Archive of Our Own

The guy in 7C, the apartment that shares a wall with Pete’s, moves into the apartment three weeks after Pete starts his new job. Pete doesn’t get a look at him, since Mr. 7C moves in sometime in the early afternoon on a weekday, but Pete sees the rubble of a freshly-moved in apartment outside the door of his neighbor when he gets to his place.

He’s ready to ignore the neighbor, after 8 quiet months of 7C being totally vacant. It’s why he doesn’t bring cookies or formally introduce himself. Pete wants business as usual, right now.

Pete’s been having a harder time adjusting to a 9-5 office job than he expected. Sure, he’s happy to be getting paid more to do less intense work, but that doesn’t mean his brain isn’t dead by the end of the day. His once-erratic sleep schedule has been crunched into an oppressive new shape. He got the job expecting that he’d be able to subsidize his artistic endeavors, but laid back (read: boring) as the office is, he still finds himself zapped of creative energy once he’s home. The last thing he needs is another stressor.

The inevitable stressor announces himself after about a week of residence in 7C at 1:21 AM, and Pete checks his alarm clock with a disgruntled expression to make sure this is true. Unfortunately, it is, because the unmistakable sound of muffled moans starts drifting through Pete’s walls. It’s coming from the direction of 7C, a percussive, pitched “Oh, oh, oh!” that dissolves into a delighted giggle.

Pete rubs his sore, bleary eyes as he tries to block it out. In his flannel pajama pants, his crotch gives a sleepy twinge of interest, before his body damps it down with another wave of bone-deep exhaustion. Then, a slap sounds like the clatter of a knife on the floor, and Pete’s eyes snap awake. He has half a concern, and then hears another moan that tells him what kind of hit it is.

In case he wasn’t sure, he heards a low voice, different from the first, says “Harder- fuck,” with a growl, followed by another slap. Now, Pete is awake enough to roll his eyes.

He registers that both voices are mannish, but any fuzzy feelings he has about his apparently gay neighbor fade when the noises don’t.

Pete knows this symphony: the thump of the cheap bed frame, the cries for “more, please”, the clap of skin on skin. He’s been there, and maybe this would be a little less irking if Pete wasn’t more than a year deep into his dry spell. Even as he lays here, burying one ear against his pillow while he squeezes his eyes shut to try to will himself back to much-needed sleep, he finds himself missing his ex.

Well, not really missing his ex, so much as missing having someone in his bed. He still had some terse words for Jack, who broke up with him when he got a job in Seattle. And sure- it’s not like Pete is super into long distance, but not even trying to do it? Not even saying “maybe when I’m back in Portland”? After all the l-bombs and domestic carrying on, Pete thought that Jack was at least serious enough to ask Pete to come to Seattle with him, cross country trip be damned.

No such luck. And no such luck since. Once Pete’s post-breakup moodiness subsided enough to start having sex again, his sex life morphed into near-miss city. There was always a schedule snafu or interruption, it seemed.

Which leaves Pete scowling into his pillow while 7C rubs in his good luck. He tries to justify it to himself. He probably just doesn’t know how thin the walls are. That charity dissipates by hour two of loud, rigorous lovemaking, at which point Pete starts finding it gratuitous.

He wakes up the next day poorly rested and uncomfortably hard. He blames 7C, and lines up his resentment accordingly.

7C makes it easy to hate him. The bastard is nocturnal and apparently insatiable, because his sex noises are unavoidable. 7C not only likes to take his sweet time, he also likes it showy. If it’s not the thumpthumpthump against the wall, it’s the pained shouts of “More, please, I need it!” that surely come at the end of some BDSM powerplay. It wouldn’t bother Pete nearly as much as it does if he had a boyfriend he could run a BDSM powerplay on to fight the noise. At least then the sleepless night would have been spent right.

Instead, he’s spending his nights trying to tune out the sounds of sex that he wishes he could be having. He tries banging once or twice on their shared wall, but 7C and company only take it as encouragement.

He reaches his breaking point when, after his first successful night out in forever, he’s brought home a guy from a dating app who’d passed his in-person-in-public vibe check. The guy, Adam, was scrawnier than his usual type, but Pete was willing to make it work. After a year of nothing, he could put up with the Christian surf rock energy Adam put off. It even looked like he was going to get the chance to put up with it, until it the 7C histrionics started up again a few minutes after midnight. By this point, Pete and Adam were parked on his couch, not yet kissing but with Pete lightly playing with Adam’s beltloops, a promising tease for what was to come. At least Adam had dark eyes, something he could get lost and sink into, the kind that carried their own gravity.

Adam stiffens at the sounds from next door, and Pete doesn’t blame him. Some of 7C’s sex, with its slaps and grunts, sounded like a fight more than something sensual. There was a whining keen, then a bam that was mostly wood with a hint of metallic (door sex, probably).

Pete tries to make light of it with a smile, feeling a dark simmering inside when he sees the shifting downward curve of Adam’s pouted lips. “What’s that?”

“Just my neighbor.”

As if to say hi, 7C shouts “Fuck!”.

Adam blinks, unimpressed.

“I don’t know him.” Wouldn’t want his guest to think this was a sleazy setup. Adam shifts away an inch from Pete, like it is. Pete feels a little rile of discontent open up from the back of his neck. He tries to cover it with a joke and a Prince Charming smile. “Guess we just need to find a way to compete with the neighbors, huh?”

Adam has a blank face for a second, then says “I don’t like to think about sex that way.” This is where Pete realizes that Adam’s probably only gonna freeze colder from here. He tries not to let the resignation show on his face.

Blithely unaware of the suffering on the other side of the wall, 7C does something to his guest that inspires a high moan. Pete hates his guts for it. He tries to mask his consternation with something more pleasant and genteel. “I could play music to try to drown them out?” Since he doesn’t need to fall asleep, he’s fine with making a bit of noise. Maybe a lot of noise, if Adam can get down like that.

“I’m kinda tired, actually,” Adam answers, dashing all of Pete’s scant remaining hopes.

That incident, more than anything, is what gets Pete fixated. 7C shifts from nuisance to nemesis in his mind’s eye, and he itches for the right path to revenge. He only begins to exact that revenge a few days later, in between things while tapping away on his work computer. He’s in between two unappetizing tasks, and realizes that the apartment forum site probably isn’t blocked on his work computer.

The computer won’t go to most major social media websites, but it doesn’t know to block the distraction of the dinky website that was set up for the apartment building in the early 2010s and hasn’t been updated since. It hosts rarely-used forums, and each account simply went by the name of the apartment number. Pete’s 7D account had changed hands, username and password still intact, probably 5 times since the website was set up.

After looking over his shoulder and confirming that the coast is clear, Pete logs in, already frantically drafting his not-so-vague-post about 7C in his head. Little rebellions like this in the office make him feel less like he’s selling out, even if his songwriting journal has been sparse ever since he got the position.

The last forum post went up a few days ago, asking if anyone wants a gently-used blender. Pete momentarily considers making non-stop smoothies as his revenge, but the prospect of a passive aggressive post that he can vent on is too alluring to pass up. He gets to work.

Post Title: Quiet Hours (7C please advise)
Body: Whoever is occupying 7C, I congratulate you on your boyfriend’s happiness but please. PLEASE. Please for the love of god. Can you stop having super loud sex with him in the middle of the night when I have work the next morning. Would really appreciate you displaying a little more courtesy for the rest of us. It happening once or twice is understandable but at this point it’s just getting ridiculous.

Pete doesn’t expect it to be read immediately, if ever. That night, he gets another loud dose of the 7C sex sounds, so either he didn’t read or didn’t care. It leaves Pete laying in his bed, ruefully watching the light on his alarm clock spell out 2:17am while 7C moans “I’m a slut, fuck, I’m such a slut, your slut.”

Pete grumbles to himself, his stomach twisting at the muffled, foul words. At this point, he’s ready to just capitulate and give 7C the title. “Congrats,” Pete mutters in 7C’s direction. “You sure are.”

A few days later, on his daily check of the forum website, Pete discovers that it’s received a comment from the exact person he wanted it from. His face drops when he opens it up, scans, and realizes that it isn’t an outright apology.

