Pleasure Meeting You

"We're going to need my body weight in tape to make this super-sized hand of Buddha poster stick to the wall...and why in the hell is Anthony wearing flip-flops in the middle of October?"

Jack asking the question everyone else quietly thought wasn't unusual. Jack speaking with that degree of irritation was extremely unusual and added to the general feeling of unease creeping over the room.

Stealing another glance at his watch, Anthony fidgeted in Cory's desk chair. He knew he should have left half an hour ago if he were going to go at all, but he wanted to put in a little bit of face-time at Cory's goal night. Ten minutes. He'd be as big a presence as possible for ten minutes, then start walking. Really fast.

Grateful for Jack's rudely phrased question, Anthony finally found his voice. He launched into a monologue on third world labor, transitioning smoothly into the shoe industry in particular, and concluding with an impassioned explanation of how he'd decided to expand his personal expression of protest to include wearing no footwear besides flip flops for the next six months. Relieved to have acted normal-for-him, he checked his watch and was incredulous to find that a mere five minutes had passed.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on Cory's desk Anthony tried to work out a way to jump back into the conversational spotlight, wanting to make a show of participating for just a few more minutes. He looked from one friend's face to the next as they each pushed one corner of the giant poster against the wall. Unnerved to find Jack staring at him Anthony skipped his attention down to Simon whose intellectual faculties looked stretched to the limit by the task of working a roll of tape. Miles was too hard to hide things from. Speaking directly to him wouldn't be worth the risk...which left Cory.

Anthony waited until he'd caught his eye. "What's your roommate going to say about you covering up his I Was a High School Football God bulletin board shrine with a giant Buddhist poster?"

Cory looked up at Jack and Miles. "Seriously...I should find a better place for this. I don't think he's going to like this all that much."

Jack didn't break his scrutiny of Anthony as he distractedly replied, "Fuck that moron." He lifted his portion of the poster away from the wall as Simon stood up and began putting multiple tape loops on the back of the top left corner.

"'Fuck that moron'?" Miles leaned his shoulder against the corner he was responsible for, freeing his hands to reach down and run through Cory's curls in an attempt to make them stand crazily up, Bride-of-Frankenstein style. "Maybe our time would have been better spent actually examining some spiritual teachings rather than using bargain basement tape to attach a ten pound poster to concrete. I really think you should re-think your 'no thumbtacks' stance, Cory."

Anthony glanced at Cory's alarm clock, then checked the time against his own watch. The same. He watched his friends' progress for a moment. Four guys, four corners. He wasn't needed. Wouldn't be missed. Certainly there was no harm in running a quick errand. Getting there and back would take awhile, and it was already starting to get pretty dark, but he only planned to stay five minutes at the most. He wouldn't even go in. Just stay outside. Maybe. Probably. Definitely.

He looked up to find Jack still staring at him, this time with narrowed eyes and a dangerous looking frown.

"Wait a minute, Anthony. Wait just one fucking minute. First you get some mysterious phone call this afternoon. Then all of the sudden you're hell bent on not having even one bite of the pizza we got...and why?" Jack interrupted himself and turned to Simon, who was now focusing intently on taping the back of Miles's corner while Jack pressed down once again on his corner that insisted on popping back off of the wall. "Why wouldn't Anthony eat any pizza, Simon?"

Simon shrugged and continued his taping with the intense focus of a diamond cutter.

Anthony glared with no effect at Jack as he turned to ask Cory, "Why wouldn't Anthony eat any pizza tonight...and what the hell did Miles do to your hair? Quit looking all psychotically cute when I'm pissed off and trying to make a point."

Cory shifted his kneeling position to keep his legs from cramping. After checking the expressions on his friends' faces and finding no compelling reason not to answer he replied, "Mmm.... This afternoon Anthony vowed to only eat air-popped popcorn until the United States elects a democrat to be president."

Anthony kept his glare steady as Jack turned back to him and went back on the offensive.

"Right. So...let's do a quick re-cap. Phone call. Popcorn. Flip-flops. Compulsive watch checking. Anthony, your shit is so connect-the-dot obvious it's painful."

Anthony forced himself to keep his eyes off of his watch and the three alarm clocks in the room. His flip-flops had worn painful grooves in-between his toes and his stomach churned with the voracious demand for the cooled, coagulating pizza on Cory's desk. He wished Jack would finish playing psychological detective and shut up.

