The Love Hack

Ben

All my better judgement had left the building.

As I led Arty inside, I gripped his hand with urgency and need. At that moment, I didn't care that this was only happening because Leo rejected him, that I was the back-up, the pick-me-up. All I cared about was the way his breath quickened as I pulled him closer, the spark in his eyes that finally mirrored my own after so long.

"Jonah?" I called out before rounding into the living room, but was met with a predictable silence. I didn't know where he was, but it was the last thing on my mind right now.

As I pushed Arty towards the couch, I wasn't thinking about the long term implications like I had been that night four years ago. I didn't ask myself about the regrets that would come in the morning or how this would damage our friendship. I didn't consider possible months of tiptoeing around each other, unable to match eyes out of awkwardness.

All I was thinking about was the way his body was reacting to mine. At that moment, I thought just one night would be enough.

I leaned in, my breath mingling with his, and Arty closed the gap again, his lips meeting mine in desperation. His hands gripped my shirt, pulling me closer, and I couldn't help but respond, my hands sliding down to his waist, drawing him into me like I was starved for it. And I was.

It had been so long since I touched someone, since I kissed someone. Hell, I hadn't had sex in so long that I'd convinced myself that it wasn't that great anyways—that it wasn't worth the mess of feelings and complications that came with it.

But this? The way Arty's lips moved against mine, the heat of his body pressing into me. It was that great. Better than I had ever imagined it could be.

And unlike that night four years ago, no matter what happened tonight, there were no excuses. No recently deceased dad, no alcohol to cloud our judgement.

But I knew that didn't necessarily mean anything. I was just a distraction to get over Leo. That still didn't guarantee he wouldn't regret it in the morning.

Still, I couldn't stop. The way his fingers tightened against my jaw and in my hair, the softness of his lips—it felt too good, even if I knew better. My hands slid up under his shirt, finding the warm skin beneath, and he shivered at the contact.

"Ben," he whispered, his voice breathless, almost pleading.

I backed Arty against the couch, his legs hitting the edge as he fell into the cushions, pulling me down with him. My hands trailed down to his hips, fingers pressing into them. He made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, which only enticed me more.

I pulled back just enough to see his face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips red and slightly swollen, and his eyes were intense. For a moment, I let myself believe he wanted me, that I wasn't just someone to fill the void.

I leaned in, brushing a thumb along his cheek, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do you want me to stop?"

Arty's breath hitched, and he shook his head, "No."

I kissed him again, deeper this time, like I was trying to pour every unspoken feeling into him. My hand slid from his jaw to the curve of his neck, my thumb brushing against his pulse, which was racing just as fast as mine.

Arty tugged at his own shirt, fumbling to get it off in a very Arty-like way. I helped him, brushing my hands across his skin while pulling up his shirt, feeling the grooves of his chest, his shoulders. I broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head, tossing it to the ground.

His skin was warm beneath my hands, his breathing uneven as I pressed my palms against his chest. His hands slid up my arms, gripping my shoulders to pull me closer, even though there was no space left between us.