7C replied to this thread:
um thanks for the feedback. Didn’t know the walls were that thin, I’ll try harder. also, i don’t have a “boyfriend”, there are multiple people i talk to, and i’ll try to let all of them know. can’t change my schedule tho, but i’ll try to be more quiet.

This gets under Pete’s skin.

Oh, so it’s not just one guy you’re having wildly satisfying sex with, it’s so many that you can’t text them all to shut up? Oh, so you’re just so sexually liberated that you can’t tell that you’re fucking loud? Thanks for the feedback?

Pete responds too quickly, and too emotionally. The second he’s posted his comment, he feels kind of bad about it.

7D replied to this thread:
I don’t care one bit about your boy harem I just want a good night’s sleep. I can’t change my schedule either. Ball gags aren’t that expensive, and I’m sure your boys won’t mind sharing.

There’s no new comment back for the rest of the day, but that night, it’s quiet. Eerily quiet. Pete thinks that they might be making progress.

The night after that, in the wee hours of the morning, Pete is woken up by insistent thumps and muffled shouts. The noises are garbled and less coherent than ever, but they still stream through. Pete fears that 7C and his lover of the day turned his suggestion into a challenge, and bitter distaste brews ever stronger in the pit of Pete’s upset stomach.

The next morning, Pete opens up the website, so eager that he forgets to even check if anyone can see his screen before it opens up. No new comments from 7C, at which point he remembers to act discreet. All while trying to look like he’s working, he tries to bring together another comment, just in case 7C cares enough to check again. With the amount of care he takes around volume, Pete doubts it, but at this point it’s more of an exercise for catharsis than anything else. If he can’t fuck his feelings away, he can type them.

7D replied to this thread:
Forget that recommendation, still heard you and it grossed me out. Try celibacy next.

The momentary rash of thrill that comes over Pete when he posts this fades into nauseous shame by the time he’s returned to his actual work. He wishes, again, that he had a boyfriend he could commiserate with instead of just puking all his feelings onto the cold, unfeeling expanse of the internet.

If he had a boyfriend, he could do a revenge that he actually enjoyed. If he had a boyfriend they’d laugh about this. They’d have loud sex back. Maybe they’d even get into a weird audio-sexual relationship situation where they’re having parallel sex with the neighbor and his conquests, and over time the lines get weird and blurry. Maybe they’d end up fighting about it, but even with fighting, it’s a better situation than this. What he’s doing feels infinitely sadder than all those options.

He checks the website at the end of the work day, and startles when he discovers a new reply.

7C replied to this thread:
i was waiting for things to get puritan and congrats you just did it. Wear earbuds or something, at this point. What next, you don’t like that i’m mostly sleeping with men? Don’t like that I’m having sex out of marriage?

Immediately riled by this, Pete pounds away at his response.

7D replied to this thread:
I’m gay too, this has 0 to do with homophobia. I’m not going to wear earbuds to bed, I’m a side sleeper. I don’t care if you think that you’re really sexually liberated and cool for having gratuoitous kinky loud sex all the time but it’s not woke to be a bad neighbor. Reorganize your priorities bro

Capped off with a passive-aggressive term of endearment, Pete goes home that night feeling proud of himself. There’s a relief that comes with it, even if it’s not the relief that Pete would pick if he had all the options.

That night, when 7C is having his routine bout of 1am sex, Pete gets steamed enough that he knocks hard on their shared wall, off-beat from the thrusts that shake against the wall. He can hear 7C’s partner’s noises wilt in confusion, and smiles at the victory, before he’s scowling at the fact that this has been such a thing that Pete can differentiate 7C’s moans from his guest’s. It’s enough for Pete to mutter “Ew,” to himself while the action on the other side of the wall slows.

He heards the rumble of words, and then shocks away from the wall when it starts getting banged hard, like 7C and company are trying to punch holes into it. The groans and moans start up again, defiant.

Pete looks down at his erection, brought on by the sex in his environment. If he wasn’t so angry, maybe he’d rub it out, but now that feels like he’s surrendering something to 7C. No, he won’t do that. Not even if the next door shenanigans have cut into Pete’s usual late-night masturbation habits, which just made him more unsettled and horny. People say you can’t have it all, but from Pete’s perspective, he can’t have any of it. When he wakes up the next morning to the piercing sound of his alarm, he’s covering in a thin layer of sweat all over his body, and his dick is more insistent than ever.

He thought that would be it, but at work, he does his (now routine) check of the forum website, and is finds that 7C has decided to add insult to injury.

7C replied to this thread:
what red-blooded human in their right mind would stop pleasuring someone to be like “you should make less noise my neighbor is a light sleeper”. Like seriously consider human nature and how good gay sex can be, something I presume you have to know something about even though I’ve never heard a sound from your apartment (makes you wonder how thin the walls actually are!!!!), and tell me that you would actually tell a hot person who’s moaning that you don’t want to hear it because the guy next door has work tomorrow and is a side sleeper. There are earbuds and headphones made for side sleepers, you don’t have to live like this lmao. I get that you might be cranky and tired but I don’t understand how you thought last night would pan out man seriously. Also, do not call me bro?!?! YOUR priorities are the ones that out of line right now.

7D replied to this thread:
read that back sis and tell me it doesn’t make you sound like a spoiled petulant child

The brags are what get to Pete, even if he’s sure that Ray is just using them to deflect. If Pete could have a rotating cast of people to wake up 7C in the middle of his slumber, he would. If he had any energy to go cruising after work, he would. But no- the responsibilities of adulthood called, even when the rest of the world refused to grow up.

That night is peacefully quiet, as is the next, but Friday comes around and Pete finds himself exactly where he’s been finding himself so often these days. It’s 3am, he’s in bed trying to turn down for the night, and 7C is getting spanked.

Pete lays out on his back, staring up morosely at his ceiling, and anticipates each next note in the rhythm. The slap, the moan, the sigh. The third part is the quietest, and it’s the one that makes his solar plexus crumple in anticipation, only to inevitably jump when the next slap comes.

There has to be a better way to deal with this, Pete thinks, fingertips playing with his own bedspread as sleep eludes him. As the spanks give way to 7C giving his guest a blowjob (at least, that’s what Pete thinks it means when 7C stops making any noise and his partner starts making all of the noise), Pete decides that it’s about time he say something out loud. He considers a hearty “Shut up!” that would surely make it past the walls.

Why wouldn’t 7C just go harder? It’s what happened any time he’s hit the walls, and with a discontent sigh, Pete realizes that he might just have to knock on the guys door.

He has to talk himself into it, over the course of shrugging on layers that he removed for bed. He’s still dressed casually, t-shirt and sweats, but he hopes the bags under his eyes will be enough to indicate just how much sleep he’s had stolen.

On the short walk from his bed to 7C’s door, he tries to steel himself for the worst case scenario. Pete is long past his fighting phase, and this dredges up a few of those same feelings, but he doubts it’s going to go farther than terse words. If, however 7C is the type to get aggressive when caught with his pants down, Pete is on guard for it.

His first knocks are too careful to make noise. He gathers enough confidence to make a few properly audible, only stopping when the noises of sex turn into noises of breathless conversation. Then, a short period of silence that ends when the door to 7C opens.

There’s a nonzero chance that Pete is very shallow for having such an extreme reaction to the sight of 7C. But the sight of him, and the immediate realization that he’s not just hot, but he’s Pete’s kind of hot? It puts Pete in a 90 degree shift. He’s still mad, still has some things to say, but fuck. This guy got the first punch in without saying a word, just by looking the way he does, bundled up in a thick bathrobe and donning a soft blush. Its collar just barely fails to hide the splotchy red of a fresh hickey painted up the side of his neck. “Hi?” he says with a cracking, but recognizable voice. Yep, he just gave a blowjob, Pete realizes, and feels his intestines twist up. Having an image to match with the noises might not be such a good idea.

“Hi,” Pete gets out with his face totally blank before he catches a breath and catches up with himself. He’d always thought 7C would look blonde and annoying, not like someone who’d crush a watermelon between his thighs while giving his audience sheepish looks. Fuck. “I’m your neighbor. D side.”

7C’s eyes flit across Pete’s body, and he crosses his arms under the observation. “You’re the one with the stick up his ass?” He looks utterly confused, and Pete’s arms tense in their position.

