Ryan is awake. The sun is sifting in through the blinds, but it's way too early for a respectable teenage boy to be up and out of bed. So he lies there, on his side, looking at Seth laying there next to him. God, Ryan thinks, I was such a nervous wreck last night. They walked back to the pool house holding hands for some reason, which was sweet Ryan guessed but also really weird -- not something he had done with many people. With anyone, actually. He sort of chuckles to himself that he's dwelling on that particular "first" of the evening.
Once in the pool house, dark except for traces of moonlight, Ryan had begun fidgeting around, picking up magazines and CDs off the bed and stacking them on a chair. Then he got a little freaked out at how that might look presumptuous, like they were definitely going to get in bed together, when Ryan wasn't even sure that's what he wanted. Not so fast, at least. So he moved the stack back on the bed so the chairs were cleared. Then he started straightening the covers on the bed, and he knocked the stack onto the floor. Finally Seth stepped in -- the suave one for once -- and picked the stack of crap up off the floor, set it on a table, and put his hand on Ryan's elbow.
When Seth kissed him at first, it had felt really awkward -- they were both so nervous. But the warm wetness of Seth's mouth, the cool, smooth line of his neck, the heat of his chest through his shirt -- it was so intensely good that any freaked out feelings melted out of Ryan, and the supreme rightness of being with Seth came flooding back in. The kiss had soon escalated to the passion of the previous night, with hands sliding over each others' arms, chests, backs, first over their t-shirts and then skin to glorious skin when Seth shocked him by tugging both their shirts off, starting with Ryan's.
Ryan was glad the bed was cleared off when they fell onto it, a tangle of groping hands and probing tongues. They must have spent hours kissing every inch of each other's upper bodies, returning again and again to each other's mouths. They pressed their hips against each other, rocking slowly at times, and other times more urgently. At a couple of moments, Ryan let his hand drop down to the waistband of Seth's jeans, but never farther. And Seth didn't even go that far. Eventually they passed out from exhaustion, although at some point someone must have felt a chill and pulled covers over the both of them.
Ryan wonders if he would have been as cautious and slow about going below the belt if Seth were a girl. What if Seth were Marissa? It is so hard to conjure up her name now, what she means to Ryan. What does she mean? Because Ryan is still attracted to her. Isn't he? Or at least, intrigued. Maybe I'm actually gay, Ryan thinks. But that seems like such a foreign concept to him. He doesn't know how he feels about that, the identity of "gay." Everything about his life lately feels so confusing, up in the air. He looks over at Seth, asleep, adorable, desirable. At least Ryan knows how he feels about Seth, how he feels about last night.
He reaches over to touch Seth's shoulder, and slides his hand under the sheet and down the side of Seth's chest, waist, hip. Seth shifts a little, but he's still asleep. Ryan lets his hand drop forward, and is startled by Seth's erection. Ryan wasn't expecting that, although Ryan's certainly had his share of morning erections. He just hadn't thought... well, he'd never thought about other guys and their erections, morning or otherwise, before. Ryan moves his hand -- which he had jerked away as if touching something too hot -- back to Seth's fly. He feels the outline of Seth's cock through his jeans, all the while searching Seth's face for signs of waking up. He begins a slow rhythmic stroke, becoming more and more entranced with the feel of Seth's hard cock. Seth finally opens his eyes, blinking thickly, and Ryan watches as a string of realizations flash across Seth's face: there's another person in bed with him, that person is Ryan, that person is rubbing his dick, Ryan is rubbing his dick. Ryan gives a small smile and asks quietly, "is this OK?"
"Uh, oh god, yes," Seth says, his voice deeper than normal, maybe from sleep, maybe from arousal.
Still staring into Seth's eyes, Ryan moves his hand to the button on Seth's jeans, and half undoes it. He asks, "How about this?"
He's still waiting for a response from Seth as he pulls the button all the way undone, and puts his fingers on the tab of the zipper. Seth looks ... shocked, afraid, thrilled -- Ryan can't tell.
