooden steps into the tiki-like bar. “If you want to take your shirt off and play, I’ll watch,” I said, watching for the reaction.

That’d been flirty. I was proud of myself for being flirty.

London looked over his shoulder and winked. “You’re learning,” he replied.

We settled at a table, and London snagged the menu. “So, date,” London said. “Tell me about you?”

“I’m supposed to be taking you out,” I said. “Quit taking over the date.”

“Touchy,” London replied.

“So have you been here before?” I asked.

“No, but I heard it was good. How do you feel about this James Bond drink? Sounds good, right?”

London waved the drink menu at me.

“I’m more of a wine drinker, actually.”

“Red or white?” London asked.

“Red,” I said. “Cabernet Sauvignon.”

London smiled. “How romantic,” he said.

“What can I say? I’m a romantic guy.”

“I thought you were a postmodernist,” London joked.

I laughed. “Oh, it does warm my heart when people try to capture the humor of my people,” I said.

London put his hand over mine. “English people,” he said, with a grin.