“Yeah, I am.” He tries to shake away his momentary interest and remembers his mission. “And I actually have the stick in my ass right now, because you’re doing it again.”

7C laughs, and Pete bristles. He resists the urge to put his hands on his hips like a scolding mom, and instead just tries to keep his face stern. He refuses to find any humor in this, laughter aside. “Who even are you, man?”

Pete answers slowly. “I’m Pete.” He’s not going to shake the guy’s hand, because there’s no way he had time to wash his hands in between the blowjob and answering the door.

“I’m Ray,” he says with a boyish little grin, like this is cute. Pete wishes his name were a little less cute, but it’s not enough to make him forget about the forum behavior.

“Well Ray, I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you, but…” Ugh, why couldn’t he have met Ray when he was moving in? When he could help move boxes and before any of this happened? “But I just- I haven’t complained to Jim yet, but at this rate, I might.” He makes a habit of avoiding his landlord, just on principle, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Doesn’t Jim run the website? I’m sure he knows, he’s admin.” Ray’s dismissive attitude is not what Pete needs right now.

“He probably doesn’t check it,” Pete says like a fact even though it’s just a guess. “So if I were to send an email, then-”

“Ray?” asks a voice from inside the apartment, which makes Pete’s arms drop. The reminder that they aren’t alone, confirmed when Ray turns to look over his shoulder, reminds Pete of everything that’s not happening right now. Even if his sleep-deprived loopiness wants to focus on the V of Ray’s bathrobe, and the milky skin that disappears under it.

Someone who does indeed look blonde and annoying enters into frame over Ray’s shoulder. Pete’s mood shifts in response, his resolve hardening. “I’m the neighbor,” he explains, figuring that should be enough to catch the newcomer up before his full attention shifts to Ray again. “And I’m trying to ask as politely as possible,” the fake corporate smile starts up, “To not be so loud.”

Ray seems completely lost for a few seconds, before his words slip out in a surprisingly sardonic monotone. “What, you have work tomorrow?”

Pete doesn’t, and he fears that it shifts the balance of power even more than he already has. Was this a mistake, coming over and bringing this off the screen? “No, but-”

“Dude, we’ll be quieter, just go back to bed,” says Ray’s shirtless guest, who’s now leaning against the back of Ray’s couch and looking bored.

Pete looks at Ray’s face, and sees a twinge of annoyance pass over it. He foolishly hopes that it’s the fuckbuddy who erred this time. “I’m trying to be civil here,” he says. It’s only after he hears the way his voice says it that he realizes that his new tactic is now to get into Ray’s good graces. “Don’t wanna ruin anyone’s good time, just- honestly, just a promise to be quieter is enough for me.” He attempts to look sweet, but worries it’s ruined when he checks if the hickey is still there, and gulps when it is. (What did he think would happen?)

“Promise,” Ray says, looking much too entertained.

Fearing irony, Pete tries to settle his expression into something less compromising. “Seriously.”

After a helpless expression that lasts a moment, Ray nods and tries to sound more serious. “Promise. Swear, even. We can make it a blood pact, if that’s really what you want.”

The cutesy part of Pete wants to ask to make it a pinky promise, but a check of the guy tapping his feet behind Ray is enough to satisfy him. Hopefully this killed one of their boners, if only for a little bit. Pete nods, “Works for me.”

When he goes back to his apartment, there’s a buzz under his skin that wasn’t there before. The dread of the weeks before only comes back when the sex noises start up again, audible but at least noticeably quieter than before. Only now, they’re worse for the fact that Pete knows exactly what it looks like behind their shared wall. Now, when a too-loud moan slips out, his traitorous subconscious has enough juice to conjur up a mental image of the sex he isn’t having right now.

Pete can only groan his “Fuck my life,” into his pillow and hope it’s not heard through the wall.

The next time Pete sees Ray, it’s a little less than a week later, coincidentally also at 3am. This time, they’re outside.

The fire alarm had woken Pete up from deep sleep. His first instinctual thought was that Ray’s newest fuck just moaned like a boiling tea kettle, but once he was fully awake, Pete figured out what was happening. It was a rude interruption for a sleep that was poised to be a rare 8 straight hour slumber for Pete, but someone on the third floor set their kitchen on fire and put an end to that.

Pete’s just happy he thought to bring more than one jacket, standing bored on the lawn while a chilly breeze keeps everyone on edge. He’s watching the firefighters, their big truck parked out in the lot with all the works, still sleepy enough that he can just stare and stare and only barely see, all the while his mind is drifting off somewhere else.

That is, until Ray’s voice interrupts him. “Pete?”

Pete turns around, half-expecting Ray to be in the exact same bathrobe he was the last time they talked. Instead, he’s got flannel pants and a white t-shirt. Pete reminds himself not to stare, not even when Ray get’s cold enough to hug his arms around himself, and his goosebumps prickle on his skin. “Yeah?” he asks, blinking himself awake. Focus, he commands himself. “What’s up?”

Ray gestures to the parking lot, as if to say that’s what’s up right now, but Pete doesn’t really register it because partway through the hand motion, he realizes that there are rope burns on Ray’s wrists.

It pokes deep in him, unleashes a thought of I hate you so much even though Pete, in his heart of hearts, doesn’t truly hate anyone. He channels that energy into talking. “I was sleeping unusually well tonight.” Pete lets it hang in the air for a second.

“Well… I have an early start tomorrow, so…” Ray tilts his head to one side, and then the opposite elbow twitches up in a half shrug.

Whatever the feeling is, it’s like a ball of energy, packing tighter and tighter in a box at Pete’s core, waiting to explode. “Crazy how that happens,” he drawls out, wishing away any anxious undertone to it.

Ray just rolls his eyes. “It’s work.”

“You have a job?” Pete’s still on guard, still shooting little half-digs that never seem to land as he wants them too.

“Yeah, of course. How else would I afford the apartment?”

This time, Pete’s the one shrugging, making a noncommittal noise.

“I’m a virtual assistant to this guy.” Ray makes a flippant, minimizing gesture like he can barely remember the guy’s name. “Finance freak. He’s travelling so I just have to do whatever timezones he’s in when he’s in them.”

“That sounds like it sucks,” Pete says, not realizing how blunt it is until it’s out.

Before he can panic, Ray is nodding and agreeing. “It seriously sucks. I have to sign a million NDAs for everything he’s- like, I could probably get in trouble for saying I even have to sign NDAs, but fuck that guy, seriously.”

Pete feels a pang of sympathy for Ray. As much as he chafes under the 9-5 structure, the unpredictability would get to him, especially if he wasn’t doing something he loved. “That sounds awful.” Doesn’t mean Pete forgives him yet for not respecting apartment quiet hours, but he can see why there’d be a struggle.

“Sometimes it does,” Ray says. Then, like he’s uncomfortably with the attention, he asks “What do you do?”

“I work. In an office. 9-5 and everything.”

“But what do you do?” Ray asks again, and Pete’s eyebrows momentarily dip as he tries to reframe it.

“Customer service for a small insurance company. We focus on annuities.” It feels sparse and lifeless, maybe even unimpressive. He fears what Ray sees him as, as if the job has actually gotten to him and changed him that much. “I mostly handle documenting paperwork and stuff but I- but my big thing is writing. Poems, especially. Songs and short stories too, I guess.”

“That’s cool,” Ray says. “The writing, especially. I’d probably think annuities were cooler if I had one, I guess.”

“I’d sell you one, but…”

“But what?” A breeze passes by them, and Ray hugs himself tighter.

Pete sighs, and takes off his outer jacket, and holds it out in between them. “Take it.”

“What?”

“The jacket.” Ray takes it in his hands, but doesn’t put it on. Pete is a little bit colder because of this, but he resists a shiver. “I’m not licensed to sell insurance,” he adds on, belatedly answering.

“Oh,” Ray says, before slowly pulling it on. “So you couldn’t even if you wanted to?” By the time he has the jacket on, he’s smiling. There’s something daring in the way he’s looking at Pete, like he’s just now starting a game.

Hoping he still knows all the rules, Pete tries to play. “Nope.” He fixes his posture, stands with new energy. “Not even if I wanted to.”

