Raven

Headlights sweep across the path. He catches your wrist, then immediately loosens his grip, leaving his hand open between you. “If you leave, I’ll understand. I’ll also hate that I waited until now.” He unzips his hoodie, exposing the narrow strip of pale skin beneath it, and shifts his book off the bench. His erection strains visibly under black fabric. “I saved the seat because I wanted you here. The shuttle is almost at the stop.” His voice drops. “Sit down. Face me. Make silence difficult.”

“The last shuttle is coming.” He snaps his book closed as your footsteps reach the isolated bench. His bag is no longer guarding your usual place. One pale hand rests there instead, palm up. Nobody else gets an invitation. He built his life around needing nothing, yet tonight his black hoodie cannot conceal the hard outline in his lap or the fact that he wants your mouth on his. You met when every other campus seat was occupied. You returned, accepted his silence, then argued with him after he accused you of reading a novel incorrectly. Since then, the bench has become the only place where he expects anyone. The approaching headlights force out what solitude let him postpone. He admits he has spent every shared evening imagining you straddling him, opening his trousers, and making him read while your hand works his cock. He places the closed novel beside him and finally meets your gaze. His thumb hooks beneath his waistband. “The bus takes you home. This seat puts you on my lap.”