4 comments/ 5013 views/ 1 favorites Merrit's Merits Ch. 02 By: Heartgrind Two young men were in a bedroom together, sunlight falling upon them from the window. They were both Caucasian, about nineteen or twenty years of age. The taller one sat on the bed, with his legs folded in the lotus position. His dirty blond hair was madly gelled, spikes bristling in all directions. In his left hand, he held a spherical puzzle of carefully measured pieces of smooth bamboo. He was trying to solve it in the midst of a conversation with his companion. His blue eyes probed it for a some subtlety in its design that he might exploit. The broader one sat at a desk, fingers typing away at a laptop computer, mostly the arrow keys and the Enter button, right hand reaching for a cordless laser mouse every so often. "So that's why she was singing this song last night?" the typist asked. "That's fucked up, man." "I know it is," came the reply from the bed. "It was stupid." "It was straight, is what it was." Typing. A frustrated grunt. Awkward silence, marked only by the creak of the bamboo puzzle as its first peace twisted to the side and allowed a second piece to come loose. "What are you working on?" "I'm editing it into a dance remix with the vocals she recorded at the studio after breakfast, after we tweaked the more awkward lyrics." "Your professors let you into the recording suite on a Saturday? That's ridiculous." "Let's not change the subject, Merritt," replied the typist as he stared at the screen blankly, trying to come up with some insight about how to go about remixing the pop music in front of him, open in a complex music composition application beyond the comprehension of his roommate sitting behind him. A black toque covered most of his dark hair, while sideburns peaked out down the sides. Merritt shook his head, though nobody was looking at him. "Merritt?" A piece of the puzzle fell onto the comforter of the bed. "Ahah!" exclaimed Merritt. "Merr-rritt," said his friend. "Tyy-lerrrr," mimicked Merritt. Tyler spun around in his desk chair. He remembered getting that puzzle for Christmas last December, and nobody had been able to solve it, so he had used it as a paper weight ever since. And yet, Merritt was now dismantling it before his very eyes into individual pieces. "I'll put it back together," promised Merritt. "I'm more concerned about what's going on upstairs," Tyler admitted, tapping his temple. Merritt frowned. "I'm fine," he lied. "Well, I'm not," said Tyler. "You're gay, you're fit, you're hung, you're smart, you've got heart..." Merritt looked up, red in the face. "I've seen you coming out of the shower. Your towel doesn't hide much. And let's not get distracted by the details. Why the heck did you have a fruit fly boning you with a piece of plastic?" "Look, Tyler, if I'd known you were gonna be like this about it, I wouldn't have told you." "Don't make this about me," Tyler got defensive. "You're usually so direct and honest with your feelings! I wish more people were like that. Heck, I wish I could do that in words instead of --" He gestured at the laptop screen behind him. "This." "You're doing fine right now," pointed out Merritt. "I ain't calm. I ain't clear-headed." "I may not look it, but I'm not either," admitted Merritt. "Then what are you?" asked Tyler. "I want to know." "Depressed," began Merritt. "I was desperate, foolishly so." "Keisha? She's one of your best friends, man. Don't mess that up by leading her crush the wrong way." "I was clear with her," said Merritt. "We were clear with each other. I just wanted to feel something." He pressed his top front teeth gently into his lower lip. It was a thoughtful mannerism, and it yet it sent Tyler's mind wandering to carnal acts. For a moment, Merritt felt shame. A brand of shame he had not felt in a while. "Why didn't you come to me, then?" demanded Tyler, caught off guard by the fact that he'd said it aloud. He was now completely ignoring his laptop. Merritt smiled politely. "We've been over this. You can separate sex from romance when you need to. I can't. I'm hard-wired for them to go hand in hand." Tyler tried to swallow against the stiffness knotted in his throat. "And last night?" "I was trying to push the envelope. I guess I don't trust a guy with my feelings like I trust her. I thought maybe I'd feel something. I didn't." "And what the fuck were you trying to feel?" asked Tyler, fists clenched against the armrests of his desk chair. "Something I haven't felt in a while. Something I can't feel alone. If it was that simple, I'd just bend over and suck my own d--" "You can do that?" asked Tyler, suddenly taken aback. "Well, twisting it backwards and into my own ass isn't so easy," admitted Merritt. Tyler swallowed again, this time because he was salivating. His dick twitched in his lap from beneath its denim prison. Tyler cocked his head to the side in an eccentric, inquisitive way. "What's this something you wanted to feel?" "It's not like I have some fetish you don't know about," Merritt went on. "I just...