Trying to look unfazed, he met Jack's accusing look and raised his eyebrows in mock curiosity.

"It's the same fucking thing, Anthony. Always the same. You start feeling guilty about something, then comes the deprivation bullshit to somehow 'make up for it.' Not that it's always bullshit. I get the celibacy thing. Seriously. I do. You were out of control last year..."

"I was out of control?" The attempt to appear unfazed ended in failure. Anthony jumped to his feet, sending his chair flying backwards and making even Simon look towards him in alarm. "You think so, Jack? You can look back at freshmen year and say that I was out of control?"

The arguments streaming through his mind, outlining themselves with damning logic, and furiously shrieking to be hurled through the air at that self-satisfied prick stuck in his throat as both Jack and Cory tensed and looked nervously towards Simon.

Of course. Clueless, opinion-less, personality-less, must-be-fucking-Jack-by-now Simon. Can't say anything to upset him. Don't let moody, out-of-control Anthony spill truths about Jack (especially not Anthony and Jack) that might shake up precious, delicate, Simon.

Heart pounding, Anthony picked up Cory's chair and--without another word or a second glance--headed for the door. He strode across the tiled floor with as much haughty pride as the flip-flops slapping against the soles of his feet would allow.

Miles's voice followed him. "You need a ride?"

Ignoring him, Anthony kept walking. He was choking on the torrent of words his mind kept churning out, muted by the very real worry that his voice might betray an emotion other than anger, the only emotion he was willing to display.

His anger got a strong boost as he heard Jack practically shout, "Can you seriously not figure out where he's going? What the hell are you offering him a ride for?"

Two things kept Anthony from pinning that asshole to the floor and connecting his fist with Jack's body until the muscles in his arm ached: This night belonged to sweet-natured Cory, and--even more compelling--he'd risk setting history back in motion if the aggressive body contact gave he and Jack raging erections. And experience had taught them that was exactly what would happen. It had taken a long time to reach their current point of being completely and utterly indifferent to and unaffected by each other, and Anthony had no intention of messing that up. To hell with Jack.

He began digging through the hoodies piled on the floor in search for his own, and tried not to react in any way to the Miles's calm response.

"Yeah, I know where he's going. I knew it the second he hung up that phone call. Will the story have a happier ending if he walks there wearing domestically made beach shoes?"

Whatever Cory replied was in too low a murmur for Anthony to hear, and --what a surprise--Simon said nothing. No opinion, no input. Nothing. Insisting Jack invite a fifth person to ensure Anthony remained celibate had seemed like a good idea...at the time. He'd have preferred that his replacement at least have a pulse if not an actual personality.

Not that it mattered.

He coughed to cover a particularly loud stomach growl. As he zipped up his hoodie in preparation for a brisk, forty-five minute walk he silently congratulated himself for finally regaining enough sense to start making wise decisions. Especially the decision to break the silence and go over to his house. Just to talk. For five minutes.

"Seriously, Anthony...You need a ride?"

Anthony paused and mentally composed a scathing response regarding the obnoxiousness of them assuming they knew who had been on the phone, what Anthony would choose to do if it were the person they thought, and...and...

And he really did need a ride. He pulled the door handle down, answering with a short, "Yes."

Hating to ruin his relatively clean get-a-way, Anthony couldn't help hesitating just before he walked out the door. He looked over his shoulder, careful to only make eye contact with Cory as he said, "Hot glue gun that shit." He hoped Cory was fluent enough in Anthony-ese to accurately translate that apology, but he was in no frame of mind to stick around and find out.

The sound of the poster popping free of the wall and violently re-curling followed Anthony out into the hallway, and the sound of Miles's footsteps followed him all the way out to the street. Anthony finally had to give up his five-strides-ahead position in order to follow Miles to his parking spot. Times like this he cursed himself for idealistically refusing to accept his parents' offer to buy him his own car. At the blipping sound of the doors unlocking he climbed in the passenger side, attempting to circumvent any more criticism as soon as Miles's seat-belt clicked in place.

"I'm not going to..."

"Don't." Miles spoke firmly but without rancor or judgment as he started the car and began to manoeuvre out of his space. "You're headed over to an ex-fuck's house after six months of celibacy. Don't start any sentences right now with 'I'm not going to.'"