“Damn,” Ray says, his smile going to the grass beneath them before it tilts back up at Pete. “Do you have work tomorrow?”

‘Well… tomorrow’s Thursday, and I work Monday through Friday, so…” Code for: I wish I didn’t.

“Me too, but uhh-” Ray looks over Pete’s shoulder, so Pete looks over and sees what Ray’s worried about: people are going back into the building. Pete looks back, wants to suggest something crazy, and then remembers that he needs to be awake in less than 5 hours. A warm bed and closed eyes is really hard to pass up right now. “Well, I mean, me too in that I have to be at work tomorrow, but for me it’s a call at 8, but still.”

“But still what?” Pete has this excited jump in his throat, like his body is expecting Ray to put it all on the line then and there.

“But still I… I mean, I guess I just wanted to say sorry, again. I’ll do better, seriously.” He looks so earnest that it’s momentarily hysterical, and then just sort of sweet.

“Thanks, Ray,” Pete says as they start their trip back inside. He’s aching for his bed, but still has that wayward part of his mind that still wants to explore the possibility of ending the dry spell tonight.

Ray yawns into the back of his hand before he says “Anytime, Pete.”

With that, Pete decides to give it a little time.

His first order of business is updating his friends on the neighbor saga, which they’ve (mostly) known about. Once they’ve thoroughly berated him for not even trying to get Ray’s number, the attention shifts to planning their next group night out after weeks of reschedules. By this point, Pete’s desperate for it, and maybe it’s the severity of his tone that gets the group signing up for it. They want Pete’s dry spell to be over soon too, even if none of them are the type of friends who’d volunteer.

By the time they’re all together and sweeping into a club where Collie knows the bartender, the group are all tuned into the mission of playing wingman for Pete.

“I’m just glad you listened to me about the tank,” Baker announces, taking a seat at the bar and anchoring the group around him. Meanwhile, Collie leans over the bar to take everyone’s orders.

Pete is also glad he listened to Baker about the tank top, a thin white one that might as well be underwear for how it clings to his body. Once he starts sweating, it’s going to melt onto his skin, and maybe that will be enough to bring rain to the desert.

“If this doesn’t work, y’gotta consider lowering your standards a little,” Olson says, immediately inspiring a wave of reactions. Most of Pete’s friends wave or laugh it off, but he doesn’t like the way Harkness widens his eyes and presses his lips together.

“I think it’s less about standards than opportunities,” Pete tries to defend himself. “I think other people get more opportunities to have sex with strangers than I do.”

“I think other people make the first move more often than you do,” Baker answers.

Collie starts distributing the drinks, and Pete struggles to find a retort for Baker’s criticism. Once Pete gets his, he says “Don’t worry, guys, it’s gonna happen.” He’s partly directing this assurance at himself.

He takes a long sip of his drink. He decides to lead the charge to the dance floor, and takes another sip before starting. Two paces to the dance floor, once it’s all in view, Pete stops and turns back around to his friends. They all wobble in place from the sudden stop, a little of Art’s drink slipping out from the rim in the process.

“Boys,” Pete says with a grin much more confident than it had been before, “You won’t believe who’s here tonight.”

Hank is the first one who gets it, and his jaw drops. “No!” he says, and takes one jutting step back, like he wants everyone to return to the bar so they can debrief it. “Really? Which one?” he looks desperately out at the crowd, and the rest of the group starts to catch on.

Pete, for his part, feels like his fuse has been lit. Maybe it’s the energy drink he had uncharacteristically late in the afternoon, or maybe that’s just how good luck feels. He looks over at the crowd and sees Ray’s profile, dancing across from some girl. Ray’s in a buttonup; that’s not going to last long, Pete thinks with his mouth watering. He’s probably got an undershirt on, too.

Pete points unhelpfully at Ray, and then shouts over the music, “Fat ginger!” The guys peer into the crowd, and one by one, recognition dawns on them. Pete takes a long gulp of his drink, and once it’s swallowed down, he announces, “It’s my turn!” He takes one step towards Ray, then looks back at the guys. “Do I just talk to him?!”

Olson shouts “Dance!” loud enough to hear, and Collie says something that Pete can’t hear over the music. He decides to listen to Olson, and starts making his way through the crowd to Ray.

Then, he’s wriggling through bodies, trying to keep his almost-empty drink steady as he wades through the ocean of people. Ray’s back is more turned than not, so Pete gets his attention but reaching a hand out to fall on the back of his shoulder. Ray shrugs into the touch, and when Pete keeps his hand in place, that’s when he turns back.

Ray reacts to the sight of Pete with shock and intrigue entwined. “Pete?” he asks, but the answer is so obvious that Ray just keeps going. “Here with anyone?!”

Pete starts to move in time with the music, his feet planted by his body swaying as his smile only breaks to answer-shout “Friends!” Pete’s overjoyed when, as a consequence, Ray turns the rest of his body around to face Pete and dance in his direction. Whoever he was dancing with gets no further notice.

Instead of trying to say anything more over the music, Pete focuses on settling his dancing squarely in front of Ray. Even if they can’t really talk, it puts them in physical conversation. Already, Pete can feel the chill of excitement, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he wonders what could happen next. Pete sips the last dregs of his drink through a straw, looking pointedly at Ray.

Ray takes a step closer, knocking Pete’s breath away before pulling the glass, empty save for the ice, and setting it on a ledge back behind him. Pete indulges in a moment of discomfort, because not only is the glass now at risk of being knocked over, but also he’s stepping away so soon. Any lingering did I seriously lose my touch that badly fear is banished when Ray draws into Pete’s space, to the point where they can now be said to be dancing together. Pete can feel the heat of it already, the humidity of needy bodies around them.

They move in time to the music together, mirrored rocks side to side as they close in on their little space they’re carving on on this crowded dance floor. They aren’t really touching yet. Pete closes his eyes for a few seconds, bobs his head to the music and tries to ground himself on the beat. He opens his eyes at the sound of Ray’s voice, a few inches from his ear. “Do you forgive me yet or do I owe you a drink first?”

Pete laughs into his answer. “You owe me more than one.”

Pouting, Ray has the good sense to look a little mortified. “Was it seriously that bad?”

Pete sways his hips side to side for a few moments, raising his eyebrows at Ray. Could he seriously not tell? “Fuck you, you were doing it on purpose,” he says, almost all the edge of it dampened by his giddy smile.

“Not always,” Ray croons, laughing a little despite the soft twinge of leftover annoyance it dredges up in Pete. Ray’s hand rests on Pete’s hip for a moment, and he instinctually twitches away, before trying to return his hip to the same spot it was when he realizes what he was shocking away from. Ray’s hand, probably struck with uncertainty, comes back to his own body, still moving in time with the music.

Hovering around each other like this is starting to run Pete’s nerves ragged. He’s got to change the game. “You here with anyone?” Might as well boomerang Ray’s question back at him.

“Some friends,” Ray answers against Pete’s ear, and this time he rests his hand light on Pete’s arm before turning his head back, using his chin to gesture to a gaggle of people behind him.

“Just like me,” Pete says, but it’s lost under the music.

Ray tilts his head and leans in for his “What?!”

By this point, Pete is directly mirroring Ray’s dancing, on his beat and in his space. He reminds himself that he has a dry spell he’s trying to end, and a friend he’s trying to prove wrong. He doesn’t want to make the first first move, but he can poke. “Wanna dance?” he asks, loud enough to be heard.

Halfway through Ray’s nod, Pete turns around, closing his eyes to the outside world and lining his back up with Ray’s front, more daring now than he’s been in ages. Ray rewards him for it by immediately putting his hands on Pete’s waist, his touch more delicate than Pete expected out of him. He takes a deep breath and tries to adjust himself to the startling fact of contact, of warm flesh to lean back against. Ray feels different than Jack did, or at least whatever of Jack remains in Pete’s memory as the tipsiness can set in. Ray is wider and steadier, and his hands slowly sink to their position, holding onto Pete and keeping him close.

It’s not like anything could tear Pete away from this, from being in sync with someone again. Ray huffs out a sigh against the back of Pete’s head, sending tingles down the nape of his neck. He presses his ass back a little, and feels heady power bloom in his throat when it incites Ray to squeeze his hands in place.

