Beauty & The Jock - Part 11

L.A

--------------Kyle’s POV---------------

Everyone in this story is 18+

The plane bucked through turbulence like a rookie lineman, my stomach lurching harder than any blindside hit. I flipped open the MacBook wedged on the tray table, the glow harsh in the dim cabin. A single page open on Wikipedia, Ann Arbor, but I clicked it away. The screensaver loaded instead: that airport curb selfie, Aaron's head on my shoulder, my arm slung around him, both of us grinning like we could outrun the future. His flight to L.A. left first, mine to Alabama two days later. Haven't laid eyes on my guy since.

Butterflies rioted in my gut, wings beating wild, and lower, yeah, half-hard just from the flash of memory and lower—yeah, half-hard just from the memory. That last summer, we’d banged each other to oblivion, three times a day easy, like we could store it up against the miles. His hands, his mouth, the way he’d laugh into my neck when I carried him to bed. I shifted in the seat, adjusting myself, the guy next to me snoring oblivious.

I couldn’t fucking wait!

◆◆◆

LAX baggage claim was a zoo, bodies jostling with suitcases and screams, but I spotted him cutting through the chaos. Aaron, hoodie half-zipped, eyes scanning frantic until they locked on me. He broke into a sprint and launched himself, full leap, and I caught him mid-air, arms steel around his waist, his legs wrapping my hips like they never forgot. Our mouths crashed, kiss lingering way past decent, tongues sliding deep and desperate, his fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. My dick jolted awake, pressing thick against his thigh through denim, the heat of him seeping through. He tasted like airport coffee and mint gum, smelled like eucalyptus and that faint salon sweetness that clung to his skin.

"Missed you," he breathed against my lips, not letting go, his weight perfect in my hold.

"Missed you more," I sang back, setting him down but keeping one hand fisted in his hair, the other cupping his perky little ass firm. The Uber ride was pure torture, his fingers laced through mine, thumb stroking my knuckles in slow circles that had my blood rushing south. We pretended to watch the freeway blur, palms sweating, both of us straining against our jeans. His apartment door clicked shut behind us, the scent hitting immediate, diffuser humming on the counter.

We didn't even make it past the kitchen. He yanked my shirt over my head, mouth latching to my neck, teeth scraping the tendon there as his hands shoved at my belt. I pressed him back against the counter, the edge digging into his hips, jeans peeled down just enough to free him. His beautiful cock sprang out, flushed and heavy, foreskin peeled partial to reveal the swollen head already beading clear at the slit. My palm wrapped him, skin velvet over steel, stroking fast with a twist of spit for glide, the friction pulling a sharp inhale from his throat. He fumbled my zipper, hand diving in to grip my erect length, fingers curling tight around my cock, thumb smearing the wetness gathering at my tip.

I dropped to my knees on the linoleum, cold against my shins, and took him deep, lips stretching wide around his thickness, tongue exploring along the underside as I swallowed to the root. His flavor burst, salty and sharp, filling my mouth as I bobbed hungry, cheeks hollowing with suction that made his knees buckle. He braced one hand on the counter, the other tangling in my hair, hips rocking subtle to feed me more. "Kyle... fuck, your mouth," he gasped, voice cracking on a laugh when I hummed around him, the vibration drawing his balls tight against my chin.

He hauled me up by the shoulders, kissing me fierce, tongue diving to taste himself on me, messy and urgent. I lifted him, easy, his legs locking my waist again, and carried him the short hall to the bedroom, his weight nothing in my arms. Tossed him onto the twin mattress, it creaked under us, springs protesting as I crawled over, jeans shoved fully off now. His body sprawled, lean and flushed, cock jutting straight up against his stomach, foreskin fully retracted, head dark and moist with need. I straddled his thighs, hand wrapping both our shafts together, skin on skin, stroking in tandem, the heat building frantic, precum mixing to ease the slide, wet sounds filling the small room.