The words angered Anthony even as their tone soothed him. He contented himself with the lack of lectures or advice and bit back his replies. The emotional intensity that generally funneled straight through Anthony's mouth remained dammed up, resulting in an uneasy silence.

Neither of them pretended that there was any question where they were headed. Although each streetlight illumination offered an opportunity to read the emotions struggling to break free on both of their faces, they both resolutely refused the invitation. Miles focused exclusively on the road while Anthony watched the skeletal trees coast by in the darkness, framed by the soothingly cool window.

Miles was the one who eventually plunged into the conversational vacuum, just as they drove across the the informal boundary line dividing the student residential area from the residential area of the town.

"I'm not asking anything, but I'll tell you something. Cory and I would both be up for you doing more than just watching when you're with us. Up to you. I'm just putting it out there. And you wouldn't have to worry about emotional strings because I'd kick your ass if you got too attached to Cory, and the chances of you and I getting overly attached are...well..."

Anthony struggled to hide how thrown he was by Miles acknowledging his "worry" concerning "emotional strings." He also struggled to resist visualizing what Miles was offering, not wanting to respond or be tempted by the offer. He began silently counting the soft glow of streetlights they passed.

"So, yeah. I mean, do what you want. But if you want me to turn the car around right now, say the word."

Anthony frowned out the window. "For the ninetieth fucking time, I'm just going over there to talk. I'm completely celibate and fully committed to..."

"I know. I get it. By 'ninetieth' time you must mean 'first', but yeah...All right. Understood."

Anthony allowed the interruption to his celibacy speech, desperate for even a few minutes of silence to collect his thoughts.

That silence ended up lasting less the six seconds it took Miles to change lanes, turn into a well-kept neighborhood, and begin winding down roads he remembered well enough not to need any directions. He tried again. "Let's just say you decide you want to keep 'talking for five minutes' after tonight...not drunk off your ass with strangers, and not with someone who fucks with your head and treats you like shit. Remember what I said about me and Cory. Of course after a 'talk' with that ass-monkey you'll need to keep your dick away from us until you've been tested. Twice."

"We're not going to..."

"I know. Yes, you've told me. Talking. I know. Just go ahead and show me test results, or show me the used condom wrapper if that piece of crap actually bothers to use one. Not that I'm judging, or prying..."

Anthony felt even more adrenaline pumping through his body, wanting to convert into anger over this casual dismissal of his celibacy vow and willpower. His instincts screamed for him to shut down this ridiculous conversation with a tirade, but the closer they came to their destination the more agitated and unnerved he became. Before he had a chance to channel his agitation to a silence-inducing monologue, the adrenaline had produced a dry-mouthed, wet-palmed panic instead.

Time for the fall-back defensive line: Sarcasm. Keeping his voice as steady and playful as he could manage under the circumstances, he made a final attempt to derail this confusing train of Miles's thoughts.

"Such a sweet offer. You're saying if I show you the condom wrapper from the last guy I fucked, whose house you drove me to, I can screw you and your boyfriend? Awwwww....such a romantic. You have a box of chocolates and some roses down there for me?"

Relenting, Miles took the easy out. Taking his left hand off the wheel, he grabbed his crotch. "I've got something down here for you."

With a mixture of relief and a feeling neither of them knew yet to recognize as regret, they let the conversation slip into the the mindless, comfortably familiar terrain of dicks and insults. Neither was at the top of their comedic game, but they both welcomed the lightening of mood until Miles pulled up in the driveway of a well-kept, two story house with the outside light expectantly on.

Putting the car in park Miles expressionlessly observed, "Still the same. Nothing's changed."

Anthony chose to interpret the comment as strictly regarding the house, which really hadn't changed any since he'd last needed Miles to give him a ride. Without acknowledging Miles in any way, Anthony exited the car and began slowly walking towards the house, careful not to tread on the perfectly manicured lawn.

As he approached the front steps he told himself Five minutes. I owe him that much. The part of his mind completely aware that manipulative ex-lays are owed nothing kept silent, letting Anthony repeat his five-minutes mantra over and over as he first put one, then two feet on the bottom step. He paused to wipe the sweat from his hands then roused the courage to raise his right foot, then his left, up to the second step. He paused there, suddenly panicked that he'd lost his voice. After several gulping swallows he stared down at his feet and began practicing. The first "Hello," half-stuck in his throat, the second was too high-pitched, and the third too low. A few more tries convinced him that by shortening the greeting to, "Hi" he could get away with the low voice.

