Passion and Its Consequences: Chapter 1 - The Stacks

Passion and Its Consequences

Chapter 1 - The Stacks

This is a new short story that I had an idea for, oddly enough, in the stacks at the library. Let's face it, the stacks? Not a sexy place. But the rumors that surround it keep hope alive for horny freshmen with always-there roommates. I was sitting on the floor looking for books when someone comes by. Given the naturally perverted state of mind I inhabit, it was only a quick leap to, "What would happen of someone were to have sex with him?" This story is really more of my answering that question for myself, pondering the idea of a chance encounter leading to something else.

It's a bit of an evolution, because my original idea was just, "Hey, it'd be hot to blow a guy in the stacks!"

Billy Bunny (billy@billybunny.com)

One of the requirements for my degree was an intensive writing class. I thought that I had taken care of that as a freshman, but it turned out that creative writing didn't count. It's a weird system they have. So anyway, I had to take this stupid Lit class that didn't really teach me anything other than that literature written before 1940 is boring as hell.

The professor apparently thought that the students never went to the library, so she assigned a project: look up a couple of books online, go to the library, find them in the stacks, and then tell her what books were next to them. Simple enough. Obviously, I put it off until the last minute.

I was sitting between the shelves on the 10th floor of the library, alternately writing down call numbers and marveling at how quiet it was up there. I was the only other person on that floor, making it just a little creepy. I shelved one book and picked up another, then noticed a shadow cross in front of me.

"Hey, you're doing this too?" He looked down at me, holding a piece of paper at his side. "Kinda figured I wasn't the only one who forgot about this."

I glanced up, noticed who he was, and smiled. "Yeah, I just kept putting it off. I wonder if she knows that we have better things to do than go running around the library."

He sat down next to me and grabbed a book, writing down the information on its spine. "I know. I don't think she actually realizes that we have other classes than just hers. All the reading, plus the papers every class, plus the huge essays. I swear, if I wasn't so passive-aggressive, I'd say something."

I chuckled, nodding my head and silently agreeing. "Chris, right? I don't think we've ever introduced ourselves."

"Yep. You're Roger, right?" He waited just a second for me to nod. "One thing about her, she always makes sure everyone knows each other's names."

"I think that's just so she can keep them straight."

"Probably." He put his book back and reached across my lap for another. His arm brushed against my leg; it seemed to stay there for a moment before he finally grabbed what he wanted. He seemed to move a little closer as he opened his book. "Really nice how all of the stuff we were supposed to look up is on the bottom shelf."

"Mmm," I mumbled, unable to think clearly with him so close that he was touching my side. I shook my head. "Yeah, I don't know how the hell I'm going to stand up."

Chris was a good looking man. Not in the 2-percent body-fat Abercrombie model way, it was more of a down-to-earth, confident sort of attractive. He was about 24, his dark brown hair tousled thickly over his head. His eyes were greyish-blue, ethereal, almost as if they didn't fit the rest of him at all. Clothes weren't his forte-he didn't dress well for his skin tone, though just coming out of winter, he was paler than he usually looked.

Underneath his eyes you could see the beginnings of dark circles, the mark of a student who doesn't get much sleep. The well-broken-in t-shirts, long sleeved under short, seemed to be chosen to accentuate them. The colors may not have worked well, but the cut certainly did: my eyes were almost always drawn instantly to his arms, not overly muscled, but thick, strong; he must have had a very blue-collar job in his off hours.

"This assignment make you drowsy?"

I snapped my head up, realizing that I had been staring at him, through him, thinking about why I wanted to do that very thing in the first place.

"No, sorry, I was just thinking about something." I put my last book back into the shelf. "Looks like I'm finished. I should get home and type all this out."

"Hold on a minute, stick around. I'd appreciate the company, it's creepy as hell up here." Chris flashed me a smile that seemed to light up his entire face. "I've gotta say, the stacks are weird."

I took my hand off my backpack. "Sure, no problem. Though I've got to say, you're probably not alone up here. I'm sure there's *someone* having sex around here somewhere."

"Not yet," he said, smiling. He reached across me for another book, managing to move in even closer. "Last book."

Thoughts raced through my mind all at once. Was he proposing...? No, I'm just misreading. But... No, he can't be. He's sitting even closer. His leg is almost on top of mine.

As he paged through the book on his lap, his hand softly fell onto my thigh. I looked down at it, then over at him; his attention was firmly held by the words on the page, but he didn't move.

I don't know what came over me then. I don't know why I did it, but I'm certain that there was almost nothing that could have stopped me. I put my hand on top of his.

Things were happening so fast; before I knew it, I had moved his hand down between my legs, he was gently massaging my inner thigh, his fingers just inches from the rapidly expanding bulge in my jeans.

"Are-?" I started to ask, but he put the index finger of his left hand onto my mouth. He then grabbed my wrist and placed my hand on his own thigh. My reflexes took over and I began slowly rubbing my fingertips up and down, getting closer and closer to his zipper.

The stacks seemed so quiet. I was breathing heavily, scared and excited at the prospect of being caught. Whatever noise we made was absorbed by the thick, heavy walls of books around us; the temperature of the air around us seemed to rise, pushed in, pulsating with the weight of those same walls. The air seemed to catch in my lungs, I couldn't seem to fill them fast enough. It had never been like this before. What I was feeling-was it passion? Fear?

