Type Hesitated

Type Made a Plan

"Fuck." He said, with an awareness of not being surprised.

He'd grabbed whatever clothes he could reach, slipped them on, and then flopped back onto the bed. He immediately noted that since the shirt had no sleeves, he was now wearing his roommates tank.

Pure serotonin flowed through Type's lazy body. It felt like every single nerve ending had shot off like fireworks, exploded, and he was left to watch the glittering embers fall. This feeling wasn't what he had planned to be experiencing at the end of this session, but deep down he realized it is exactly what he expected.

Type was lying immobile across the two beds he and Tharn had pushed together for their purpose. Type had argued that his single bed was sufficient for the task, but Tharn insisted that he would need as much territory as possible. That should have been Type's final warning to abort his plan.

His brain flashed reminders of Tharn caressing him, of kissing his neck, of touching him in all the right spots. Type forced his body to contract, to throw the visions off. He did not want to go there again, he had not recovered yet. He was sore, yet he wasn't really in pain. It was the same kind of sensation as if he'd taken a kick to the shin, while maneuvering the ball for a game-winning goal. That kind of pain radiates across your whole body, but it didn't matter. The euphoria feels better, it feels right; so you just ignore everything else.

He shook his head. His first warning should have been devising this plan at all. Offering himself for a quickie to clear a series of debts, why would someone who has hated homosexuals so profoundly suddenly decide to have gay sex with his roommate? Pure insanity. Type rolled his eyes in annoyance. What the fuck had he been thinking?

He'd been thinking that he had come up with the perfect solution. Type had constructed dozens of perfect plans over the course of his life. Every single one had been brought to fruition flawlessly. Even the more complicated schemes had just unfolded according to design. This plan had been clever, but by his standards it was simply child's play.

The key to the perfect plan was giving everyone what they believed they wanted, tapping into the desires of the parties involved. Tharn had announced exactly what he coveted, and Type had figured out his own objective. It was just a matter of seeing how the goals intersected, and then working out how to satisfy both. What made this play especially sweet was the high stakes: what Tharn wanted, Type had adamantly denied the possibility. Once that kind of prize was dangled in front of a person, how could anyone possibly refuse to snatch it?

"Have sex with me." Type had stated over breakfast. "Sleep with me. I don't want to owe you anything."

The shock of the statement had hit a hungover Tharn right between the eyes. Taking him several minutes to process the offer.

"I thought you said that you'd never sleep with me." Tharn asked, the corner of his lips pulling into a satisfied smirk.

Type should have reneged the offer right then. Then slapped that cocky bastard for good measure. Instead he doubled down. "Just this one time. Consider it an act of kindness."

It had taken a lot more to convince Tharn about this arrangement than Type had anticipated. But eventually he was hooked.

"I'm always the top." Tharn replied, and broke into a beaming smile showing his stupid perfect teeth.

There had only been a scant few hours between making the offer and doing the deed. Type shifted his weight to rest on his left hip and pulled his right knee up. His body felt less sore if he kept moving. If there had been more time between making the proposal and settling the debt, Type probably would have had the chance to think rationally about what he was doing; maybe lost his nerve. Or at the very least he would have recognized the one flaw in his plan.