Quick Study: A Gay Hothusband Erotic Short (Bryce Can Play Book 5) Read online

  Quick Study

  A Gay Hothusband Erotic Short

  Travis Beaudoin

  Copyright © 2020 Sonder Street Books

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Marianne Nowicki

  Edited by Teresa Payne

  To T.J., who learns from me and teaches me,

  and as always, Diego.

  Where We Left Things

  On Monday morning, Bryce woke up in an empty bed. His husband was gone on a week-long business trip, but he’d left a note.

  Make me proud.

  Bryce loves making Mat proud, and he knows just how to do it. The plan is to fuck as many men as possible while his husband’s away. Bryce is going to play until Mat is good and jealous, eager to reclaim his sexy, slutty husband.

  So far, the week’s going well, with Bryce encountering a new sexual adventure each day.

  On Thursday, Bryce rented a room in a cheap motel and met up with Skye, more of an obsession than a friend. The sex wasn’t affectionate, but it was hard and frantic, and Bryce is always up for the challenge of getting what he wants from a guy who doesn’t play nice.

  Now it’s Friday.

  Quick Study

  ~The Friday after Mat leaves~

  D.C. traffic is always a nightmare.

  Today was even worse. A steamy grey drizzle had made visibility shit and slowed the long line of cars to a crawl. On a good day, it took me just under two hours to get from my house to the National Mall, with its battalion of tourists clogging the streets. This afternoon, it had taken nearly three. My destination was a neighborhood pub even deeper into the city. I’d be driving right past the White House, and at nearly 6 p.m. on a Friday, that would be a nightmare.

  I was impatient, but Julián would wait for me. He’d always been easygoing, easy to like. Almost from the moment we’d met, he’d been one of my favorites.

  It had been six years ago. He was a freshman, though already taking sophomore-level classes. He’d sat in the second row of my Intro to World Lit, big brown eyes tracking me as I entered the room and crossed to the whiteboard.

  He never raised his hand, but when the students who were just there to fill a Humanities requirement clammed up, I’d call on Julián. He’d always done the reading and always processed it, and even when his answers weren’t precisely correct, they were thoughtful.

  Before long, he was hanging out after class, asking questions, borrowing books, telling me about the movies he’d seen over the weekend. I’d loved those chats. He’d get this…glow. So enthusiastic, so…boyish.

  Okay. Just so it gets said: I would never fuck a student.

  I notice them sometimes, though. I’m not made of stone.

  And Julián—his messy hair and bright brown eyes. The way he hid his smile in class but forgot to when it was just us. The careless athleticism in his movements—he wasn’t a jock or anything, but he was young and alive, and when he let his natural energy loose, it filled the room.

  I won’t lie—he was cute. But lots of my students are “cute.” I register that fact and move on. What I felt for him was innocent, at least in those early days. Not totally, maybe. Like, 80%. It was mostly the thrill any teacher gets when they find a student who cares.

  But he wasn’t my student now. Not anymore. He was in the second year of his Ph.D., and he’d become a friend. So, yeah. I was going to D.C. to see him, and we were going to fuck.

  Not that it had been my idea in the first place. Long before we ever hooked up, forces beyond my control were nudging us together.

  ~~~

  “He has a crush on you.”

  “Who?” I slid my suitcase into the trunk and slammed the door.

  “Julián.”

  “No he doesn’t.”

  It was spring break, and Mat and I were flying down to Miami to see his parents. I’d enlisted Julián, a junior at the time, to water our plants and look after Lluvy, my husband’s ancient basset hound.

  “He definitely does,” Mat said, opening the passenger door for me.

  “You’re an idiot.” I grinned, though, and was still blushing when Mat entered the car a few seconds later.

  “I can sense when someone’s checking out mi cachorro,” he said, his grin matching mine, “and he—” Mat turned the key and released the parking brake. “—was definitely checking you out.” He edged the car out of our drive. “I bet he thinks about you when he jerks off.”

  “Mateo!”

  “He has the fantasy all laid out. He’s memorized it. ‘Dr. Bevington, I really need to pass this class. I’ll do…anything.’” He did a fair approximation of Julián’s voice, adorable lisp and all.

  I barked a laugh, face burning, but fought to keep my tone aloof. “Julián doesn’t need to sleep with me for a good grade. He’s an excellent student.”

  “‘Oh, Dr. Bevington, thank you for saying I’m an excellent student. I’ll do…anything to show my appreciation.”

  “Oh my god, Mateo. You are so fucking stupid!”

  “I’m not! I can sense it. He definitely thinks about you naked. On your knees. Looking up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes…” Mat’s demeanor changed during that little speech. He was still playing around, but there was…a tone. A tone that invited me to change tactics.

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  “It’s hot.” He cruised to a stop at the end of our block, then looked at me and added, smirking, “I think you should fuck him.”

  “I’m not going to fuck a student, Mateo.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged, checked the intersection, and made the turn. “He’ll graduate someday.”

  ~~~

  I’d arrived. Finally.

  There was metered parking a block from the restaurant, and with the workweek over and the weather so gross, spots sat available.

