I sat on his couch, self-consciously tucking the telltale bulge straining against the elastic of my shorts. Of course, I knew who Louis Tomlinson was – a local model and business counselor who, judging by the state of his living room, rarely ventured out. It was a bachelor’s haven, a comfortable chaos of well-worn furniture and the faint scent of cologne.
After what felt like an eternity of sweating – and the unexpected reward of a shirtless, sweaty, and undeniably ab-tastic Louis – he’d invited me in for coffee and biscuits. While the coffee brewed, my mind replayed the scene: his hands gripping my legs, guiding me through the kick, and the insistent desire that I didn’t want him to stop.
Despite my efforts, the pressure was building, a throbbing, undeniable presence beneath my shorts.
“Would you like sugar, love?”
The endearment caught me off guard.
“Yes, please!” My voice cracked with nerves. I grabbed a pillow and positioned it strategically on my lap, hoping to conceal the evidence. Maybe he wouldn't notice.
When he walked back into the room, my heart nearly leaped from my chest. He was impossibly handsome.
“What’s with the pillow? Are you warm?” Louis asked, his brow furrowed with concern. I wet my lips, forcing my gaze downward.
“Oh.”
Just as panic threatened to overwhelm me, Louis let out a soft laugh. Without hesitation, he snatched the pillow away.
“This is why your friends don’t want to teach you?”
I nodded, a wave of shame washing over me. “No one wants to teach a faggot.” The admission finally broke the dam, and tears welled up, the bulge receding with the release of emotion.
“Hey, hey! Don’t cry!” Louis slid closer, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. “Gay or straight, you have potential. You improved so much today. And guess what?”
“What?”
“I was the star, and gay.” Louis’s grip tightened in a comforting embrace.
My phone buzzed with a text message from my friends. *Movies at my place.*
“I gotta go,” I mumbled, standing up shyly.
“More coffee for me, I guess,” Louis said, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.
“You can come too. My friends love big groups,” I offered, hoping to extend the moment. I was starting to feel something more than just attraction.
“I’m a little old for that, babe,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
*Babe.*
A swarm of butterflies erupted in my stomach.
“Hey, want my number? We can schedule your next lesson,” Louis asked as I gathered my things, wiping my forehead with my lucky towel.
“Yeah, here.” I tossed him my phone.
I had Louis Tomlinson’s number.