-- my nerves, they... ummm..." Tyler rested his hand on Merritt's knee. In that moment, the sunlight from the window seemed stronger to him. Something akin to warmth spread there, from his touch, warm enough to burn, yet with relaxation instead of pain. The very thing Merritt had been longing to feel again was there, in their midst. And it scared him. From seeing the shocked look on Merritt's face, Tyler removed his hand. "I'm sorry." When the hand left, the warmth moved, it flowed through Merritt, swaying up into him and resting in his gut with a contentment he found, unfortunately, most nostalgic. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his expression fell. "What's wrong?" asked Tyler rolling closer on the edge of his chair. "I need to be alone," Merritt told him, voice full of sadness. Tyler pursed his lips and withdrew to his desk. His erection fell. Merritt unfolded his legs, rose from Tyler's bed, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Tyler looked at the musical notes laid out on a grid before him, and frowned. Then, he closed his greenish-brown eyes, spun around in his chair, and opened his eyes again to stare at the spot on his bed where Merritt had been sitting. His gaze remained fixated on it, his body only breathing, while his eyes followed the creases in his comforter. The segments of bamboo from the fully dismantled puzzle were huddled like wreckage in a crater. Tyler hummed a melody to himself, while his fingers tapped against the arm rest with a slow rhythm. His mind flickered, synapses firing as it did the math, the harmony, the overtones and the restyling. Turning back around, his hand came to rest slowly on the mouse, and then he began to input more notes, and adjust what he had already written; all with various instrument lines juxtaposed against a translucent outline of the original. Then he reached for his headphones, and immersed himself in his work. Merrit's Merits Ch. 03 A young man closed a door behind himself, cheeks taking on a coccineous tone as he peered down at his extremities. It throbbed against his abdomen, traitorously. He sighed out a frustrated, unrelaxed breath. Every footstep toward his bed carried confusion and reluctance. His broad shoulders were tense. His hair was bristling with gel and fear. Goosebumps travelled across his back and up his neck. His pale, slender jeans felt tighter. His buttocks clenched. Why did that happen? What's wrong with me? I surely don't have feelings for Tyler. The hands at his hips, lowering his waistband, were his own. I'll be a better judge of this after I've had some release, the young man told himself. Sitting down, half-naked, he let his imagination take over. He pictured the young man that would lift his shirt off his eager chest and lay upon him with loving abandon. He imagined the sensations he'd feel as he was lowered down against the bed, his name whispered in his ear, "Merritt..." "Merritt," says the voice, arms enfolding me... With one hand, he touched his neck where he imagined this other man kissing him. And with the other, wrapped around the shaft of his erect penis, he stroked it as he would want the man in his mind to stroke him. "Merritt, you taste so fine," the voice tells me. "You're finer than any cologne, perfume or deodorant. I don't want to lose this scent between us." "Uggahhh," Merritt groaned, as his dick throbbed in his hand. He brought his left hand down to join the right, and increased his pace. "I'm going to kiss you wherever I want to, until you deliver that load for me, for us." "Don't stop yet," he whispered to himself, trying not to moan louder, lest it be heard through the walls. "I won't, my darling beau," he tells me, while his hands stroke my fullness. And he bends down, gentle eyes looking in mine as his mouth descends upon my glans and -- He felt it, wet against his head as it dripped into his foreskin: pre-ejaculate. He growls at me as he sucks, removing his hands and going down upon my length... Merritt's frown frots together. His face contorts. A silent moan stops, lodged in his throat. His breath becomes heavy. "I can take it, darling," he says to me, before going down on me again. I grab his head by the sides, hands running through his sideburns and into the short hair that bristles at the nape of his neck. I begin to thrust my hips into his tight, wet lips, pleasure rising within me. "Ughhh!" Merritt groaned. In the distance, the doorbell rang. Merritt ignored it, knowing that at least Tyler was home and would get it. He continued to daydream. The man's tongue begins to panic against my shaft. His eyes become frantic. His nose stiffens as it brushes through my trimmed pubes. He clenches his brow, as if he can't take me anymore. In his hands and the wide space between