Pete leans his head back on Ray’s shoulder, speeding up his sway as the song changes to something faster. The movement feels therapeutic, like he’s shaking off months of stagnation and finally moving somewhere.

This is as much as Pete is comfortable with throwing himself at someone, any more and he’d feel like a creep. Maybe that’s why Baker said what he did about first moves (it’s still bothering Pete), because even with Ray’s hands keeping the movement of his hips in a tight, steady pendulum, he still feels like he’s living on the ledge of danger right now. What if Ray is all bark and no bite?

He closes his eyes again, head tilted up and leaning against Ray while he tries to keep the rest of his body fluid. He rests his hands over Ray’s, absorbing their warmth to pull from that strength. Ray splays his fingers beneath Pete’s, so Pete slips his own fingers into the slots between Ray’s. He can feel the thin fabric of his shirt, and wonders if its back is transparent with sweat yet.

Ray dips his head, nose resting light against the back of Pete’s shoulder, and tentatively rolls his hips forward, inducing a shiver.

It feels so intimate for a second that Pete wants to shy away from it, before he reminds himself where he is. It’s a club, it’s all for fun. He’s scared to look over at the bar and see his friends watching him, so he turns back around to face Ray again.

Ray’s hands are adrift for a second during the spin, but re-home comfortably on his hips once they’re breathing the same air again. The inch of height that Ray has on him is put to great use, with his smile tilted down, a couple of inches away from Pete’s. Pete rests his hands on Ray’s and bites the inside of his cheek. Is he supposed to kiss Ray now? His gaze flicks down to Ray’s scruff, where it fades down his neck. When he looks back at Ray’s eyes, they’re dark and cloudy. What’s he thinking about?

“You’re so hot,” Ray announces.

Pete smiles, the compliment having its intended effect. “Even with the stick up my ass?” he asks with a breathy giggle at the end. His hands on Ray’s guide upwards, so now his palms nestle against his ribs.

Ray’s lips are parted, eyes roving like he doesn’t know where to look. Shimmying a couple inches closer, Pete can feel the rumbling thumps of his heart in his chest. Ray takes Pete’s hand, and lifts it oddly. Pete expresses his momentary confusion, so Ray starts to guide his hand until Pete realizes that he’s trying to twirl him. He finds it cute, gives into the idea of doing a little spin for him. By the time he’s finished the 360, he can’t fight his lightheaded smile. For a few long moments, they just stare at each other, barely dancing. This is when Ray remembers that he needs to answer. “I’m sorry I said that, you just…”

His words peter out into a mumble when Pete leans towards Ray’s neck on an impulse. Pete thought, somehow, that this was going to be harder, but once his lips are close to the skin, it’s startlingly easy to connect with the skin of Ray’s neck, tacky with sweat and feverishly warm. He tastes like he smells, only richer. When the tip of his tongue sticks out, Ray groans, his throat vibrating against Pete’s mouth.

For all intents and purposes, it pours gas on the fire, making new ideas crackle and pop high in Pete’s chest. What if he grabbed Ray’s ass? What if he rolled his body against him? What if he bit?

With half of a memory of that hickey sticking out from the collar of Ray’s bathrobe, Pete sucks the supple skin of Ray’s neck into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth for a moment before releasing. He has a moment of hesitation, just long enough to drag the tip of his tongue up the spot, before deciding better now than never and bringing the flesh back into his mouth. His hand comes up to the other side of Ray’s neck, steadying him in place. He feels dirty and needy for it all, the way that this settles under his skin, but the sound of a gasped keening noise is enough encouragement.

When Pete pulls off with a lurid pop noise that smacks under his lips, Ray ducks his head to whisper his question right into his ear. “Did you just-?”

Pete’s not going to look down and check if there’s actually a mark that he left behind, so he focuses instead on answering, mirroring Ray’s pose so they’re practically cheek-to-cheek in conversation. “Wanted to see if you’d let me.” And he did, but Ray’s not wasting any more time before he’s kissing Pete properly, finally.

Oh, how Pete missed kissing. Pete’s eager out the gate, lips parting, hands clutching. He partially blames Ray, who kisses like he’s starving for it. His hand on Ray’s neck slips up to take root in his hair, keeping him close and pulling him in when he has too much space for his liking. His other goes to Ray’s hip, one finger hooking through the beltloop of Ray’s jeans, finding an easy place to settle there.

Pete takes in a thick breath through his nose as his lips part, Ray daring to dip his tongue into Pete’s mouth to taste him. As he does, he can smell Ray, or at least whatever cologne Ray is wearing. He can kind of taste it, too, when he lets the lights and the loud music get to him as he starts sucking on Ray’s lip.

Ray lets out a noise into Pete’s mouth, a flush of warm, wet breath that Pete wants to feel again. His hand at Ray’s waist angles so he can press his fingertips into the waistband, not sure if they should slide up or down. Pete tests a flex of his index finger, sliding from the denim to the enticing bare skin that Ray has hidden under his shirt. Pete sighs at the flash of sensation, his hand twitching a little further up. He’s only expecting softer, sweatier skin, but his roving fingertip (still very casual, there’s a chance Ray’s too busy kissing Pete to even notice this little touch) stops at a strap. It feels like leather, and Pete’s eyebrows furrow as he pulls his hand up to investigate.

He doesn’t quite detach his mouth, but when Pete realizes that Ray is wearing something strappy and leather under his clothes, it’s like a slap in the face. He lets out a questioning noise, and Ray puts an inch of space between them to answer.

“It gives me confidence.”

Pete laughs. On Ray’s lower back, beneath his shirt, Pete hooks his finger in one of the leather straps like it’s a belt loop. If Ray were undressed, there’d probably be a pattern to the lingerie’s design, but it’s just as thrilling experiencing with nothing but touch. “Like you needed more of that,” Pete quips, then starts kissing again.

It does feel slightly fitting that for all the trouble Ray’s put him through, he would show up for Pete, wrapped up like a present. After this dry spell, Pete thinks he deserves a hurricane.

Ray’s arm around him tries to hold Pete close, like half a hug. While Ray moves Pete by his torso, Pete’s hand in Ray’s hair moves him too. He can tug to the side and Ray will tilt his head for him, will part his lips to let Pete lick into his mouth over and over. Pete discovers that Ray’s a noisy kisser, especially up close. All the more reason to devour him here and now. Ray is intent on devouring Pete too, it seems, with the way their shared spit paints his chin.

When Ray starts kissing Pete’s neck, all teeth and tongue and huffed breaths, Pete starts formulating their exit strategy. They’re pressed up close enough that he can feel Ray’s hard-on against him, and based on these last few hip movements, Pete thinks Ray knows about his erection too. Maybe he just picked up on the fact that he could rub up against Pete just so and it would elicit a shuddering gasp, or maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing right. Pete wishes he could see into Ray’s head. Does this feel huge for him too?

“Let’s go home,” Pete says into Ray’s hair, before breathing that in too. He smells Ray’s shampoo mixed with the warm weight of sweat, and his stomach twists. Fuck, he wants this. Might burst without it, at this rate. So much so that he’s okay with paying a $15 cover for a club and leaving less than an hour later.

Ray, who had the collar of Pete’s tank top between his teeth when Pete said this, looks up without thinking, and brings the shirt up with his mouth for a second before the sweat-soaked fabric snaps back to Pete’s body. The ensuing stripe of cool sends goosebumps down Pete’s shoulders. “What?” he asks. His eyes are dazed. I did that.

“Home,” Pete says. He knows his and Ray’s are side by side.

Ray rests his forehead against Pete’s, and a nearby dancer bumps into Pete’s back and gives him an excuse to press closer to Ray. “What?”

“Let’s go!”

“Bathroom?”

It’s not like Pete hasn’t had sex in a club bathroom before, but it was with a boyfriend. “Home!”

Recognition sparks in Ray’s eyes, and for a moment he has a look that is all too warm, but it turns into regular heat after a couple seconds. Pete knows how to deal with someone wanting, but warmth is different. “Yeah. What about-” Ray rubs his hand down Pete’s arm, “-your friends?”