  The drizzle had become a mist, unpleasant but undaunting. I walked through the door of Sweet Molly’s, pausing to let my glasses unfog. Once I could see, there was Julián, in a booth near the back, fidgeting, scanning a menu.

  I nodded at the hostess, pointed to my friend, then strolled toward him. He saw me and stood, his grin brilliant. I picked up my pace.

  “Good to see you,” I said.

  “You, too.”

  We took each other in, sizing each other up. Then we hugged.

  My clothes were damp and clung to me, and his body was warm and solid. He felt good to hold. I gave him one final squeeze and let go. He released me a second later.

  “Doing all right?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Glad for the weekend. Glad you could visit.” That little lisp. I wanted to bite him.

  “Me, too.”

  “Want to sit?”

  “Thanks.” We did.

  He wore an ochre hoodie, bringing a bit of sunshine to the grey day, and under it an old Shenandoah State tee, the heathered-green cotton worn thin after a few thousand washings. “You look good, Julián.”

  He followed my gaze to his chest, where our mascot, Hank the Fighting Hornet, peeked out behind the zipper. Julián chuckled, flushing as he looked down. “It felt…appropriate.”

  “I appreciate the thought.”

  “You look good, too.” I’d also dressed for the occasion: my professor clothes. A button-down, sleeves rolled to three-quarters. An open collar with a loose tie. Jeans, which I only taught in on
Fridays.

  “A little damp, but thanks.”

  And then we sat there.

  It was awkward, but pleasant. Tingly. It felt almost like a first date, when you meet a guy and know right away that, rules be damned, you’re going to give him some if he wants it. Which was dumb. We’d known each other for the better part of six years, and the first time we’d fucked had been within seventy-two hours of his graduation.

  Before I could cut the silence, we were interrupted by Toby, our terrifically perky waiter, all elbows and acne and huge white teeth, who nearly fell over himself in his eagerness to prove to us he’d memorized the specials. Julián ordered a beer. I, having drunk every night since Mat left, decided it wouldn’t kill me to stick with water. Toby chirped back our drink order, then whisked away, apron strings trailing behind him.

  I slid my gaze back to Julián and grinned. He grinned back, and then we were laughing. Once the mirth subsided, I sat back against the pleather banquette. “So, they keeping you busy?”

  “Yes!” He rolled his eyes dramatically and leaned in, elbows on the table, to tell me about his classes—the ones he was taking and the ones he was teaching—his reading lists and his professors.

  Toby dropped off our drinks in silence then stood sentry a few yards away from our booth. Eventually, I glanced over and he approached. Julián ordered a chicken sandwich. I got a spinach salad—nothing too heavy or too fragrant. Then we resumed chatting. For nearly two hours. The food came, and we picked at it, but Julián’s fries got cold and my spinach wilted while we ran our mouths. Just like the old days, I thought, after class. Except now he’s all grown up, and neither of us has anywhere to be tonight, except with each other.

  It wasn’t just like the old days, though. The dinner was fine, and the conversation fed my soul, but we both knew how the evening would end. We could ignore it, but we couldn’t forget it. I couldn’t anyway. No matter how innocent our chat, how mind-numbingly academic it would have sounded to an eavesdropper, there was something restless underneath. I kept noticing how good the mottled green of his collar looked against the autumn-brown skin of his throat, how nimbly his fingers moved when he gesticulated. I wanted to touch him. Resisting that urge felt like foreplay.

  We were discussing the short stories of Jorge Luis Borges, of all things, when Toby collected our plates and dropped the check. I fished for my wallet and handed him my card.

  When I looked back at Julián, I noticed a change. Over the course of the meal, he’d sat taller. His shoulders had straightened. He’d laughed freely. Now that Toby had signaled the end of our evening—the end of our public evening, anyway—he was eighteen again. Shy. Lopsided grin. Nervous eyes.

  “So—” I said.

  “How’s Mat?” he interrupted.

  “He’s good,” I said. “We chatted between classes today.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  I smiled. “I do. Always. I mean, it’s been nice to have the house to myself for a few days? But I’m always glad when he comes home.”

  Julián smiled in a way I couldn’t quite read and glanced down.

  “He says hi, by the way.”

  He nodded.

  “Something’s on your mind.”

  “No,” said Julián. “I mean, yes. But nothing.”

  “We don’t have to talk about my husband.”

  Just then, a plastic check presenter clicked against the tabletop, and Toby struck a pose, formal as a duke’s valet, at my shoulder. Straightening, I signed the receipt, tipping extra for having camped out so long. Toby, all smiles now that he could forget about us, swiped it away the moment I laid the pen down. “Thanks, guys!” And then he was gone.

  A moment passed. I reached for Julián’s hand. “Hey.” He took it and I squeezed. “I’m exactly where I want to be tonight.”

  He looked back up, biting the edge of his lip. “Exactly?”

  “For now. Ask again in two minutes.”

  He laughed, and his body untensed. It was good to hear, good to have him back.

  “We’re okay?”

  He nodded. “I’m really happy you came.”

