When their lips parted slowly, so, so slowly, Jared brought his hand up to rest lightly on Adam’s jaw. He flicked his tongue out, tasting peach and apple and something uniquely Adam.
They shifted on the couch, Jared wrapping both his legs around Adam’s waist and leaning back into the corner, bringing Adam with him into a perfectly comfortable position to make out in.
And they did. Make out. For far longer than Jared thought he was able to without taking their activities to the next level. He wanted to push, to see what might make Adam yield. It wasn’t the right time though, not the right night for stealing virginity.
Kissing like this was good. Jared couldn’t remember when he’d last dedicated any time to making out with someone, just kissing with no promise of anything else. It was an art, a skill, to lick and nibble and tease someone until they were both hard—from kissing!—just kissing.
“I should feed you,” Adam murmured, breaking away from Jared’s lips and kissing down his neck. It was territory he’d covered a few times already.
“I should… fuck, that feels good. I should be conjugating French verbs.”
Adam laughed. It wasn’t one of his sarcastic snickers or dull, dry laughs, but something that came from his belly. Something real.
“Fuck French verbs, Jared.”
“Merde.”
“Le souper.”
“Okay, fine,” Jared said, dramatically pulling back from Adam’s arms and adjusting his cock. It had spent the better part of an hour straining at his jeans. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Coq au vin?”
“You think you’re funny?” Jared growled, pushing Adam’s arm when Adam started to laugh, eventually pinning him to the buttery soft leather. “I’ll give you fucking coq au vin.”
Adam let a tiny sound escape from his throat, not so much a sigh as a murmur of arousal. He rocked his hips up to meet Jared’s, the loose pants giving him all the room he needed to writhe and squirm.
This was a position Jared liked—his partner stretched out beneath him, hands pinned, wanton and wanting and needing. He licked Adam’s neck, then grazed his throat with careful teeth, wondering if they’d walk into school tomorrow morning and be hideously obvious.
“You’re good at this, aren’t you,” Adam murmured.
“Hm?”
“This.”
“Yeah. I like giving,” Jared said, aware of how low and husky he sounded. “I like knowing that the guy I’m with is feeling more. I want it to feel better when he’s with me than it ever has with anyone else.”
Adam grinned, then neatly flipped their positions.
“Hey—” Jared started, but Adam broke him off with a kiss.
“It’s my turn to tell you what I like,” Adam said pointedly.
“Okay. What do you like?” Jared asked, willing to play the game.
“I like the noise he makes,” Adam said, his lips hovering over Jared’s. “I like… the way he smells. The way he tastes. I want to know all of those things, how soft his skin is, the texture of his hair. Most of all I want to know what it feels like when his tongue wraps around the head of my dick.”
It was Jared’s turn to laugh. “It always comes down to that, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Adam said, leaning his weight on one forearm while teasing under the collar of Jared’s shirt. “Sometimes it’s nice to just get head from someone who really knows what they’re doing.”
“How many guys have you fucked?” Jared asked frankly.
“I don’t know,” Adam replied with equal openness. “Probably less than twenty. Is that a problem?”
“No. I’m just curious.”
Adam rolled to the side, as if sensing that the fun part of the evening was over. His fingers still roamed over Jared’s chest, though, mapping and exploring, ever so gently. Jared stretched, letting his spine contract and pop, wondering if they would ever take this easy sexuality to the next level.
Then his stomach growled.
“Come on, pretty boy,” Adam said, hauling himself off the sofa. “Let me call in a pizza or something.”
“Don’t do that. I don’t mind cooking.”
“Oh, honey. I don’t cook.”
“Are you serious?” Jared asked, pulling himself up and off the sofa and following Adam down to the kitchen. “You made it to eighteen years old without being able to cook?”
“I can order from one of several dozen restaurants that’ll deliver within an hour. I don’t need to know how to cook.”
Jared grinned. “You do. Come on.”
The kitchen was fairly well stocked. Adam sat on a counter, watching Jared rifle through the cupboards.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“I’ll eat anything,” Adam said.
“Pasta and pesto? I can make it with mozzarella and garlic bread.”
“Yeah,” Adam said with enthusiasm. “Sounds good.”
“Okay. Fill a pot with water, please.”
Adam gave him a pointed look. “Are you serious?”
“Jesus. Just fill a pan with some damn water.”
Adam sighed heavily, like he’d been tasked with something truly herculean. Still, he hopped down from the counter and found a pot from a drawer, and filled it with water.
“You need to turn the burner on underneath it,” Jared said, amused. “Otherwise it won’t heat up.”
“I know that,” Adam said sarcastically, then spent three minutes fiddling with the dials on the stove until he got the burner to light.
Jared gently guided Adam through the process of measuring out pasta and setting the timer to beep when it was done, then had him tearing pieces of mozzarella into a bowl and rubbing garlic onto slices of ciabatta ready to grill.
“You do know this is the first time I’ve ever cooked for myself?” Adam asked when the pasta had cooked and Jared had drained it.
“I got that impression, yeah. Put a couple of teaspoons of that pesto in a bowl.”
“Please.”
“Please.”
Jared was amused. He’d play Adam’s game, happily so when he was sure there was nothing to lose. It was clear to anyone who spent more than a couple of seconds in his presence that Adam was a spoiled brat, but a curious spoiled brat. Really, it was Jared who was playing Adam right back.
“Okay, so now you need to tip the pasta into the bowl,