They’re here with the singular purpose of getting me laid, Pete thinks. Instead of revealing that piece of information, he focuses on getting him and Ray off the dance floor. He leads them to the bar, where air is freer and space is easier to come by, but Pete still leans to Ray’s ear to speak. “We can- we can wait for them?” They drove him here, at least. Pete expects Ray to offer to go straight to their apartment, but instead he just nods, looking for a booth to wait. There’s energy under Ray’s movements, his hand squeezing onto Pete’s as he walks them to a small booth.

Pete figures he can tease Ray a little with it, but Ray beats him to the punch. The second they’re sitting side by side, and Pete looks away for a second to at least pretend to look for his friends, Ray starts nosing at his neck. Pete laughs, tries to keep his boner subtle, and tangles his fingers with Ray’s. They haven’t stopped holding hands yet, Pete realizes.

Pete’s resolve crumbles after a valiant five minutes, at which point he orders the ride home. He’s about to start worrying about looking overeager, but then Ray starts scraping his teeth on Pete’s shoulder where his skin meets the damp strap of the tank. Pete checks his phone, sees their ride is three minutes away, and then has the good luck to look back at Ray right when the pink tip of his tongue is cautiously tasting the fabric. It makes Pete’s breath leave his lungs all at once. To make it worse, when Ray realizes he’s been caught, the side of his mouth quirks up in a smile, before he leaves his next kiss (softer, chaster, cuter) on Pete’s bicep. He leaves his mouth there, resting it like he’s using Pete to passively shut him up. He keeps looking at Pete, though. He’s catching every second of the smile that Pete is trying to repress.

They’re better behaved in the car. They keep a distance of the center seat, but it makes them tenser than just touching would. This is a liberal enough area, in Pete’s estimation, but the driver is old enough that he even forgoes holding hands. He got used to it so fast that when it’s gone, he actually feels its absence. Part of Pete wants to talk himself down, but the other part can’t help but like all this energy. I can go all night, Pete announces in his head, before looking over at Ray, who’s been watching him. He doesn’t point it out, but takes it as a private personal victory before a conversation polite enough for the ride share driver to participate. Even so, every once in a while, Pete looks over a Ray and knows what’s under his shirt.

The second the two arrive at their apartment building, the “which apartment are we going to fuck in” of it all becomes immediately apparent. They debate the pros and cons of it the whole way, until it becomes it’s own whole thing, like someone is going to win a prize if it’s at their place.

Ray almost wins when he points out that he still needs to give Pete his jacket back. Pete had forgotten that Ray (accidentally, probably) took his jacket after the fire alarm, and is almost swayed to Ray’s apartment to get it back, before he decides that it is much more important to bring the spirit of sex back to his apartment. Ray folds beneath the insistence, and follows Pete closely as the pair arrive at 7D. His first comment, standing in the space between the studio’s couch and table, is “It smells great in here.”

Pete goes right to the kitchen, pulling out cups for water. He putters with the filling and preparing of them, all the while feeling anticipation fill up his lungs with light air. “Thanks,” he says, before turning around with both glasses of water in hand. He sees Ray with one hand braced on the back of the couch and his eyes roving all around the apartment. Pete has an internal falter. Should he be less focused on hosting and more focused on fucking? He resists these doubts, instead focusing on stepping closer to Ray and offering him the glass of water, which is easily taken. “How much did you drink?” he asks.

“Not a lot,” Ray says mid-head shake. He looks over Pete’s shoulder to the clock on his microwave, and confirms out loud, “It’s not even that late.”

Pete looks over his shoulder. It’s freshly 12. Pete’s usual bedtime, even if 11 is his aspirational goal. “We have, what… four hours before you usually come? That should be fine,” he jokes.

Ray’s face is serious. With the hand on the back of the couch, he walks his fingers down the spine of its back, making tentative steps towards Pete. “More than fine.” His eyes are dark, and Pete feels like his head is shifting towards Ray as he stares at them, like there’s a magnetic event transpiring between their eyes. “So what are you into, anyway?” Ray asks. “Other than quiet sex.”

Pete laughs. “I like loud sex better when I’m the one having it.”

“But what about your neighbors?” Ray asks, mocking but smiling.

Looking at the wall he shares with 7E, a lovely lady named Justine, Pete makes a decision that he announces. “She can forgive me for this one.” Then, with a much more serious look at Ray, “It’s been a year.”

Ray looks confused. “Since… you’ve had sex?” His face morphs, more confused by the second. “Wh-why?” Pete can’t help but be flattered by how surprising this is to Ray.

This is about as good of a time as any to peel off his tank top, and to appreciate the way Ray’s eyes are hungry in their scan of new skin on display. “Breakup and bad luck,” Pete answers. He takes a long sip of water, grateful for its soothing effect on his throat. He watches as Ray takes another step in his direction, looking like he doesn’t know where to touch first. Very, very promising, Pete thinks. He wants to be touched so bad that his skin is starting to ache.

“So for your first- I mean, what kind of…” Ray stops talking to drink from his water, tucking into it and avoiding eye contact once he’s gulped it down.

Pete thinks it’s about time to take a step forward. “When’d you get shy?” Pete teases, lips spreading into a smile. He eyes Ray’s buttonup, can imagine what’s under it. “Come on, I know you better than that… What are you asking?” Now, he stands at one corner of the couch, Ray less than a foot away from him and still holding onto the back with one hand.

“Do you want to, uh, fuck me? Or vice versa? I’m cool with both, I like both.”

Pete’s shoulders relax a little. Nice, me too Pete thinks, but knows it’s not a helpful answer. He’s dated people who were all one thing, top or bottom, and it’s not a dealbreaker, but it’s not him. His answer to the top or bottom question usually comes down to so long as we’re having sex, I’m good. “I like both too, but for tonight, I- I haven’t been fucked in too long,” he feels more and more vulnerable the more he speaks, but once he starts it’s like he can’t stop, “I don’t really like using objects when it’s just me, it feels… Not my thing. Toys with another person, I’m good with, but I’ve only had my own fingers in me a couple of times, so I would- yeah, I think you should fuck me, tonight.” He almost wants to add something about how he can fuck Ray another time, but the concept of talking about a next time when this time has hardly started feels too risky.

Ray is too busy eagerly nodding. “Yeah that… sounds great to me.” He seems stuck for a moment, as if trying to imagine the positions they could do before short-circuiting at all the possibilities. “And you like kissing, right?”

Now it’s Pete’s turn to look at Ray like he’s crazy. Did we not have our tongues down each other’s throats less than an hour ago? “Who doesn’t like kissing?”

“Some people think it’s gross,” Ray says. From his delivery, Pete feels like it’s obvious that one of his hookups is anti-kissing. Pete won’t outright state that he thinks that’s stupid. Ray is fun to kiss! He silently resolves to do it more.

Pete is ready to put his drink down and start touching Ray, so he decides to head to the kitchen, which is only a few paces away for him. He sets the glass on the counter, and looks back to see Ray with his eyebrows crinkled together. Pete has his hands free now, and leans back against the counter, watching as Ray seems to get the memo well enough to leave his own glass of water on the coffee table. Before Pete goes to the bed, Ray is moving to join him in the kitchen, crowding him against the counter with his hands on Pete’s waist. Pete goes right for the buttons of his shirt, curiosity winning out over anything else.

Ray, lost in a breathless chuckle, drifts his hands down low on Pete’s hips as the vee of his opening shirt gets deeper and wider. When the buttons are done, Pete hops onto the counter while Ray sheds the layer, revealing the top half of the underwear. Pete takes a moment to appreciate the way that black leather straps outline Ray’s torso, leaving shapes to give attention. There are the triangles around his tits, slivers of flesh at his sides. Before Pete can start mouthing at where the strap constrains Ray’s skin, Ray’s surging forward to kiss him, torso against torso.

Pete wraps his legs around Ray immediately, arms over his shoulders and sighing. He can sink into this, sink around it. Ray’s hands keep him steady in place, high on his thighs like he’s working up the courage to start kneading his ass. Not a problem, Pete’s fine with Ray taking his time with him and savoring.

His lips are relaxed, moving slow against Ray’s and seeing how it feels when they melt together. It all feels even, like for every push Pete gives, Ray will give a matching pull. They’re both the right kind of stubborn for it, he guesses.