Chris's head tilted and the corners of his mouth turned upward just slightly. His fingers found the tab to my zipper and slowly pulled it down. Each click felt like a gunshot, but refused to echo. The walls took care of that. My pants splayed open, the fabric of my boxers pushed, stretched upward.

My own hand shook as I fumbled with the buttons on his pants. "God, I used to be a master at this," I thought to myself, smirking at my loss of skill. Chris played with my cock through my underwear, letting his nimble fingers explore what made me respond.

White cotton briefs. I had expected as much. They just seemed to fit his personality, what little I had gleaned from talking with him in class. I pushed my hand under the waistband, running my fingers through the thick, dark hair underneath. Everything was just as I had imagined; I hadn't even realized that I had an expectation of what I would find before I found it.

Chris pulled me down, lying on my side, pressed against the bottom shelf of books. I was at eye-level with his crotch now, and it was beautiful. I reached behind him and pushed his pants down to just above his knee; he did the same to me. I could clearly make out the outline of his dick pressing against the thin cotton. In a move that surprised even me, I bent forward and began licking and sucking at its head through Chris's underwear, leaving a sizeable wet spot when I pulled away. He grunted when I first made contact, but otherwise kept silent.

He pulled my dick through the hole in the front of my boxers, reaching in and dragging my balls behind it. The first touch of his hand against my bare skin made me gasp and whimper at the same time-why did he have such an effect on me?

He continued playing with me, teasing me, stroking me with fingers, hands... There was one thing I wanted him to do, and he wouldn't do it until he was ready. I took the initiative.

Pushing his underwear down, I freed his beautiful cock. Really, in the matter of size, he was just a little above average. But it was the way it looked, the power it seemed to possess. It was just a shade or two darker than the rest of his skin, easily compared by pressing it against his stomach. The head was a shade darker than that, but a deep hue of red. A thick vein ran up the side; I traced its path from head to balls with my finger, wanting desperately to do it again with my tongue.

His balls. Beautiful, perfectly sized, they were loose and full from the heat. My hands held them almost of their own accord; they felt heavy as I lifted them. They were covered in hair; just a dusting, really, less than I had expected. Still, I leaned over and gently blew on them, trying to memorize the movement of each hair. I rubbed my lips against them. It tickled, gently, and made him almost moan again.

Finally, after teasing me to his satisfaction, he took my cock into his mouth. Just barely at first, of course; I was so worked up that doing it all at once would have set me off right there. Considering our location, though, it was probably best to move quickly.

I did the same for him. I wasn't quite as slow, though; I had half of his dick in my mouth before a few seconds had passed. He tasted... there's nothing to compare it to, really. It was almost like he had been working, sweating, reveling in his masculine scent, then showered, leaving only just a hint behind. I found this hint and it turned me on more than anything ever had. I was like a madman, I needed more. I took him deeper, the tip just barely touching the back of my throat. I pulled back, then pushed all the way down, taking him all. My nose was buried in his balls, being tickled by the hair; it felt so good to have him inside me that I didn't want to pull away.

His hands played over my balls as he pushed my dick in and out of his mouth; he was slowly going farther, not quite as impatient. I was having an affect on him, though; his speed increased, he was breathing so heavily I could feel him as he pressed into me. His hips tried to thrust his dick further and faster; I let them, I wanted it as badly as he did. Maybe more. I began doing the same, not even realizing it. His hands grasped at my ass, trying to pull me closer.

Chris let out a long, low moan; he pulled his hips back, placing just the very tip of his cock between my lips. With a grunt, he came, filling my mouth. Normally, I detest the taste of come, but I wanted his so badly. It tasted... not sweet, but definitely not as bitter as... other men. I greedily licked the tip, silently begging for more. The idea of him coming into my mouth, of swallowing, it excited me so much that I came right then, with barely any warning.

He did the same thing; played with the tip, wanting more, savoring what he had gotten. We lay there, breathing heavily, tasting each other for what seemed a lot longer than a few seconds.

I was the first to sit up and start pulling my pants back on. I didn't even look at him until he had finished buttoning himself up. I busied myself pulling a few books forward that we had knocked out of place.

All of the sudden, the hot air seemed a lot less sexy; it was suffocating. The same inability to breathe that had excited me so earlier now left me feeling panicked. I glanced over at him, and we started leaving.

It was a quiet elevator ride down. Before we hit the first floor, he grabbed me and pulled me over to him.

"Thanks," he said, giving me a genuine, sincere smile. He leaned over and kissed me, not passionately, not demandingly... tenderly, with nothing meant other than to show that he didn't think of me as a random fuck.

I smiled back, losing myself again. "I can't believe we just did that. I've heard stories about people doing that, but I always thought..."

He smiled again as the elevator doors opened. "So, I'll see you in class tomorrow?"

"You bet."

We parted ways as I walked to my car. Nothing in the CD player seemed right, nothing sounded like it should have. I spent most of the drive in silence, distracted, almost running a red light or two.

As always, I unlocked the door and put my bag down on the kitchen counter. Shoes go in the closet. I grabbed my bag and tossed it into my room, hitting the foot of the bed with a thud.

"Hey, hon," Leo said, looking up from the couch. "Rough day?"

He got up to kiss me, but I waved him down, giving him a sick look. I dashed into my bathroom and brushed my teeth as quickly as I could, not satisfied until I had used half a bottle of Scope.

"Sorry, had a bad taste in my mouth." I stepped in front of him, giving my boyfriend of six years a chaste kiss hello.