He made it up to the final step and was working up his courage to actually put a foot or two up on the stoop when Miles's voice carried softly across the lawn.

"We can leave right now, if you want. No questions, no commentary. Just...go home."

Anthony didn't turn around as he gave his head a quick shake to indicate No. I'm in control. I just need a few minutes. At least, he hoped the head shake said all of that. His usual gift of speech seemed to have completely left him, and he practiced the low-pitched "Hi," several more times as he crossed to the thick doormat.

Just the act of raising his arm to ring the doorbell brought back so many memories and associations that he had to pause, arm raised, until he could force himself to focus on the present moment, and the present circumstances. The jarring shriek of the doorbell echoing through the house made Anthony jump, and he looked at his own hand in surprise. Had he rang the bell? Must have...Which meant he had seconds to calm his racing heartbeat, or surely the pounding under his ribcage would be humiliatingly visible.

The sound of fumbling on the other side of the door filled Anthony with the nauseating thrill of anticipatory panic. He was struck with the conflicting urges to either sprint for the safety of Miles's car or to push open the door to the house and...and what? Anthony's emotional and intellectual defenses crumbled more with each half inch the door opened.

He suddenly found himself looking straight into the eyes of the man he and his journalism classmates referred to only as Professor Davis. Miles's words echoed in his mind...Still the same. Nothing's changed. The guy still looked too young to be an associate professor with an impressive journalism career already under way, still wore pressed khakis and a button down shirt even while relaxing at home, still had the same close-cut brown hair and hazel eyes. Nothing had changed.

Despite the rehearsals, Anthony's hi became jammed somewhere in his brain, never making it anywhere near his mouth.

His host smoothly eliminated the usual social niceties, speaking in the same low voice that had filled Anthony's mind since they'd hung up the phone. "Who's that in my driveway?"

Flushed without fully realizing why, Anthony croaked, "A friend."

His former professor crossed his arms and peered through the darkness towards the still-running car. "A friend you fuck?"

The word resonated between them. Fuck. Standing on the doormat, Anthony replayed the echoes of the most recent times he'd heard that word used sensually...whispered from Miles to Cory, aggressively spoken by Jack to Simon, spoken by all them, including himself, at times when they neared orgasm.

But, when that combination of sounds fell from the professor's mouth, his tone divorced all emotion from the word's primal sexuality. The intonation of that single word promised cold, detached stroking, licking, touching, and screwing...Exactly what Anthony craved. Too late, he realized five minutes might not be enough, and some talks are better suited for the telephone.

He shook his head No.

"No? Then show your 'friend' what he's missing."

A pointed look at Anthony's crotch underscored the message that yes, this man he hadn't seen in seven months did expect him to expose himself right there on the well-lit, residential stoop.

Anthony figured this would be a bad time to mention his friend had seen "what he's missing" many, many times. The lucid part of his mind dutifully produced the thoughts This is insane, came here to talk, stay in control, remain distanced, don't do it, neighbors might see, Miles will see and think...whatever it is that he'll think... in a continuous loop.

Unfortunately, Anthony's mind was feeling treacherous and playful, using each shouldn't thought to send erotic jolts of desire straight through his body, ensuring that when his zipper went down there would be something worth seeing. The wrong, bad idea, don't do it, shouldn't do it soundtrack played teasingly in his thoughts as his shaking hand unfastened his button, found the catch to his zipper, and pulled.

The raw hunger in the other man's eyes caused Anthony's hands to become even more clumsy as he shamelessly pushed his jeans and briefs down to his hips, letting his erection fall forward into the almost-cool evening air. It hadn't been five minutes yet, and technically they were talking. Sort of. He was still in control. Everything was fine.

The professor stepped forward to block the door-frame with his body, keeping his eyes focused below Anthony's waist. "Is that hard for me, or for him?"

Resenting the actual answer, Anthony took half an instant to defiantly put Miles in his mind. He pictured Miles stroking and being stroked by Cory, all the while increasing Anthony's pleasure with frequent eye contact. He banished memories of the professor into the corner of his mind where memories of Jack were kept chained. Feeling his erection twitch forward in response to thoughts of Miles, Anthony looked into emotionless hazel eyes and lied, "You."