As they kiss, Pete teases a fingertip under the strap of Ray’s lingerie. It’s not quite elastic, but the plush surface of Ray’s skin under the leather gives enough for Pete to slip under. Ray smiles against him while Pete traces down one side of the triangle, his own blood warming as he imagines that the soft skin brushing against his knuckle is chafed and sensitive after being held tight by the leather. Maybe Ray would even have angry pink lines where the strictures hold him.

His eyes roll back when Ray sucks his lower lip into his mouth, distracted enough that he loses grip on the strap and just puts his whole hand on one of Ray’s pecs.

For someone who hadn’t planned on grasping at Ray’s chest soon, Pete gets right to it, kissing with renewed energy as Ray’s nipple nestles perfectly in the center of Pete’s palm. Pete tastes as much as he hears Ray’s moan, this time with no music or crowd or too-thin wall to buffer the sound.

“Yeah?” Pete asks against Ray’s lips, egging it on. He keeps his hand firmly on Ray, but shifts it up enough that his pinkie can rub against the leather. “That what you like?”

“I like everything,” Ray gasps out, and when Pete pulls away enough to be able to look at him, Ray looks just as he hopes: utterly debauched. His spit-slicked reddened lips tilt up into a smile when Pete puts his unoccupied hand high on Ray’s shoulder, his thumb flicking up at the little hoop earring he’s wearing. “I like your mouth, your hands…” Ray starts working on the button of Pete’s jeans, and Pete finds that he has no protests for this course of action. “I’ll probably like your legs, too.”

Once Ray’s pulled down the zip and rubbed his hand over the tent in Pete’s underwear, Pete gets to work shimmying his pants off from his sitting position, and Ray steps back to give him the space for it. He starts on his own jeans, pushing them down and leaving them in a denim puddle on the floor that he kicks off to the side.

Pete is glad he took the jeans and underwear off at the same time, because Ray’s pants shedding reveals the rest of his look, and Pete hopes he’s matching him well enough in the eye candy category.

They stay apart for a few more beats of looking. It takes a few seconds for the whole image to come to fruition, Pete’s eyes following where the upside down vee of Ray’s straps draw his eye to the happy trail that then draws his eyes to the dick that’s going to be inside him sometime soon. Then, he’s looking back at Ray with all the heat he’s feeling, and widens the angle of his thighs. He lifts his chin, trying to silently beckon Ray back over.

It works; Ray re-enters his space, guided the right direction when Pete pulls him in with both hands on his cheeks. He relishes the skin on skin contact as he wraps himself around Ray again, Ray’s hands now curled under Pete’s thighs with a meaty grip.

They return to kissing with a vengeance, not caring if their teeth clack messily together. Pete moans as suction pulls his tongue into Ray’s mouth, his dick encased between their bodies, painfully hard. He’s starting to sweat, tugging on Ray’s hair and trying to hold on tight. “Bed?” Pete has enough breath and space to ask before they’re kissing again.

Then, Ray is pulling him off the counter, and their tight embrace becomes a matter of survival and Pete holds on tight. He tries not to look impressed, but he can’t help but look like he’s melting with lust when Ray lays him on on his bed. These swooping, aloft feelings are just what Pete’s been missing. He reaches out for Ray to follow him as he stretches back on his bed, grabbing him by the ring at the center of the leather on his chest.

Ray straddles him, focusing on kissing Pete’s neck while Pete grips onto him, positioning himself to give Ray all the access he needs. He’s kissing sparks and static shocks down the sensitive skin, his facial hair giving it that extra buzz. When Pete moans this time, he’s not thinking at all about if anyone can hear him.

Ray’s hips wriggle in place, and Pete can feel the sticky sweat of Ray rubbing his own erection into Pete’s thigh. He tenses it in place, trying to be as easy to grind on as possible while Ray sucks on his skin.

They make out like this for a while, rolling around on Pete’s mattress until they’re both hard and leaking. Pete wants to indulge in kissing him, wants to make him wait just a little longer, He only loses his patience when he presses down on the mark he left with his thumb, and Ray stutters out a moan. At this point, they’re both lying on their sides facing each other, legs tangled together.

He wraps his hand around Ray’s dick, stroking slowly while Ray’s mouth drops open. There’s maybe two inches of space between their lips, but both have their eyes wide and staring at the other. Pete’s heart feels like it’s beating so loud that the whole building can hear its rhythm.

“I should tell you,” Ray starts, low and raspy before he clears his throat, rolls his hips forward into Pete’s fist, and then schools them back into place, “I take a while to come.”

Pete keeps the pace of his fist, but draws his eyebrows together long enough for Ray to know he’s listening. When Ray doesn’t add more, Pete asks, “Okay…?”

“It’s my antidepressants,” Ray explains, sounding way too serious for someone who’s in the middle of getting jacked off. “So I take forever, but when I come, I come.”

This actually makes sense. That’s why the end of the night was always such a production. He thought those wrecked 4am moans (which was always when you were sure you had tuned it out, by the way) were just showing off, but no... that was the orgasm Ray was working towards the whole time. That was the cock crowing the break of dawn, and Pete had no idea. “I see.” He holds his fist at the base of Ray’s dick, and gives it a squeeze before keeping it there. “That’s fine, I kind of… my plan was to go all night anyway. I know what you’re capable of.”

Ray squirms a little in place looking for stimulation, and Pete feels high at the sight of it. He wonders if he should use his mouth next. The opportunities feel endless. “Pete,” he whines, eyes widening and eyebrows pulling together like he’s begging.

Pete’s first thought is to ask Ray for what he wants, but his second is what comes blurting out. “Finger me.”

Then, Ray is nodding and rolling them over, getting on top and focusing in like he’s been given a quest. His legs are slotted between Pete’s, and Pete twists around to his bedside table, blindly fishing for the lube while Ray drags his hand down Pete’s chest.

Pete passes the bottle of lube to Ray and settles back on the bed, eyes watching every step as they move into position. Pete has his knees bent and his legs spread while Ray sits between them, hands busy with spurting the gel onto his fingers. After a few moments of it bobbing with nothing to do, Pete wraps his hands around his dick, pumping it slowly. He watches for Ray’s eyes, until he’s so focused that he’s only staring at one of them.

The negative effect of the show is that it slows Ray down. Pete has to insist with a “Come on,” before Ray is pressing his slicked finger between Pete’s cheeks, slow as he enters Pete.

“Fuck,” he whispers as his index finger slowly sinks in, and Pete adjusts around it. Just one of Ray’s fingers isn’t anything to write home about, but the hint of what’s to come starts to ratchet up his anticipation. He must squeeze too tight around Ray or something, because Ray looks up at his face with something devious in his smile and tells him to “Breathe, Pete, just breathe.”

Pete feels it in his chest, a twist of something that he tries to breathe through and past. Maybe it’s butterflies, maybe it’s the rumblings of an oncoming storm. Pete breathes like it’s his quest, now. Ray’s finger slides the rest of the way in, and Pete arches his back, trying to absorb the feeling of it. It only takes a few pumps before he’s nodding, his silent way of requesting another. He and Ray must speak the same language in that regard, because Pete gets exactly what he wanted.

He sinks into the stretch, gasping air in as Ray starts to move them inside him with purpose. His shoulders press back into the bed, enough leverage for his hips to rise against Ray’s hand, helping him to the right spot. When Ray brushes against it, Pete is so wound-tight that it makes him yelp.

Frustratingly, Ray’s smile is smug, even more so when he repeats the motion and gets Pete whining, trying to keep his lips pressed together.

“Another, right?” Ray asks, and Pete nods even though he wasn’t thinking about the third finger yet. Its stretch is a little more marked, but now that he knows what Ray’s fingers can hit, he’s extra motivated to brave the temporary sear of pain.

Once he’s relaxed around the new intrusion, and he can feel Ray’s curling middle finger against his prostate, Pete feels a little like he’s been zapped with something, energy sparkling through his body. Without being asked a question, Pete starts nodding, eyes closed as he repeats “Yeah yeah yeah…” to answer the pleasure.