them, Merritt's generously proportioned erection throbs, as more precum drips down its swollen, shining glans. And I keep pounding his face, holding him on me. And because he knows I'll do the same for him, he holds fast and takes all he can for as long as he can, into the depths of his aching, hungry throat. He withdraws for an instant, unable to cope without a quick breath through his mouth instead of his nose, and then goes down on me again with a loving wink. I toss my head back and groan, then I slide my legs around his shoulders and place them against the back of his neck. He twists his skull from side to side, around my dick, his urge to finish me off holding him to me. He can smell the precum, and it makes him eager for the taste of my cum when I will finally pull away from him. But not yet! I force him down as far as he will go on my dick, my legs and hands tight on his head. And with my hips, I throttle my body against him. He's choking. He's gagging. He's puking. My dick is throbbing. My dick is aching. My balls are tightening. I need release. He needs release. I release him. He comes off it, tears steaming from his eyes. He gasps and gulps for air. My throbbing dick is glistening with his saliva, bile and mucose. A gentle knock on Merritt's bedroom door goes unnoticed. "Fuck!" is all he can say, as his hungry eyes feast upon me. But we're not fucking. We're making love -- or as close to it as we can. I smile, and then force him down on it again, knowing I will enjoy it immensely when he turns the table and forces me to do the same to him. But for now, it's my turn. I grapple my legs onto him again, and command him to suck my eager cock. He complies, despite the tears in his eyes. Eyes that sparkle with delight. It feels great. He continues to suck, harder and harder, only slowing when he feels me throb. I can tell, he's deliberately edging me. It's in the playful glances and the tight way my balls hug at the base of my shaft, brushing up against his soft goatee. Another knock is made upon Merritt's door. But I'm in no mood to be edged. I need his love to spin the cum out of me. I push him down upon me and my back arches over his head as I hold it down. There's no room in his tight, white gullet for my dick to throb, but we can both feel the cum dripping down his throat. His hands clench against my hips. I set him free, and he is rewarded with the fruity, sweet taste of my jizz trailing through his mouth as my dick withdraws. He looks at me with eyes I've not imagined, rather eyes I have remembered. And he says to me in a familiar voice, "What's wrong?" while rolling towards me on a desk chair. Merritt opens his eyes, and looks down at the load of ejaculate strewn across his shirtless chest and torso. In reaching for a pair of tissues to clean it up with, he admits to himself that his fantasy was taking on Tyler's likeness. It was unnerving. That was a living arrangement and a friendship that he didn't want romance or sex hindering. It was a love that, like Keisha's love for him, was taking on awkward new forms. A third knock came at the door. "Gimme a minute!" Merritt bellowed, as he wiped up the rest of his spooge and grabbed his t-shirt. He put it on, and rushed to the door. He pulled it open, and sighed in relief to realize it was not Tyler. John. "Hello, Merritt," said the guy who had been knocking on his door. "Did I catch you at a bad time? I can come back after lunch if you need me to." "Umm... no, I'm fine," said Merritt, as he recalled his last conversation with John in the student centre on campus, after having submitted a video game review piece to the paper. "What're you here for, uhmm... it's John, right?" The visitor nodded. "I have an assignment for you, for the paper, if you're willing to oblige us yet again." "I don't have much schoolwork right now, I can probably handle it. Depends what it is, I suppose," answered Merritt. "Well, let me be frank. The paper didn't send me to you for your writing talent. There's a new hangout that's opened up, a stone's throw from the edge of campus, and I want you to write a review of the venue." "Why me?" Merritt asked, before John could continue. "Uhmm... well, you're gay --" "And?" asked Merritt. "Is that supposed to give me a better grasp of student hangouts? Being out and gay doesn't mean I'm a social butterfly. I rarely ever have a drink in my hand." "The place is queer-friendly, distinctly so," said John. "I'm giving you some spending money, and the address. The rest is up to you." "Hmmm..." pondered Merritt. "I'm not really into the scene. The uhmm... gay scene. Icky. Shallow. Not my style. I'm about more than sex." John smiled back awkwardly. "Why can't you ask Tyler? He's minoring in Professional Writing." John shook his head. "Conflict of interest." "Why? Being a musician doesn't make him opinionated, John." John laughed. "That's not it, Merritt. I asked him last night, and he