"You sure?"

The hard edge of jealousy that crept into the professor's voice and expression swelled Anthony with a superior feeling of detachment. The infrequent passing car, street and house lights shining down on him, and the half-remembered presence of Miles in the driveway took nothing away from his pants-down perception of being completely in control. Barely keeping a self-satisfied smile from his face, he nodded.

"Yeah? I don't believe you. I think your 'friend' is staring at the part of your ass any neighbor of mine could see if they wanted to, and that you have your 'friend' on your mind. Yes?"

Anthony didn't answer.

Lowering his voice to be practically inaudible, the professor leveled an icy look towards the car windows, which stubbornly revealed nothing but dark reflections. "You will stop thinking about him. Let's show your friend what effect you have on me." He opened the door wider and moved his hips slightly forward, still staring towards the car.

Anthony shakily unfastened the button then undid the zipper of the man he had successfully kept away from for half a year, barely registering the sound of Miles slowly pulling out of the driveway. Surely it hadn't been five minutes yet. They were still just talking. Pretty much.

Professor Davis stepped back from the doorway, mouth twisted into a half smile, as Miles's car started down the street. Leaving his pants unzipped, he politely raised his eyebrows and gestured inside the house. "Would you like to come in?"

Ride just left, rude to say no, can't stand out here like this, don't have to go any further... Using one hand to keep his pants from sliding further down, Anthony stepped into the house and out of the accusing glare from the outdoor lights.

The professor allowed Anthony to step inside just far enough to close the door before putting his hand firmly on Anthony's chest, stopping him.

"Ahhh....you see...I'd like nothing better than to entertain you--or should I say be entertained by you--in my home, but..." His gaze slid down to what Anthony still had enticingly exposed. "After seven months of avoiding my calls, you'll need to re-earn some privileges." He pushed his own pants and boxers down to his hips, showing Anthony he was only halfway there.

"I need you to take care of that for me. Without touching me. Do it right, Anthony. Make me want to invite you in and I'll come up with something else fun for us to do."

Anthony's mouth literally watered at the sight of half-soft cock that would taste so salty-sweet, still pliable in his mouth until it stiffened up so hard...just like he remembered. But no touching. Which was good. As long as they kept their hands to themselves there was no danger. He'd still be celibate. Still be safe. This was really good, actually...a chance for Anthony to demonstrate the control he had.

Unlocking some memories of nights they'd spent together, Anthony leaned back against the closed front door. Slowly and deliberately he arched his back just a little and slid his hands down, pushing his briefs down just far enough to rest under his balls, pushing them up and making his erection jut forward. Looking up from partially closed eyes to keep the eye contact from appearing too brazen, he pressed both hands flat against the door behind him and lazily lifted his hips just enough to make his erection slightly sway.

"Mmm... I like the look of that. You know I like the look of that..." Fully erect now, the professor indulged himself with several lazy strokes. Desire softened his expression until he abruptly turned away from Anthony and strode into his dimly lit living room.

After waiting uncertainly for a moment, Anthony followed with steps made awkward by his state of full arousal and partial undress. He remembered enough about this game to remain standing as his host took a seat on the black leather couch. Anthony chose to stand several feet in front of him, waiting for instructions and stealing quick looks around the room. Still filled with black leather, glass, and hard, metal edges and angles. Still devoid of photographs or personal touches of any kind. Still dark. And cold.

In the moment before the tantalizing silence became too long, the professor leaned comfortably back and spoke in a conversational tone. "I want you to sit with me here. I do. But I need you to do something else for me."

His eyes remained cold but his voice warmed with lust as he commanded, "Get naked. Touch yourself. Stroke that dick, suck your fingers, finger-fuck your hole....you do what you need to do to make me so hot I can't help but stroke myself. You think you can do that?"

Anthony dared one quick look at the unfathomable hazel eyes before looking back down at what he so badly craved. The provocative echoes of the professors words twined around the chorus of of Anthony's own thoughts. A challenge. An invitation. Mutual masturbation..that's all. Nothing more. Just a game..

Anthony chose--made the conscious choice--to remove his hoodie, peel off his shirt and push his briefs and pants the rest of the way down. The slight stumble as he kicked them away meant nothing. The unkind laugh that followed his stumble meant even less. Completely in control, following the impulses of his own free will, Anthony made the decision to accept the challenge...to show his former professor the control Anthony had over him.

