Love Is Ǝvil

10 He's Love-Stricken, He's Got His Jaw Stuck

A beep, his phone had something to say. Lazily he blinked at it, the couch was too comfortable right now. He jerked up. There was a notification from the dating app, a message from Benriya - Nicolas! wanna cum tonite

That line again, really? Even in writing he wasn't much of a talker. He probably should be glad he even got so many words and not just some stupid emoji. Are that butterflies in your stomach, little gay looking boy? He was already on his way up the stairs and slipped into his bedroom. He couldn't go out in his couch sweats, he needed a real outfit. How about a nice dress with some cleavage? A little slutty, that's your look. First thing he chose were his sneakers: soft green with some gray accents. Casual and likeable, perfect. Black pants fit to everything, a gray shirt with a pattern of straight green lines across it. The image in the mirror said: Hi there, wanna hang out? Low-key, not overly sexy. You mean boring. It's a hook-up, get your tits out - or ass, that's what your both into. Involuntarily he looked at his butt. The jeans did a decent job there.

Sitting in his car, his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. Again, he was driving himself. He so could imagine Big Eight's look of reproach, if he had to drive him to another one-night stand. Three-night stand. Has he your head spinning so hard you can't even count to three anymore? Girl, you're gone. Not something he needed right now. It wasn't Big Eight's business how Marshall got laid, no interference needed.

As he saw the big red sign of the motel at the side of the road, his heart fluttered. Why was he so fucking nervous? Nicolas had a stupid girlfriend. Not, that he wanted anything to do with that anyway. Keep telling yourself that. This was a hook-up, just a fucking hook-up, only a pitiful hook-up.

There was light in room 101 like usual. Marshall closed the door of his car and once again his hand shook, when he reached for the door knob of the motel room. He clenched his teeth. This was ridiculous! You take the words right out of my fucking mouth, fag. How often had he done this now? This was nothing special.

He stepped into the room. The wooden panels and the red colors greeted him, and so did Nicolas's stare. He leaned against the small table, arms folded across the chest and he was still fully clothed. A black T-Shirt and camouflage pants. That was weird.

"Sup", Marshall greeted but didn't expect an answer. There was a heavy atmosphere in the room. Something was different and he didn't know what. Was he about to get some warning to not say nothing about their fling to the girlfriend? Not needed, he had no interest in ever seeing her again.

Nicolas cocked his head. His eyes examined Marshall closely, slowly going down along his body, piercing through the clothes. Somehow, he felt naked already. He shifted his stance. Finally the thin lips parted ever so slightly to let one syllable escape in that husky voice that made Marshall quiver. "Strip."

"What?", he asked confused. Why would he do that?

But Nicolas just kept staring at him intensely.

"Uhm ... aight", he whispered. Any loud noise seemed like an assault in the tense air. He took his jacket off, pulled the shirt over his head and slipped out of his shoes. The pants slit down his legs and now he wasn't so sure to let his briefs go as well. A look at Nicolas made it crystal clear: they had to go. His fingers trembled slightly, as he pulled them down.

Well, he was absolutely naked. Not the first time in front of the other man but somehow different now. He felt ... awkward, uneasy ... vulnerable even. Not a feeling he relished in, nope. "Y-yo", he cleared his throat, "you wanna fuck now or what?"

The grin on Nicolas's lips was pure evil with a hint of pleasure.

Marshall had to swallow hard. "Know what, forget it." He grabbed for his pants to put them back on.