The apartment was nice. It looked like a guy's apartment. There weren't a lot of pictures on the walls or knick-knacks sitting around. There were mugs on most of the flat surfaces Paul could see, though, each one stuck full of pens. "You weren't kidding," Paul said.
"About the pens? No, not so much. Feel free to look around."
Paul did, with Cameron following him. The kitchen was small but neat. Actually, that was a pretty accurate description of the whole apartment, if you were willing to overlook the whole pen situation. Pausing in the hallway outside what had to be the bedroom, where there was a small table holding a lamp and two more mugs full of pens, Paul ran his fingertip along the rim of one mug.
"There's probably some joke there," he said. "You know, about what the pens represent?"
Cameron raised his eyebrows. "Let me show you the bedroom."
Now that was an invitation; Paul knew it even though he hadn't had that many of them over the years. Oh, he'd had a dozen or so partners, sure, but never in the real sense of the word. They'd mostly been one-night stands, or on a few occasions two or three night stands. It was a way to get off, it felt good, but it hadn't ever been anything more than that.
Somehow, he thought this might be, and it scared the hell out of him.
They were in the bedroom by then, his eyes already taking in what there was to see. The bed was made, the brown comforter pulled up neatly, and there was another collection of pen-mugs on the bedside table. Cameron turned him so they were facing each other, one hand on Paul's hip. In good lighting, up close, Cameron's eyes were very green.
"Can I kiss you?" Cameron asked.
Paul nodded; his breath caught as Cameron's mouth met his. It was a slow kiss, like Cameron wanted to take his time, and when it was over Paul was hard. He licked his lips -- Cameron's tasted like beer. "Kiss me again?"
Cameron did. Halfway through, he seemed to get carried away, one hand on Paul's back and the other on his ass, not that Paul was complaining. God, it felt good to be touched, to be wanted. "I never do this," Cameron murmured.
"What?" Paul asked. "Kiss people?"
"That, too." Cameron was hard inside his slacks, pressed up against Paul's own erection. "I don't date. I'm too busy. And I don't sleep with anyone casually, ever."
Paul pulled back and looked at him. "Ever? Seriously?"
"I know, I was born in the wrong century." Cameron sounded faintly embarrassed, but he didn't look away from Paul's gaze. He kissed Paul again, a little bit desperately, like he couldn't get enough of him. "Can this be something more than casual?"
"I don't know," Paul said, moving his mouth to Cameron's jaw. "Which isn't a no, it's just... I think it can. I hope it can." ENDEXCERPT Especially if it meant he could get off, because his dick was incredibly hard and he really, really wanted to come.
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