He stood in front of this man who couldn't keep his eyes off what Anthony left untouched, knowing his audience's weakness for the sight. Slowly and deliberately he turned around, widening his stance and arching his back enough so that this man who mistakenly thought he had control had a perfect view of what he used to love to fill. Looking into the dim reflection from the glass-fronted entertainment center, Anthony could see the professor's hands, stubbornly pressed against the couch cushion at his sides.

Reaching behind himself, Anthony curved his palms around each muscled cheek, placing the pads of his fingers deep in his ass crack, and spread...reflexively arching his back even more in a teasing plea to be touched, licked, fucked...anything.

And still, the reflected image showed the professor's hands by his side.

Simultaneously angered and aroused, Anthony backed up, moving just a little bit closer. Taking just the middle finger of his right hand, he pushed deeper and began slowly circling his hole, sometimes pressing tantalizingly close but never quite pushing in before going back to the slow circles. His own erection leaked a bead of precome at the sight of a reflected hand drifting over to stroke a blocked-from-view cock as the professor's low voice murmured, "That's it...That's what I like to see. Just like that...Very nice. Now back that up for me."

Anthony unthinkingly obeyed, dropping his hands as the professor spread him even wider. He felt thumbs dipping deeper into his crack and a warm tease of exhaled breath. He spread his trembling legs further apart and waited for what the professor's words and actions had tacitly promised, then panted with repressed need and agonized frustration as the hands suddenly withdrew and the conversational voice tinged with mocking returned.

"You think you're getting laid tonight?"

Anthony straightened up, confused and unsettled as the professor walked around to stand in front of him, scanning the length of his body with lust filled eyes.

"What's the rush? You've been avoiding my calls since last year. Considering how shy you've become, I figured you'd want to take things slow this time around...get reacquainted a bit."

In a cold, commanding voice he ordered, "Get on your knees."

Anthony sank to his knees in relief, telling himself that was the position he would have chosen, considering how tired his legs were after standing for so long. The caress of carpet felt good, and...and also...and it showed how much control he had over the older man--the state of arousal he could bring him to--if you thought about it. Getting on his knees was a choice.

His body celebrated his choice as the professor pushed his pants further down his hips, erection falling heavily forward. Anthony stilled the impulse to take that cock into his mouth with the thought wait until you're told, further confirming his belief that he was the one in control, making the decisions, and in no mental or emotional danger. Still safe. He waited, keeping his eyes cast downward.

"You make me wait seven months and think you can suck my dick the second you drop to your knees? Close that mouth, and close your eyes."

Anthony did a he was told, suddenly aware of his nudity in comparison to the professor's practically fully-dressed state. He shivered at the implied illicitness just as the velvet-soft head of what he craved so badly traced down one side of his face, back up his cheek, and lightly across one closed eyelid...back down the other side of his face, than tortuously across his too-dry bottom lip.

"You like that? Is that something you want?"

Anthony kept his eyes closed and nodded, his lips parting slightly as the downward movement of his head brushed the cock against his upper lip. He froze...aching to taste...even if just for one second.

"Put that tongue out, but don't move. You haven't earned the right to move. Not yet."

Again, Anthony did as he was told. At first he remained perfectly motionless, obediently waiting for the brush of cock or tight, high balls to pass quickly over his curved, pointed tongue. Without making the conscious decision to disobey he found his head tilting, tongue shifting, licking, tasting as the the cock-teasing became more focused...more intense. He let his extended tongue go passively flat, aroused as much by the taste of dick skittering across it as by the intermittent cock-slaps against his cheek, reminding him that seven months of silence wouldn't be tolerated twice.

He stilled himself as the head came to rub lazily from side to side across the top of his relaxed tongue. He moaned but remained still when the spit-moistened cock head began spreading the wetness over his over-dry bottom lip. Knowing what was coming, Anthony struggled to keep his eyes closed and to resist the almost overpowering urge to touch himself.

When he felt a hand move to the back of his head to keep him firmly in place he prepared himself, relaxing his throat, adjusting his mouth, and resting his tongue in a way to cover at least some of his teeth. The cock pushed in sooner than expected, triggering his gag reflex until he readjusted, re-relaxed, then passively allowed the man before him to hold his head and fuck into his mouth...pushing and thrusting with intentions that went beyond the simple desire for sexual release.