  I brushed my thumb over his knuckles. “You are, Julián, without a doubt, the brightest, quickest student I’ve ever taught. I couldn’t be happier to hear how well you’re doing, or more flattered that you’re…you know. Following in my footsteps. Having said that…” I paused, drawing his hand close and kissing his palm, “…you’re hot enough I’d let you fuck me, even if you were an idiot.”

  His eyes danced, and he nudged me under the table. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “I would. I definitely would. I wouldn’t buy you a chicken sandwich first, but you could still get it.”

  “Four years of killing myself to impress you, and a chicken sandwich is all I have to show for it?”

  “It’s a hard world out there, Julián.”

  Now he squeezed my hand, pulling it close to him. He brushed his lips over my knuckles, then nipped them gently. “Should we get out of here?”

  I nodded. “Let me run to the restroom. Back in a second.”

  “Sure.”

  I rose from the booth. When I passed him, I mussed his hair. He laughed.

  I pissed, then washed my hands. I looked in the mirror to check my teeth—no spinach. Then I texted Mat.

  Out of commission for the night. Love you.

  Message sent, I pressed the long button along the side. The screen brightened, then went black.

  When I emerged, Julián stood near the booth, fists thrust into his pockets. I beelined to him and bumped my shoulder into his. “Ready?”

  “Ready.” He bumped me back.

  And we exited the restaurant, still jostling each other and laughing.

  We took separate cars. The streets were empty, but slick and shiny with rain. I didn’t care. The weather had been worse this afternoon, and I was still smiling from the pure joy of Julián.

  ~~~

  He could have been one of those students who slipped away after graduation, shooting off an email every year or two, usually when they need rec letters. It happens, even with your favorites.

  But Julián…

  It was the week before graduation. I was holding office hours for the last time that semester. Most of my students, though, were probably cramming for exams or sleeping off hangovers, so I was working through a stack of essays when a soft knock distracted me.

  Julián hovered in the hallway, tentative half-smile on his lips. I waved him in.

  “Hi, Dr. Bevington.”

  “Hey, Julián,” I said, scooting my chair to face him and indicating he should sit, too. “And I think we’ve reached the point where you can call me ‘Bryce,’ if you’re comfortable.” I was thirty-four at the time and looked young for my age, so I’d learned to be strict about hierarchy. We were good, though. This felt right.

  He blinked. “Thank you. Bryce.” A flush warmed his cheeks, twin furnaces against his bronze skin, like he’d just done something naughty.

  “My pleasure, Julián. What’s up?”

  “I. Uh. I just wanted to thank you.”

  Poor thing was smiling, but as jittery as they come. I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs. “You’re welcome. What for?”

  “For…” He took a breath. “I’m gay.”

  I nodded slowly. I’d suspected, but I wasn’t sure he’d figured it out yet. “Thank you for telling me.”

  He rolled right on. “I…when I came here, I thought I’d be in the closet forever. I wasn’t…comfortable, you know?”

  “I’ve been there.”

  “When I realized you were gay…it was my third week. Really, I thought you might be the first week, the way you joked about Gilgamesh and Enkidu, but when we got to Sappho and the Iliad…”

  “Yeah. The Greeks are gonna do what the Greeks are gonna do.”

  He chuckled. “Anyway. I got really uncomfortable. Like, you weren’t blatant or anything, but you didn’t hide it. You weren’t ashamed. I’d n
ever heard anyone be that…cool about it before. It scared me. If it hadn’t been past the add/drop date, I’d have switched professors.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Me, too. You’ve taught me a lot.”

  “Likewise.” He opened his mouth to protest. “I mean it, Julián. You’re a bright, bright guy, and you’ve definitely helped me see some things in new ways. The best part of teaching is that you never stop learning. Anyway. Sorry. I interrupted you.”

  “No,” he said. “That’s nice. But…I’ve learned a lot about books, you know? Like, stories and writing and stuff? But mostly I wanted to thank you for being yourself. Just…you. Happy. Not ashamed. The night after that Iliad class, I barely slept. I kept thinking about you. How you saw me. Like, ‘Can he tell? Will he say something?’ It was hard enough to act straight, or…not interested? My plan was just to do really well in school, study all the time. That way I’d always have an excuse to not get close to people.”

  “Ugh. That sounds awful.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. It would have been.” He glanced at the carpet, but when he met my gaze again, his eyes held a low fire. “You ruined that plan, always calling on me in class, engaging with me. I know you were just doing your job, but you kept talking to me, and I had to talk back. A little at a time, I started feeling okay. ‘I can talk in class,’ became, ‘I can stay after class and ask a question,’ and then, ‘I can go to his office and talk about Star Wars.’” He shrugged. “It was still a while before I actually came out, but I wouldn’t have—ever, maybe—if it weren’t for you.”

  “You’d have figured it out.” My own throat had tightened, and the words sounded gruffer than I meant.

  “Maybe. Probably. But I’d have lost more time.” He sat silently for a second, then, “The first time you asked me to house-sit for you? It was…weird being in your space. I’d been in people’s apartments and whatever. Gay people my age. I was out by then. But not... Mat was so nice, and your house was so…normal. Grown up.” His head jerked a bit. “Like, I didn’t snoop or anything. I just mean…”