Page 94 of No Line Change

With that confession—one that felt like nothing to Henri, who’d done less and less over the years to hide his disillusionment—Dylan’s expression soured.

“Hey—”

“I brought something,” Henri interrupted. He wanted no part of whatever Dylan was about to say.

“A present?”

“Not quite.” He showed Dylan the bottle of lube he’d brought.

“I…I thought you said…” Dylan gulped. “We have a game tomorrow.”

“I thought maybe we’d…” Henri searched for the right word. They’d had phone sex two more times over the past couple of days, and it’d made two things abundantly clear to Henri: Dylan really wanted to fuck Henri, and he’d never fucked another man before. He was easily worked up, but his inexperience showed in the way he let Henri take the lead. “Practice,” he finally said.

“Practice?” Dylan took the lube. “I know how lube works.”

Henri made a sound. Dylan used barely any lube ever. It was usually dry skin wrapped around Henri’s cock, the lube only appearing upon Henri’s request. It hadn’t mattered much thus far, but there was zero chance this would happen without a substantial amount of lube.

So Henri crowded into Dylan’s space and pushed him backward until his knees hit the back of an armchair. He fell back and reached to pull Henri with him; Henri went willingly.

“Have you ever opened someone up?” Henri asked gently.

Dylan frowned. “No. I mean, myself a little but not enough for…” He made a gesture that in no way equated to sex in any form Henri had ever experienced it. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he assured Dylan. He took the lube back and opened it, squeezing a healthy amount onto Dylan’s hand. “That’s why we should practice, though. Warm it up.”

While Henri took off his pants and boxers, Dylan did as he was told, rubbing his fingers together and looking to Henri like he was completely lost. “You’ve done this before?”

“Used lube?” he teased. He resettled on Dylan’s lap, then took Dylan’s hand and helped him trace his hole. “Yes, I’ve opened myself up before.”

Dylan swallowed. He copied Henri’s movements uncertainly, watching Henri like a hawk for any sign that he was messing this up. “And you’ve...” He pushed slightly against Henri’s rim, shivering at the resistance. “You’ve done this before?”

“I’ve had sex with men before, yes.” Henri wasn’t the most experienced person in the world—theirs wasn’t a profession that was kind to men like them, so he didn’t indulge as much as he’d have liked—but he had fucked and been fucked by men before.

“Are you, uh…are you gay?” Dylan asked it like it was an easy question, one with an obvious answer.

Henri arched an eyebrow. “Do I seem straight?” But then he considered the question likely wasn’t about Henri at all, so he did the polite thing and asked, “Are you?”

“Me?” His finger was still circling Henri’s rim with the kind of gentle care Henri hadn’t experienced in years. “Probably. But everyone I’ve ever been attracted to has been another hockey player, and the programs I’ve been in didn’t have a lot of girls so…”

“I don’t know if ‘hockey’ counts as a sexuality,” Henri joked and was rewarded with Dylan’s wide grin.

“It’s probably just me and ten other people,” Dylan agreed.

“Competency kink,” Henri offered, but Dylan frowned, so he shook his head. Another time. “You can push in. Slow. Like this.”

Knuckle by knuckle, one finger and then two, he showed Dylan exactly what to do. A quick learner, Dylan modeled everything perfectly and never strayed from what Henri said. Until he experimentally crooked his fingers on one slow thrust, inadvertently brushing the very edge of Henri’s prostate and causing him to buck.

“Fuck,” he hissed and clenched around Dylan’s hand.

Dylan moaned and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Henri. “It’s just my fingers,” he whined into Henri’s sweatshirt, making Henri feel ridiculous for having left it on. “What am I supposed to do when it’s my dick?”

“Come, hopefully,” Henri said. “Do that again.”

He did, but his accuracy wasn’t as good. It took him a few tries to successfully hit Henri’s prostate again, but once he found it the second time, he never missed.

“You’d really let me fuck you?” Dylan’s free hand had moved to Henri’s thigh and held him in a death grip, his right still fucking into Henri with not necessarily finesse but a determination that was endearing. “Hen, really?”

Henri’s legs trembled. He grabbed his sweatshirt and pulled it out of the way, holding it in place with his chin as he jerked himself quickly. It took all of his willpower not to start riding Dylan’s hand, to beg for a third finger, to beg for his cock right now, practice and their game tomorrow be damned.