Reap What You Sow 🌈

Chapter 12

"Fuck." Emilio sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. A few more curses slipped his lips. He dragged his nails across his scalp, closing his eyes. Wrong decision — it only made the images look more vivid. His erection was throbbing but he refused to help himself. Not while the remnants of that dream were still floating through his head. He had been lying on this bed, had done the same things he'd done with Juan two weeks ago. 

Only this time, it had been Rory's heated skin that was explored by his lips. It was Rory who he took in his mouth, who grunted his name. His mouth felt dry, there was a sour taste in it as if someone had really dumped his semen in it. 

Another series of curse words left his lips. Where were these disgusting longings coming from anyway? 

 "Fuck you Juan," he grumbled. "This is your fault, asshole."

He got up from the bed, stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water in his face. There was a weird feeling in his stomach and he simply couldn't push it away. It was high time that he reset his brain. He headed to the kitchen, scraped together some breakfast and returned to the bedroom where he opened his laptop. He would watch porn — normal porn — until his thoughts were normal again. 

After half an hour, Emilio closed his laptop, heaving a deep sigh. Leaning with his elbows on the closed the device, he ran a hand across his face. "What the fuck am I doin'." Watching porn wasn't the same as before. He was way too focused on how his body and his thoughts reacted to what he was seeing, so he was barely excited. At least, he was telling himself that was the reason for his lower libido. 

For a while he stared at the wall in front of him. Quickly, his thoughts returned to last night. To how close Rory had pressed himself to his back when he increased his speed, to how hard they had laughed hiding for the cops, to the stupid things they'd talked about and to the way his heart had skipped a beat when Rory had pulled him on his feet. His glance wandered off to his hand; he turned it so his palm was facing the ceiling. He tried to remember how it had felt; Rory's hand in his. 

"Fucking hell," he grumbled as he realized what he was doing. Quickly he pulled back his arm. His head was a fucking mess, just as bad as when he woke up. Or maybe even worse; he had a pounding headache now. Opening his laptop again, he started up Battlefield V, determined to play that game until his head was only filled with bloody pixels. 

At least three hours went by before the bedroom door was opened. Emilio had paused only one time to take a piss and grab a beer. He looked briefly over his shoulder to give Juan a nod, then he turned his attention back to the screen, assuming that Juan would grab some things and go to Dana. He however didn't; he sat down on the bed. 

Emilio wasn't in the mood to quit his game; he was finally doing well. Fanatically he kept clicking away, turning up the volume a bit more so he was completely shutting his friend out.

. . .

Juan wasn't stupid. He knew very well his friend didn't want to talk to him, but exactly therefore it had to happen. In the end, he grabbed a pillow and flung it to Emilio's head. It hit his head and fell on the desk. Cursing, Emilio turned around. 

Juan smirked. "Enough gaming, nerd. You're acting weird for over two weeks, you better tell me what's going on."

"I'm fine," he grumbled. 

"You can't even look me in the eye while saying that."

Emilio clenched his jaw. "I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Well I am and you're in my room."

With obvious reluctance, Emilio moved his chair closer to the bed. "Well? Talk."