Alex met Jordan for dinner late on Sunday night. He’d been hoping to get together earlier, but Jordan had had some kind of a discussion or presentation over at the Institute of Contemporary Art. Alex hadn’t failed to notice that the ICA was closer to Jordan’s house, and that it would be much easier for Alex to meet him there, but Jordan had demurred.

“Look,” he said, “I appreciate that you’re willing to go that far for me, but you’ve got to get up early for your job, and I don’t have any clients scheduled until a lot later. So we’ll meet up near your place. It’s fine.”

The consideration, the kindness, meant the world to Alex.

They got dinner at a little place on Glenville, tucked away where not a lot of the undergrad crowd tended to go. It was pricier than Alex usually liked, but he could deal with it. “So how was the discussion at the ICA?” He nibbled on his mussels, trying to stretch them out.

“Oh, it went pretty well. It was me and this other guy, Karl. We were talking about getting good shots in the heat of the moment, like during a fight or a riot or a protest. It’s kind of hard to do, you know? People aren’t about to stop and pose."

He paused and scratched at his adorably disheveled brown hair. “I mean, sometimes they do, don’t get me wrong, but then everyone around them trips and they get mad at you, not at the dimwits who stopped in the middle of a million people to take a damn picture.”

Alex had to laugh at that. “I’ll bet. So you were giving the talk, not in the audience?”

Jordan beamed with a kind of quiet, humble pride. “Yeah. It was pretty good publicity, right? And honestly, it was fun, too.”

Alex reached out and took Jordan’s hand. It was hard to ignore that little jolt, that spark of electricity that moved from Jordan to Alex, but he had to try. “I wish you’d made that clearer. I’d have loved to come and hear you talk.”

“Nah, I’d have gotten all flustered.” Jordan met his eyes and waved his free hand. “Can you imagine? It would have been such a mess. ‘Hi, my name’s Jordan Davenport, I’m an artist, and holy crap that’s a great set of eyes.’ Folks love that.”

Alex laughed and blushed. “Ah, come on.”

“No, really. You’re a pretty distracting guy. I think all the guys in your office must be straight, because damn. I don’t see how they get any work done. Not that I’m complaining." Jordan got back to his meal.

Alex didn’t want to admit how much he liked the praise, but truth be told, he loved it. Jordan’s words made him feel beautiful, and he liked feeling beautiful. Everyone did, really, but right now it was Jordan making him feel beautiful.

Jordan had formed all Alex’s ideas about what made someone attractive or masculine. That suddenly seemed a lot more interesting and important than a bowl of mussels. But Alex was paying for those mussels, so he was going to eat every last one of them, damn it.

When they finished eating, Jordan walked Alex home like the gentleman he was. Part of Alex found it a little ridiculous, since he was a grown man in his own neighborhood, but he wasn’t ready to part ways with Jordan yet. Maybe Jordan wasn’t ready, either.

They held hands as they navigated the damp, narrow streets, and Jordan kissed him twice under the streetlights. It almost flustered Alex, to be treated like this. He felt beautiful, cherished, and loved. He felt wanted.

They got back to the house Alex shared with his roommates, and in a rare stroke of fate, Alex had the place to himself. He had to shovel a pile of junk off of the couch, which would normally infuriate him. Today, he just tossed it all onto the floor in one fell swoop. “Can I get you anything? I can get you a beer, or put a movie on, or whatever.”

“I really just want you.” Jordan wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulder and touched his lips to Alex’s.

The whole world went quiet. Alex couldn’t hear anything from the outside world — not the train yard, not the usual symphony of varying sirens, not the fraternity brothers shouting “Whoo!” in the streets. All Alex could hear was his own heart, racing in his ears.

He opened up eagerly to Jordan’s kiss, giving the other man everything he had. A small — pathetically tiny — part of him lectured in his head about how he shouldn’t be doing this in the common area, and no one wanted to see people playing tonsil hockey or whatever. That voice got dimmer and dimmer as he drank in Jordan’s slight patchouli scent.