"This better than your friend with the car? Bigger? Taste better?"

Mouth full, and body shaking with need, all Anthony could manage was a muffled, "Uhnnnnnnn," creating vibrations that made the professor increase his pace. He chanced a quick reach down towards his own erection, just to take the edge off.

"Get that hand off your cock. Am I done yet? Do I feel done?"

Anthony stopped touching himself, but the frustration drove him to disobedience. Shaking his head free he opened his eyes and roughly tugged the restraining pants down a few more inches. He felt the hands at the back of his head gripping his curls in warning, but before they could secure him for more passive mouth-fucking he had gently coaxed one of the professor's balls inside of his mouth, fondling the other with his hand.

Encouraged by the loosening grip in his hair, Anthony circled the middle two fingers and thumb of his other hand to grip the saliva-slickened shaft, stroking slowly. Without being told, he re-closed his eyes, savoring the taste and feel of the skin sliding over his cupped tongue. The grip in his hair tightened, but was clearly for show as Anthony found himself free to flicker his pointed tongue quickly along the shaft, rub his lips along the ridge while stroking firmly, sucking just the head...moving from full passivity to limited control...daring to do everything but rub his own aching erection against those perfectly pressed pant-legs just inches away.

Frantic with the need to touch himself, he tested once more by slightly lowering one hand. Feeling the hands wrapped in his curls tighten painfully he improvised in another daring direction, sliding his roaming hand down in between the professor's legs while distracting him with a faster stroke-and-suck pace.

This freedom was allowed. The hands remained wrapped tightly to the point of pain in Anthony's hair, but no verbal reprimand stopped him from teasing the outside of what he had never been allowed to explore before. On his knees, mouth full of cock, and head painfully restrained, Anthony swelled with the feeling of power, control, and...he didn't allow himself to label the feeling, but his inner self recognized it as affection. He felt intoxicated with gratitude for the trust gifted by this man, allowing this unprecedented intrusion which now went to Anthony's first knuckle, as well as letting Anthony control the pace and method of his licking and sucking. He feared he might ruin everything by coming, untouched, before his lover had finished.

Reluctantly, he pulled his finger away and placed that hand in a firm-yet-gentle grip, cupping the professor's balls. His other hand stroked furiously as he sucked and licked the head, careful to pull his mouth away and close his eyes as soon as he felt the final tightening and heard the moaned warnings. Remembering how the other man liked it, he was quick to remove his hand when the professor's own hand impatiently moved to take over the stroking and milk the spurts of his orgasm over Anthony's hungrily upturned, waiting face.

Knowing how much his lover hated being seen the moments just after orgasm, Anthony waited silently until the professor had caught his breath and composed himself.

Surprisingly, he lowered himself to his knees just in front of Anthony. Running his thumb through the wetness trailing down Anthony's cheek his face twisted into a half smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You in the mood for me to return the favor?"

Anthony looked back at him, incredulous. The man in front of him had never returned the favor. Not daring to hope, he remained distrustfully silent.

The professor looked down, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue before repeating his question. "You want me to do the same? Take care of that for you? I'd like nothing better. I'm ready to set you up on the couch, get in between your legs, and suck you off."

Anthony could hear his own breathing and hoped his pounding heartbeat wasn't also audible. In that moment he knew he'd made the right decisions...answering the phone, coming over, obediently playing the erotic games, and in opening himself up to feel...something. This time would be different. Already it was different.

The professor knelt closer, stopping when his softening erection was just short of brushing against Anthony's dripping arousal. He used the sleeve of his immaculately pressed shirt to tenderly wipe away what Anthony had desperately hoped to taste. When he had finished, he spoke again in a soft, intimate tone that woke up painful yearnings Anthony had barely had the strength to put to sleep the previous year.

"Yeah? That sound good to you? My mouth and my tongue doing for you what you've done for me so many times, so very well? There's just one thing...a smallthing. I need you to answer a question first. An easy one. You ready?"

With another smile that rested on a half twist of his lips without making it to his eyes he whispered, "What's my first name?"

