Hail Mary

Niall

Shit. I don't know when it became weird between us, but it's definitely moving into that territory now. I thought Payne would be laughing right along with me, but when I look down at him, all I see is confusion. Confusion and something else that I don't want to examine too closely. There's no way this can end in anything but disaster. I scramble off of him, and mumble an apology under my breath. Swallowing hard, I rub the back of my neck as if I can somehow chase the thoughts out of my head. I should've gotten off of him ages ago, and if I'd realized I was fully on top of him, chest to chest, hips to hips, thigh to groin, I would've done something sooner. At least, I hope I would have. Because my dirty little secret is that in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Those full lips were so inviting, parted softly in surprise. I wanted to lower my mouth to his and finally taste him just like I've done in my dreams so many times before. Even now, the thought of it races through my mind. Would he shove me off immediately? Or would he go with it, just to see what it's like? There's no good answer to that. I know better than to pine after straight guys, but being around Payne all the time is fucking with my head. "Hey, I just remembered I've got a paper due tomorrow. You mind if I cut out a little early?" It's the lamest excuse ever, but Payne still looks a little shaken up. He's finally pulled himself off the ground, and his clothes are rumpled in that sexy way that definitely isn't helping my hormones. I wonder if he can see right through me—see into my lustful mind. I fucking hope not. "Yeah, sure," he says, and his voice is a little strained. I stand there like an idiot for a moment, as if either of us are suddenly going to say or do something that will change what's become a very awkward situation. Grabbing my bag from the bench, I head toward the entrance to the park, trying not to think of the feeling of Liam Payne beneath me. Homework definitely doesn't help. I actually do have a paper due tomorrow, but like the nerd I am, I've already finished it. My roommates are both gone when I get there, so there's nobody I can rely on to fill my mind with stupid shit that has nothing to do with Payne. Instead, I'm left to sit at my desk, staring at my laptop and trying not to go with the most obvious means of relief. Jacking off to images of a straight guy is a slippery slope. Especially when that guy is my friend. But I can't help it. I feel like a man starved, tempted with the smallest taste of food and desperate for more. My hand seems to act of its own accord, and before I know it my zipper is down and my already half-hard dick is in my hand. I try to soothe my conscience by surfing to my favorite porn site, but it's not the actors I'm thinking of as I stroke one out. It doesn't take me long to come. My body's been holding this in for a long ass time, apparently. And as I shudder in post orgasm bliss, I also start to feel that post orgasm shame. It's not like Payne is ever going to find out, but now I'm thinking this won't be the last time I have to seek a little relief. And there's no way I can deal with a whole year of this shit. After I clean up, I grab my phone and open an app I haven't used in at least a year. I'm not really big on hookups. Casual sex is nice for a quick fix, but I've always wanted something more than that. I'm not a huge fan of fucking some guy I just met who doesn't give a shit about me beyond what I can do for his cock. I'd rather have someone who loves me; who will take care with me and meet me halfway to give us what we both want. It's stupid and sappy, but it is what it is. Unfortunately, I've put myself between a rock and a hard place with this Payne situation, and right now, an anonymous fuck is just what I need. My body's just pissed that I haven't given it any attention in a while. If I can quiet it down, maybe it will stop making me ache for straight guys. I swipe through the app, looking at pictures of abs and pecs and almost-dick pics. Nobody actually posts their headshot here. It's like a buffet table where you pick out exactly what you're craving most, no strings attached. I already know what I'm craving, and I'm definitely not going to get it. Best to look for a distant second. I wish a few of these guys would at least post some pictures of their lips, if not their full faces. It would give me a chance to indulge in fantasy without pushing it too far. But instead I have to settle for body shots, and I try to pick a guy who looks similar to Payne in physique. Athletic body. Defined pecs. Strong arms. Taut stomach. A little dusting of hair. Close enough. The guy could have the personality of a brick and it won't matter. The few times I've hooked up in the past, the bottoms have only had one personality: The desire to be fucked. Right now, that's exactly what I need. I send a message and fire off a couple more just to make sure I can line something up. In a college town like this, there are always tons of horny gay guys. I'm bound to find something. And then I can finally get Payne off my mind. Of course, it doesn't help when I see his name light up in my notifications. I check my texts and see him ask my help cramming for a psychology test tomorrow once I'm done with my paper. Not great timing, but I did make him a promise. I don't want Payne to fail because I'm having issues. Now that the semester's started, he's back in a dorm, so I pack up my shit and head over there, hoping it won't be weird. An hour later, I'm sitting in the one chair he has in his dorm room, his psych book on my lap, trying not to fall asleep. I love learning about psychology, but this book is so fucking dry that it's no wonder he's having trouble studying for his test. "I'm never gonna get this," he says, and his fingers curl around the edge of the bed. Something I immediately draw my gaze away from before my brain gets any ideas. "Probably not from this book." I snap it closed and toss it aside. It thuds on the floor, as useless as it was open. "Why don't we try this a different way. You trust me?" He gives me a strange look, then nods. For the next hour or so, I pull some analogies out of my ass. It's pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. I speak to him like he's a coach, because I think Payne would make a pretty damn good coach, and because a lot of what coaches do involves psychology. I give him a couple hypothetical problem kids to work with, and apply the theory he's supposed to be learning for tomorrow's test. It takes him a bit of practice, but seeing it laid out like that makes it click for him. While he's taking notes, though, my phone chirps. With him occupied, I decide to check it and see a notification from my app. One of the guys I messaged has gotten back to me already. Flicking my gaze to Payne, I make sure he's still busy before I open up the message. I don't know why, but I feel a little guilty looking at this here. As if I'm somehow betraying him. The text is concise. Dazzle @ 10 tomorrow. Dazzle is the stupidest fucking name for a gay bar I've ever heard, but it's the most popular one in town. And I guess having a name like that keeps the really straight people away. I text him back, trying to get some details on what he'll be wearing or what he looks like so I can recognize him and not make an ass of myself. As I'm in the middle of it, though, Payne's voice interrupts me. "Texting your boyfriend?" His voice is a little rough. "Hah. Funny. Haven't had one of those since high school. Just a, ah... Hookup. Maybe." I feel like I've been caught with one hand in the cookie jar. Payne is looking at me with a mix of surprise and something else I can't read. So much for this not being weird.