Jordan’s hand slipped under his shirt, and Alex let out a little moan. Sure, he’d had a few hookups here and there, but nothing quite held up to the touch of someone who knew him, someone who cared about him.

He pulled back to give Jordan access to anything he wanted, and Jordan seemed more than happy to take anything Alex wanted to give. His artist’s hands traced every curve, every line, every muscle and hollow.

Alex needed to know those spaces on Jordan, too. He climbed on top of him and grinned as he felt Jordan’s hard cock pressing against his own. At least he wasn’t the only one having a problem.

He rocked his hips, just a little bit, and was rewarded with a moan from Jordan’s generous mouth. Alex wasn’t far behind him, because even this limited contact felt incredible.

“I’ve got to touch you,” Jordan gasped. “Please, please let me touch you.”

Alex allowed himself a moment of pride. Here was Jordan, beautiful Jordan, begging him. He nodded. “Yeah. Yes, please. Touch me all you want.”

Jordan unbuckled Alex’s belt impatiently, like it had personally offended him. He was a little bit gentler with his fly, but not by much. A few seconds later, blessed cool air enveloped Alex’s superheated cock.

Jordan stared at it for a second. “Oh God." He wrapped a hand around it, and Alex had to grab onto Jordan’s shoulders to keep himself upright.

Jordan’s hand felt too good on his skin. Alex had no idea how he’d manage to last.

Jordan jerked gently at first, and Alex knew he’d died and gone to heaven. This wasn’t real. There was no way the guy he’d had a crush on since childhood was here, doing this, and feeling so good while doing it. Alex had endured some terrible hand jobs, but Jordan knew just how to touch him so that every stroke brought bliss.

It just wasn’t fair.

Fair or not, Alex was more than happy to lose himself in it for a while. He held on while Jordan picked up his pace, letting his pleasure build until he finally couldn’t hold back anymore. He came with a low, shuddering groan and slumped against Jordan, the thick ropes of his release splashing against his polo shirt.

Jordan chuckled. He was still hard, and Alex couldn’t allow that. Not only was it not fair, he didn’t want Jordan to be unsatisfied. He wanted him to feel the same pleasure Alex was right now.

He looked up into Jordan’s eyes. “I want to suck you.”

Jordan blinked and stroked his face. “You don’t have to, Alex.”

Alex smiled at him. “But I really, really want to. Is it okay?”

“Hell, yeah. Of course it’s okay." Jordan helped Alex slide onto the ground, on his knees between Jordan’s legs.

Alex opened Jordan’s jeans and freed his trapped cock from his boxers. There it was, big and thick and beautiful. Alex licked a stripe up the underside, prompting a yelp from Jordan. Then he took the crown into his mouth.

He liked to do this. He liked the feeling of pleasuring his lover, of working his way down the shaft slowly and steadily, until finally he had all of him. He liked it when the partner suddenly realized he was deep inside Alex’s throat, because Alex had been just that careful.

Jordan was the kind of guy who paid attention, though. He stroked Alex’s hair, murmuring words of encouragement all the way through, until he couldn’t speak anymore.

Then Alex hummed.

Jordan lost all control.

Alex rested his arm across Jordan’s bucking hips, just to keep him from choking him, but it was about all he could do. It was all he wanted to do. He liked being full of Jordan this way, and loved that something so simple could make Jordan so wild.

Jordan came with a yell, shooting down his throat so hard and hot that Alex almost got hard again. Alex worked him through it until he was completely soft, then tucked him back into his pants. He got back up on the couch beside him and pulled the afghan Myles’ mother had sent over them.

Devon came home maybe ten minutes later. He sniffed, took a look around, and shook his head. “Gross, man. Gross."

As he walked into the kitchen to fix himself dinner, he said over his shoulder, “’Bout time.”

Alex and Jordan looked at each other and laughed.