Panic. Anthony felt the gripping fingers of panic the instant the question left Professor Davis's lips, because of course that's who he was. Professor Davis...the professor. Desperate, Anthony called to mind the syllabus from the first day of class last fall. His name had been printed near the top. Anthony could picture it there...right under the course title, just above the office hours...The name was right there.

The printed word scrambled into non-translatable cyphers in Anthony's treacherous memory, destroying what chance he had been tricked into thinking he had to feel that cold, commanding mouth heated and silenced with Anthony's frantic need.

The professor laughed and stood up, pulling up and refastening his pants. "No first name for me, no last name for you."

Face burning red, Anthony refused to feel the hurt of this man forgetting his last name. Not only had they been extremely intimate, Anthony had originally caught his attention through his exceptional journalistic talent in class. Anthony's was a name to remember. He set his jaw and glared down at the floor as he vowed Never again. This would never happen again. Not for the first time he hated the man in front of him, and hated himself more for demeaning himself...and taking pleasure in it.

The nameless professor resettled himself comfortably on the couch and stared down at Anthony's naked, achingly aroused body. Clasping his hands behind his head and leaning back for the optimal view, he used his lust-softened voice to command, "Get yourself off while I watch."

On his knees, face still bearing the traces of drying come, naked before the heartless eyes of this man who played so carelessly with his mind and body, Anthony made no pretense of salvaging his dignity. His tightly gripped hand flew furiously up and down his shaft until, shuddering and crying out, he quickly found his release. The humiliation didn't complete its transformation from erotically charged to oppressively painful until the final pulse had coursed through him. Naked and shivering, he found himself unable to raise his eyes.

Switching back to the impersonal tone, the professor told him, "I have catered food due to arrive in fifteen minutes, and guests in thirty." Standing up, he glanced at the carpet in front of where Anthony still knelt, pausing long enough to non-verbally communicate Clean that up before abruptly leaving the room.

Vowing that this would be the last time, Anthony once again did exactly as he was expected to do. Not having been given permission to leave the living room, he used his briefs to wipe off himself and the carpet. He left the soiled clothing balled up in his fist as he quickly re-dressed, thoughts racing. A little longer than five minutes but we mostly talked...talked a little...mostly talked. Didn't actually have sex...not really. Still celibate, really...sort of...pretty much. Yes. Celibate. Won't go back. Never go back.

Anthony slipped his torturous footwear back on, feeling satisfaction in the discomfort as well as in the very real hunger pangs tearing through his stomach. He opened the door and walked out into the night, still carefully reigning in his thoughts as he made his way across the lawn, then down the street. Step up volunteer work at clinic, write a series of articles on unethical labor practices, donate money towards democratic campaign, don't watch any T.V. other than news for the next nine months...

As he turned the corner he saw a parked car sharply illuminated by an overhead streetlight. Miles's car.

Approaching, Anthony saw Miles reclining all the way back, eyes closed, listening to his i-pod. Anthony had no room for the emotions being coaxed into being at the sight of his friend, waiting this whole time. He steeled himself.

He softly knocked on the window, relieved to see that Miles had merely been resting and not sleeping. Anthony wasn't sure if he could have brought himself to knock twice, or to knock louder. He walked around to the passenger's side and climbed in, grateful that no question or comment followed Miles's glance at the balled up underwear in his hand.

Without a word Miles started the car, put it in gear, and headed back towards campus.

Their silence lasted half a block, until the vibration of his phone broke into the never again stream of Anthony's thoughts. Checking, he saw a text...from Professor Davis's number.

He glanced at Miles and, finding no intrusive looks or hints of judgment, he clicked to read his message.

Next time I'll return the favor, Anthony Trovato.

In the second it took his mind to translate the jumble of letters into a promise and an admission that his last name was remembered, the name Steven Davis whispered in his memory. He switched off his phone without replying.

"Everything okay?"

Anthony nodded, not trusting his voice to answer Miles's question. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, not distinguishing objects from the dim shapes gliding past his unseeing eyes. Yes. Everything was okay. An intimate promise, a last name not forgotten and a first name remembered. This time was different. Everything would be different.

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A/N I so much appreciate every review and every rating I've gotten. Thank you so much ^_____^ (although I understand wanting to just quietly read and not mess around with it...seriously, I do. No pressure!) Obviously I can't respond here, but I do have a y!gallery account and a much neglected ^^; livejournal. Thanks again.