"Seth?" he asks again.
"Yes." Seth squeaks out, then blinks, clears his throat, and reaches down to help Ryan pull his jeans and boxers off.
Once in the pool house, dark except for traces of moonlight, Ryan had begun fidgeting around, picking up magazines and CDs off the bed and stacking them on a chair. Then he got a little freaked out at how that might look presumptuous, like they were definitely going to get in bed together, when Ryan wasn't even sure that's what he wanted. Not so fast, at least. So he moved the stack back on the bed so the chairs were cleared. Then he started straightening the covers on the bed, and he knocked the stack onto the floor. Finally Seth stepped in -- the suave one for once -- and picked the stack of crap up off the floor, set it on a table, and put his hand on Ryan's elbow.
When Seth kissed him at first, it had felt really awkward -- they were both so nervous. But the warm wetness of Seth's mouth, the cool, smooth line of his neck, the heat of his chest through his shirt -- it was so intensely good that any freaked out feelings melted out of Ryan, and the supreme rightness of being with Seth came flooding back in. The kiss had soon escalated to the passion of the previous night, with hands sliding over each others' arms, chests, backs, first over their t-shirts and then skin to glorious skin when Seth shocked him by tugging both their shirts off, starting with Ryan's.
Ryan was glad the bed was cleared off when they fell onto it, a tangle of groping hands and probing tongues. They must have spent hours kissing every inch of each other's upper bodies, returning again and again to each other's mouths. They pressed their hips against each other, rocking slowly at times, and other times more urgently. At a couple of moments, Ryan let his hand drop down to the waistband of Seth's jeans, but never farther. And Seth didn't even go that far. Eventually they passed out from exhaustion, although at some point someone must have felt a chill and pulled covers over the both of them.
Ryan wonders if he would have been as cautious and slow about going below the belt if Seth were a girl. What if Seth were Marissa? It is so hard to conjure up her name now, what she means to Ryan. What does she mean? Because Ryan is still attracted to her. Isn't he? Or at least, intrigued. Maybe I'm actually gay, Ryan thinks. But that seems like such a foreign concept to him. He doesn't know how he feels about that, the identity of "gay." Everything about his life lately feels so confusing, up in the air. He looks over at Seth, asleep, adorable, desirable. At least Ryan knows how he feels about Seth, how he feels about last night.
He reaches over to touch Seth's shoulder, and slides his hand under the sheet and down the side of Seth's chest, waist, hip. Seth shifts a little, but he's still asleep. Ryan lets his hand drop forward, and is startled by Seth's erection. Ryan wasn't expecting that, although Ryan's certainly had his share of morning erections. He just hadn't thought... well, he'd never thought about other guys and their erections, morning or otherwise, before. Ryan moves his hand -- which he had jerked away as if touching something too hot -- back to Seth's fly. He feels the outline of Seth's cock through his jeans, all the while searching Seth's face for signs of waking up. He begins a slow rhythmic stroke, becoming more and more entranced with the feel of Seth's hard cock. Seth finally opens his eyes, blinking thickly, and Ryan watches as a string of realizations flash across Seth's face: there's another person in bed with him, that person is Ryan, that person is rubbing his dick, Ryan is rubbing his dick. Ryan gives a small smile and asks quietly, "is this OK?"
"Uh, oh god, yes," Seth says, his voice deeper than normal, maybe from sleep, maybe from arousal.
Still staring into Seth's eyes, Ryan moves his hand to the button on Seth's jeans, and half undoes it. He asks, "How about this?"
He's still waiting for a response from Seth as he pulls the button all the way undone, and puts his fingers on the tab of the zipper. Seth looks ... shocked, afraid, thrilled -- Ryan can't tell.
"Seth?" he asks again.
"Yes." Seth squeaks out, then blinks, clears his throat, and reaches down to help Ryan pull his jeans and boxers off.