declined. He had to. Because he works there." Merritt's face went blank, and then flushed as red as it was when he opened the door. "Oh," was all he could manage. He hadn't told me he'd found work already. "So you'll do it?" urged John. "For Tyler?" Merritt swallowed. "Yeah, I'll do it, for Tyler." "Excellent," said John, handing him a print-out of information and forty dollars, which Merritt reckoned was enough money to cover the door fee and a few drinks. "Read up on the place, but don't let any reviews colour your opinions. And try and make it interesting for the straight readers too. Use that creativity you're so well known for." "I'll try my best," promised Merritt. "Is that everything?" John nodded, after sniffing the air with a curious look on his face. "If anything comes up, I'll let you know by e-mail. Or you let me know. And -- y'know, don't go smelling like a brothel. And enjoy yourself." Merritt grinned, towering over him. John walked away, down the hallway. His footsteps could be heard descending to the ground floor. Soon afterwards, the sound of the front door closing behind him met Merritt's ears with relief. "Merritt!" came a woman's voice calling up the stairs. He recognised it as Keisha's, and walked to the head of the winding hardwood staircase. "I'll be down in a minute," he told her, knowing that it was their turn to make lunch for the others. Then, he returned to his room, straightened himself out, and then went to bathroom to urinate and wash up. When staring at himself in the mirror, he realized there was a strand of dried ejaculate on his forehead, which must have been there throughout his conversation with John. He grabbed three pieces of toilet paper, trickled some warm water onto them, and then carefully removed the ejaculate from his forehead. After washing his hands, he hurried downstairs to begin discussing the lunch menu with Keisha, as if nothing had happened between them the night before. She set the table and turned the television on while he organized the viable leftovers and began to reheat them. "I'm going to make some grilled salami and cheese sandwiches, and use some of the salad from last night. That should go well enough with the leftover chilli from last night," he told her. "Yeah, that sounds great," said Keisha, sounding distant to him. He figured she had every right to be distant, for a while. He would give her time, and then test the water. But he surprised her: "Merritt, will you come out with me tonight? As a friend. There's a new place I want to take you to. And afterwards, we can go visit Tyler at his new workplace. They're both west of campus." Merritt turned towards her, fingers hovering in front of the microwave controls, and cocked his head to one side in a manner reminiscent, they both knew, of Tyler. "It's this new queer-friendly café and club, I think you'd really like it there. The atmosphere is... intriguing, to say the least. I heard it's the pet project of some rich real estate tycoon. She's certainly put a lot of work into it, whoever she is." The glass bowl in the microwave shook. Merritt paused its cooking, and opened the door. "Merritt?" "The Surreal," intoned Merritt. "That's what it's called." "Oh, you've heard of it?" Keisha was delighted. "It seems to be the subject of some interesting anecdotes over the last few days. I really want to go again. I didn't get to stay very long with Jessica the other night. Her water broke." "Yeah, I saw the baby pictures on Facebook. Why'd you took Jessica to a queer bar? Pregnant women shouldn't drink." "It's not just queer," said Keisha. "And it serves more dan just alcohol. And doesn't serve alcohol 'til after eight. Before then, it's a café. You'll like it, it's very, heh heh, colourful. Bohemian in da right ways. I'd ask Tyler ta come, but he's workin'. And I haven't had a chance ta talk with the others all week." "Tyler's working there." Keisha raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Seriously?" "Yeah. Did you let John in earlier?" Keisha nodded, taking a bowl of chilli from Merritt and placing it on one of the plates at the table. "He assigned me to review the place." "Wow, Merritt! Tyler has a new job, you've a new piece for da paper, and I've found da perfect place to hit da stage. Dey want live entertainment. I'm axin' to audition." "Tyler's already going to be playing what you recorded this morning for them, no doubt," reckoned Merritt. "Yeah!" exclaimed Keisha as she bounced away from the table after putting the sixth bowl of chilli in its place. "Shall I call everyone?" Merritt asked. "Yes please," said Keisha, as she took a seat at the head of the table. "I love Saturdays." "Most everyone loves Saturdays," observed Merritt, as he made his way towards the stairs. "You're gonna find ya self a good boyfriend there," said Keisha. He glanced over his shoulder, pausing on the bottom step. "Worry about your own love life."