"Inside," he whispered, eyes locked on mine, legs spreading wide. I shifted, knees nudging his thighs apart, and pressed forward, the blunt crown of my hardness nudging his ring, pushing past the tight clutch in one steady drive. The stretch gripped me fierce, inner walls fluttering hot around my girth as I sank deep, pelvis flush to his ass, balls nestled against him. He arched, nails raking my back, leaving red trails that stung sweet. I pulled back slow, foreskin bunching, then slammed home, the slap of skin echoing, his body jolting with each thrust.

We moved primal, bed frame banging the wall, his legs hooked over my elbows to open him wider, angle deeper. My crown dragged that spot inside, sparks flying up my spine, his length trapped between us, rubbing slick against my abs with every plunge. "Harder," he demanded, voice breaking on a laugh when I obliged, hips snapping faster, the room spinning with sweat and eucalyptus and the raw scent of us. His hand snaked between, fingers joining mine to pump his shaft, twisting at the head until his body seized, seed jetting in thick ropes across his chest, splattering up to his neck, warm and sticky.

The sight did it for me, my thrusts erratic, whole cockhead swelling as I buried deep and let go, filling his depths with surge after surge, warmth overflowing to drip down his thighs, pooling on the sheets. I collapsed over him, chests heaving, kisses sloppy and breathless, his legs still wrapped tight.

"Still fits," he panted, tracing the mess on his skin with a grin, smearing it playful.

"Always will," I said, nipping his lip, both of us laughing into another kiss. The city buzzed outside, but in here, tangled and spent, it was just us, limbo or not, we were home.

◆◆◆

The apartment door rattled with keys just as Aaron and I stumbled out of the bedroom, shirts half-buttoned, hair wild. Two guys spilled in—Sasha in neon bike shorts, Tyler clutching a green juice like a security blanket. They froze, eyes flicking from Aaron’s flushed neck to my bare chest, then to the duffel still blocking the hallway.

“Roomies, this is Kyle,” Aaron said, voice lazy, hand on my lower back. “Kyle, Sasha and Tyler.”

Sasha recovered first, air-kissing Aaron’s cheeks. “The football dude! We’ve heard so much.” Tyler offered a limp wave, sizing me up like I was a curiosity. “You’re… tall.”

I laughed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Quarterback thing, I guess?.”

They exchanged a look—polite, but blank. Sasha launched into a story about a client who wanted “CFL-wife glow” for a drag brunch, Tyler chiming in about B12 shots and gluten-free cronuts. I nodded, tried a joke about protein shakes, got crickets. Aaron squeezed my side, but the gap was obvious: they spoke in filters and facials, I spoke about football and play calls. It’s like we had zero overlap.

Tyler finally asked, “So… do you, like, condition your helmet?” Sasha snorted into her juice. Aaron bit his lip to hide a grin. I just smiled. “Only on game days.”

They drifted to the kitchen, debating LED face masks. Aaron leaned in, whispering, “They’re sweet, just… different planets.” I kissed his temple. “I’ve got my planet right here.”

◆◆◆

Sunday at LAX, the terminal smelled like burnt coffee and anxiety. Aaron’s flight boarded first. We stood by the gate, his fingers twisted in my hoodie strings, my hands on his hips like I could anchor him.

“Text me when you land,” I said, voice rough.

“Every layover,” he promised, then winced, shifting his weight. “My jaw’s killing me. And my hole? Walking like I rode a mechanical bull.”

I snorted, cheeks heating. “Tell me about it. My jaw’s wrecked, and my ass is… tender. Your little exploration last night? Not so little.”

He winked, playful. “Next time you’re taking it all.”

Heat flashed through me. “Count on it.”

We kissed—slow, deep, ignoring the boarding call. His tongue traced my lower lip, a promise. When he pulled back, eyes glassy, he squeezed my hand. “Alabama next time?”

“Booked,” I said. “My dorm. No roomies around, but you.”

I boarded, backpack slung, turning once to blow a kiss. He watched until I vanished down the jetway, then stood there, heart thudding, regret clawing sudden and sharp.

I should’ve asked him.