“I can’t wait to fuck you,” Ray says, and his tone is enough for Pete’s eyes to fly open again and catch this sight, where Ray’s driving his fingers in and out of Pete and looking at him like he’s going to be delicious. Every part of their skin still touching feels soft and sticky like honey, and Pete wants to commit every bit of this to memory.

“What’s keeping you?” Pete gets out behind gritted teeth, all the while pushing himself down on Ray’s fingers, getting them right where he wants them.

Ray takes the time to leave a kiss on the side of Pete’s knee before answering “Does that mean you’re ready for me?”

Now’s Pete’s turn to pause. Something about it feels loaded. “How do you want to fuck me?” He gives a look that he hopes is challenging and not desperate.

Meanwhile, Ray tries to circle Pete’s prostate with his fingertips, and speaks with his voice ragged. “Any way you want it, Pete, wouldn’t want to- I bet it’s good all the ways. I think it’d be hot doggystyle, hot if you ride me, hot if I fucked you just like this-” his hips twitch forward in place, enough to give Pete a couple of ideas.

“Doggystyle first,” Pete announces. Ray pulls his fingers out, and reaches for the condoms in the bedside table, fiddling with them and cursing when his wet fingers struggle to open the foil. Once he does, Pete watches as he rolls the condom on, rubbing himself back to full hardness before Pete turns around and gets on all fours.

Those moments before Ray enters him feel like they stretch on endlessly, with Pete staring at his headboard and wondering it it’s going to be bumping against the wall soon. Then, the head of Ray’s dick is nudging against his entrance, and Pete’s focus zooms entirely onto the feel of it. Ray presses in, his breath tight behind Pete while Pete keeps his position as the sensations start to rip through him.

It’s been a while since he’s had a cock in him, and it’s mostly like he remembers, wet and thick and burning hot. He’s surprised by how his muscles seem to adjust a ring at a time, the way he cant decide whether he wants to keep his eyes open or closed.

Ray holds him with his hands on either side of Pete’s ass, squeezing and spreading him apart. Pete feels like a balloon about to pop, all tension even though he reminds himself to keep breathing. He dips his head down, forehead against the mattress. He forces himself to exhale and relax around Ray, even though the sparks of his hold make him want to inhale. “Holy fuck, Pete,” Ray says, his right thumb moving in a shaky up-down pattern. “You’re so tight, is it- are you good? Are you okay?”

“Keep fucking me,” Pete says, bracing his hands in place and turning his head to the side to be heard. “Keep going just- just like that, don’t go faster, just stay- yes, slow and deep, like that, just while I-” a snap of pleasure breaks in Pete’s gut, making his hips twitch up, and Ray’s moan sounds out under his next words, “-yeah, just like that, you’re good, it’s- it’s good.” He has to resist the urge to call him baby.

Pleasure lights up in Pete in erratic bursts, and he can never tell where the next one will come from. With each thrust into him, it feels like his pulse is thrumming in time with the beat, like his body is dissolving into music. He presses his lips to the mattress in a facsimile of the kiss that’s not possible without changing position, something that Pete has no interest in. Then, when an especially hard pound into him, Pete’s lips open up against his sheets, leaving wet fabric behind. He grips his dick to keep it from shooting off too soon, thighs shaking.

Ray, seemingly oblivious at this attempt at restraint, drags his blunt nails down the length of Pete’s spine, and his mind goes blank. “Holy shit, that’s good,” he announces, the words following the beat of the headboard against the wall.

Pete’s first orgasm happens like that, fucking his hand and Ray’s cock at the same time while his skin tingles all over, his back arching and twisting before he’s coming apart with a long, loud moan and shivers.

When Pete flops back on his back, half-dazed, he looks over at Ray for the first time since Ray started fucking him. Ray, for his part, seems breathless and over-sexed, a flush tinging his cheeks.

“It’s like I told you, it’s been a whole year,” Pete says to apologize for his short fuse.

“Hey, it’s like you said… we got all night.” Ray’s grin is so goofy it proves infectious.

Ray’s orgasm comes after a water break, mutual head, Pete’s second orgasm, and the sunrise. It starts approaching while Pete’s riding him, working Ray’s dick like it’s his job. Pete’s not sure he’s capable of a third orgasm at this point, but he’s a man on a mission.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Ray repeats, as he’s been doing for the past minute or so. His blush has crept down to his chest, which is spattered with spit, sweat, and come at this point, and Pete wishes he could take a picture.

Pete starts to slow down, enough to earn a desperate whine and a burn in his thighs with the effort. “Pick something new to say,” Pete teases, all while keeping his face serious. Then, he stops completely.

Ray throws his head back and squirms up, all composure lost as he says “I wanna fuck you,” his his voice cracking at the end.

“You already are,” Pete counters, struggling to keep his tone cool even as he tries to subtly drop all of his weight onto Ray’s dick.

Ray’s hands on his hips squeeze, and the fresh morning air around Pete crackles with surreal oversensitivity. “Not as hard as I want to.”

With Pete’s hands braced right below his chest, Pete does a singular body roll before settling right back into place. “I don’t know… you feel pretty hard to me.” His walls close tight for a second, feeling around what’s in him before Ray’s hips push up into the feeling. It leaves both of them moaning, before

“It’s just- I wanna come,” Ray says with a minimally effective tug of Pete’s hips down on him.

Pete rubs himself down in a slow circle, still too slow for what he’s sure Ray wants at this point. He flicks Ray’s nipple and relishes Ray’s cry in response, the way he twitches inside him. “Ask me for it, say my name,” Pete demands. He wants the noise, the mess, the desperation.

“Please,” Ray chokes out. It’s not everything, but it’s enough for Pete to circle a little faster, encouraging. “Please, Pete, just, just can I- faster?”

Pete sucks his lips into his mouth, eyes closing as the head of Ray’s dick drags across where he’s the most sensitive. “I’m gonna need that louder, Ray.”

Ray’s voice is stretched taut, and it’s certainly louder. “Please, Pete, seriously just-” he thrashes his head back, flexes his fingers in place, “-just bounce on it, please I need- Pete, Pete, Pete,” he repeats.

Now it’s Pete’s turn to feel smug as he pushes over the tingling pain of oversensitivity to ride Ray again. Ray’s response is just as explosive as Pete had hoped, holding on tight and thrusting up into Pete, all while looking up at him with wide, teary, adoring eyes. Pete couldn’t have asked for more, but he knows he can still give more, and one shaking hand goes to pinch Ray’s nipple, rolling it between two fingers as Ray falls apart underneath him.

He’s heard this before, but seeing and experiencing it is something else entirely. Pete can’t pick where to look, from the leaking tears of Ray’s eyes to the way he helplessly grasps onto Pete’s thighs. Ray comes loud and hard, like pleasure covers every inch of his skin. And Pete did it. Pete left (most of) those marks, pushed him over the brink. Pete feels warm all over with it, pride and excitement and inconvenient fondness for Ray.

Ray is boneless by the time Pete pulls off of him, and once Pete’s empty, the soreness starts to set in. Pete lays down once it starts to hit and spread, stretching as he tries to reacclimate to this crazy new world he’s crash-landed on. I just fucked 7C, he thinks.

“Holy shit,” Ray says, dragging his hand down his face before he’s working on taking off the condom, yawning all throughout. “That was…” he flops back down all the way on the bed, “I didn’t- that was…”

Pete looks ever expectantly as Ray trails off. When more words don’t come, Pete asks “It was…?”

Staring at the ceiling, Ray answers. “It’s insane that we live next to each other.”

“We are neighbors,” Pete says into his yawn.

“No, but like…” Ray catches his eye, looking quiet serious. “You were less than 20 feet away from this sex for months. And so was I.”

“And to think,” Pete’s finger hooks under one of Ray’s straps with a smile, “You still owe me my jacket, so you’re kinda going to have to see me again.”

Ray laughs. “How ever am I going to handle that?” He sits up. “Now help me take this thing off, let’s go to sleep.” After a whole night of exercise, Pete’s inclined to agree, and moves his sore body just enough to start working on the buckle of the back of it. He’s debating if he has enough energy to get them more water.

That morning, they drift off to sleep, sated and unaware of the forum post being written in their name. The next Monday, Pete opens the forum website ass a force of habit, and finds a post from 7E titled “HURT PEOPLE HURT PEOPLE”.